POEMS OF SUSSEX PLACES.
And here old Sissa, so they tell. The Saxon monarch closed his day; I judge they played their parts right well But cannot stop to sing their praise.
For yonder, near the ocean's brim,
I see, I taste, the coming joy ;
There Mary binds the withered limb,—■
The mother tends the poor lame boy.
My heart is there—Sleep, Romans, sleep ;
And what are Saxon kings to me ?
Let me, O thou majestic Deep,
Let me descend to love, and thee.
And may thy calm, fair-flowing tide Bring Peace and Hope, and bid them live And Night, whilst wandering by thy side, Teach wisdom,—teach me to forgive. Then, when my heart is whole again, And Fancy's renovated wing Sweeps o'er the terrors of thy reign, Strong on my soul those terrors bring.
Oaks, British oaks, form all its shade, Dark as a forest's ample crown; Yet by rich herds how cheerful made, And countless spots of harvest brown ! But what's yon southward dark blue line, Along the horizon's utmost bound, Oh which the weary clouds recline, Still varying half the circle round ?
The sea ! the sea ! my God ! the sea! Yon sunbeams on its bosom play ! With milk white sails expanded free There ploughs the bark her cheerful way !