EN weeks of sea, and twice seven days of
Upon the huge Atlantic, and once
We ride into still water and the
Of a sweet evening, screen'd by either
Of Spain and Barbary.
Our toils are o'er,
Our exile is accomplish'd.
Once
We look on Europe, mistress as of
Of the fair earth and of the hearts of men. Ay, this is the famed rock which
And Goth and Moor bequeath'd us.
At this
England stands sentry.
God! to hear the
Sweet treble of her fifes upon the breeze,
And at the summons of the rock gun's
To see her red coats marching from the hill!
