XC
ABROAD
Forests that beard the avalanche,
Levels, empurpled slopes of vine,
Wrecks, sadly gay with flower and branch,
I love you, but you are not mine!
The sweet domestic sanctity
Fades in the fiery sun, like dew;
My Love beheld and passed you by,
My fathers shed no blood for you.
Pause, rambling clouds, while fancy fain
Your white similitude doth trace
To England’s cliffs, so may your rain
Fall blissful on your native place!
Richard Garnett.
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