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And shepherd boy, still brightens in her eye;
Auspicious image for this parting hour.

I give thee thanks, Old England! full of years,
Yet passing fair. Thy castles ivy-crowned,
Thy vast cathedrals, where old Time doth pause,
Like an o'er-spent destroyer, and lie down,
Feigning to sleep, and let their glory pass,
Thy mist-encircled hills, thy peaceful lakes,
Opening their bosoms mid the velvet meads,
Thy verdant hedges, with their tufted bloom,
Thy cottage children, ruddy as the flowers
That make their thatch-roofed homes so beautiful;
But more than all, those mighty minds that leave
A lasting foot- print on the sands of time;
These well repay me to have dared the deep,
That I might look upon them.
                                         So, farewell!
I give thee thanks for all thy kindly words,
And deeds of hospitality to me,
A simple stranger. Thou art wonderful,
With thy few leagues of billow-beaten rock,
Lifting thy trident o'er the farthest seas,
And making to thyself in every zone
Some tributary. Thou, whose power has struck
The rusted links from drooping Afric's neck,
And bade thy winged ships in utmost seas
Be strong to rescue all her kidnapped race,
Bend the same eagle-eye and lion-heart