Britain ... - Blue-Lite

EDGAR'S ADIEU TO ENGLAND. 417
But I, a weary pilgrim-knight, must wander from thee far,
To fields where Arab host and steed rush on to deadly war :
Yes, I must leave thee for the shores of holy Palestine,
Where the palm-tree groves their branches wave o'er the red
and purple vine ;
Where the cedar rears its giant head, and the rose its crim-
son flowers
Blends with the golden fruits that gem the dark-green citron
bowers :
Where burning suns the desert smite, and lurks the serpent
brood,
And the roaring lion seeks his prey in gloomy solitude.
The Red-cross gleams on my strong shield, and onward will
I go,
A warrior of the Sepulchre, to meet the Pagan foe :
But, England, thy blue mountains dim sink from my tearful
sight,
Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my home ! England, a long
good night !
Thy crown may rest on worthier brows, and glory on him
smile,
But never heart like mine shall love my own dear native isle !
And wheresoe'er I roam, my soul will fondly turn to thee,
In palm-tree bower, or myrtle grove, or on the lonely sea :
Should I a pilgrim on the sands of burning deserts sink,
Or be in Paynim dungeons chained,
still on thee I'll think !
And should I gain the threshold-stone of Salem's blessed
tomb,
I'll pray for thee and those I left with breaking hearts at home.
So may my prayers be heard, though I return to thee no more,
And Saxons with glad triumph shout, Freedom ! from shore
to shore.
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