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Article CORNUBIA: THE STRANGER'S TRIBUTE. ← Page 2 of 2
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Cornubia: The Stranger's Tribute.
The great wych elms , so stately ancl tall , Guard the valleys like soldiers brave ; For there did many a Briton fall , Ancl you tread on many a hero ' s grave . I have roamed far over your southern shores , And gazed on the Mediterranean blue Of the seas which cover your lands of yore , The kingdom of Lyonesse , knights so true .
The last fell battle against Pagan foes , With Modred ancl his recreant band , Was fought in thy midst , thy land in throes , When Arthur made his last great stand . The knights of the Table Round no more Shall fight against heathen ancl Saxon kings ; And the waves flow over with ceaseless roar Your buried cities and cherished things .
The clays of chivalry past and gone , To wish them back it were surely vain , But when by virtue his praise you ' ve won , Your own King Arthur shall come again . A thousand years have rolled away , We look on the same grey wave-worn cliffs ;
And the knights so brave and the ladies gay Are gone with the galleys , ancl white king ' s skiffs When tbe peerless prince ancl hisjnoblejlbancl Strove to defend the rig ht and show By their lives , how well they could understand The saintly life of that long
ago—Honour ancl chivalry then were known As the types of the men of that older race ; But the great poet tells how overthrown And buried in honour was dark disgrace .
There comes a voice o ' er the surging seas , A sorrowful , sighing western wind , It saith to us all , " Why take thine ease ? Redress the wrongs of all mankind . " The same sun shines now over us all As gleamed in the fight and the tourney then ,
The pale moon seen through the poplars tall Is the same that shone on the king' of men . The same sweet flowers in the meadows grow , And the forests of oak and old yew trees , And the saints remain , for their names we know , A relic of byegone clays are these .
And the Cornish men are still the same , The lords are brave and the ladies fair , And they love the legends that make their fame—Poesy floats in the ambient air . Oh ! Cornish lanes ! Oh ! brown-eyed maids ! Oh ! Cornish cliff ' s , majestic grand ! I love your hills and your sylvan glades , I ' m proud that I live in King Arthur ' s land .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Cornubia: The Stranger's Tribute.
The great wych elms , so stately ancl tall , Guard the valleys like soldiers brave ; For there did many a Briton fall , Ancl you tread on many a hero ' s grave . I have roamed far over your southern shores , And gazed on the Mediterranean blue Of the seas which cover your lands of yore , The kingdom of Lyonesse , knights so true .
The last fell battle against Pagan foes , With Modred ancl his recreant band , Was fought in thy midst , thy land in throes , When Arthur made his last great stand . The knights of the Table Round no more Shall fight against heathen ancl Saxon kings ; And the waves flow over with ceaseless roar Your buried cities and cherished things .
The clays of chivalry past and gone , To wish them back it were surely vain , But when by virtue his praise you ' ve won , Your own King Arthur shall come again . A thousand years have rolled away , We look on the same grey wave-worn cliffs ;
And the knights so brave and the ladies gay Are gone with the galleys , ancl white king ' s skiffs When tbe peerless prince ancl hisjnoblejlbancl Strove to defend the rig ht and show By their lives , how well they could understand The saintly life of that long
ago—Honour ancl chivalry then were known As the types of the men of that older race ; But the great poet tells how overthrown And buried in honour was dark disgrace .
There comes a voice o ' er the surging seas , A sorrowful , sighing western wind , It saith to us all , " Why take thine ease ? Redress the wrongs of all mankind . " The same sun shines now over us all As gleamed in the fight and the tourney then ,
The pale moon seen through the poplars tall Is the same that shone on the king' of men . The same sweet flowers in the meadows grow , And the forests of oak and old yew trees , And the saints remain , for their names we know , A relic of byegone clays are these .
And the Cornish men are still the same , The lords are brave and the ladies fair , And they love the legends that make their fame—Poesy floats in the ambient air . Oh ! Cornish lanes ! Oh ! brown-eyed maids ! Oh ! Cornish cliff ' s , majestic grand ! I love your hills and your sylvan glades , I ' m proud that I live in King Arthur ' s land .