[from Collected Works, T.E.Brown]
From the brow
Of old Skiddaw, high-perched
On the last of the cairns,
Myself and my bairns,
For our sweetest of sweet little Hesperids;
And our lids
By the "saut"
From the wall
Of a squall,
So that naught
Of our Isle,
Could we see,
But a film of the faintest ivory.
Just half-way down the slope we sit,
When, suddenly, the sky is lit
Look, look I as through a sliding panel
Of pearl, our Mona ! Has she crossed the Channel
For us ? that there she lies almost
A portion of the Cumbrian coast?
Dark purple peaks against the sun,
A gorgeous thing to look upon?
Nay, darling of my soul ! I fear
To see your beauty come so near
I would not have it ! This is not your rest
Go back, go back, into your golden West !