Classic Poem

I SAW it first when April shoots
Were shining on the tree,
And daisies, gladden'd by the sun,
Look'd up on lawn and lea.
I left my cot when but a boy,
And, crossing mead and moor,
Gazed I upon its harbour waves
Which kiss'd the pleasant shore.

I never shall forget when first
It burst upon my view,
And from a neighbouring carn I saw
Its ships and waters blue,
And tower, and terrace, ocean girt,
Which met me from the hill:
'T was beautiful! 't was beautiful!
And so is Falmouth still.

Like some old poem of the past
Imbued with Nature's fire,
The more we read, the more we love,
And wonder and admire:
So is this sea-port of the south
Yet more and more endear'd,
As years fill up the calendar,
Where now my home is rear'd.

Here barks from every nation meet,
With streaming flags unfurl'd;
Securely here in peace they ride,
Each ship a floating world.
Here come the fish in shining shoals,
The shelly creeks among;
And sweet it is across the tide
To hear the dredger's song.

How beautiful the country walks
Along the sea-beach low;
Where ocean-birds perch on the crags,
And white waves come and go!
The distant hills seem throng'd with fays,
And from each brake and bower
A thousand mystic voices rise
To laud Jehovah's power.

Oft from the street I turn away,
As peals the solemn bell,
When Eve, with glow-worms in the moss,
Sits musing in the dell.
And O, how sweet it is to stand
Upon the pebbly shore,
And hear across the gathering dusk
The dripping of the oar!

Here lie the docks, those wonder-works
Of labour's kingly hand;
And here the railway sends its stores,
The marvel of the land;
And here the telegraphic wire
Runs, conquering space and time;
O, grandeur of the grandest age,
And wonder most sublime!

And here are schools in which the young
May learning's path pursue,
And strive to emulate the good,
With fame's bright crown in view.
Here hearts benevolent, who cheer
The sick man on his bed,
And shield the shipwreck'd mariner,
So that he 's housed and fed.

Can bluer waves, or greener fields,
Or flowers by zephyrs fann'd,
Or fairer face of maid or boy
Be found in any land?
O, like a lion in his lair,
Surrounded with the sea,
Is old Pendennis, castle-crown'd,
A sturdy watcher he.

I've travell'd where the waters roar,
And where the hills are high,
Whose lofty summits seem to soar
Into the distant sky.
But fairer scene, O Falmouth mine!
I never seem'd to view,
Than thy green fields and sloping heights,
And waves and waters blue.