Gibraltar
SEVEN weeks of sea, and twice seven days of storm 
Upon the huge Atlantic, and once more 
We ride into still water and the calm 
Of a sweet evening, screen'd by either shore 
Of Spain and Barbary. Our toils are o'er, 
Our exile is accomplish'd. Once again 
We look on Europe, mistress as of yore 
Of the fair earth and of the hearts of men. 
   Ay, this is the famed rock which Hercules 
And Goth and Moor bequeath'd us. At this door 
England stands sentry. God! to hear the shrill 
Sweet treble of her fifes upon the breeze,