A LEGEND OF TEIGNMOUTH.
A story of the olden time, when hearts
Wore truer faith than now—a carved stone
Is in a little ancient church which stands
Mid yonder trees, ’tis now almost defaced;
But careful eye may trace the mould’ring lines,
And kind tradition has preserv’d the tale;
I tell it nearly in the very words
Which are the common legend.
OME few brief hours, my gallant bark,
And we shall see the shore;
My native, and my beautiful,
That I will leave no more.
And gallantly the white sails swept
On, on before the wind;
The prow dash’d through the foam and left
A sparkling line behind.
The sun look’d out through the blue sky,
A gladsome summer sun;
The white cliffs like his mirrors show
Their native land is won.
And gladly from the tall ship’s side,
Sir Francis hailed the land,
And gladly in his swiftest boat,
Row’d onward to the strand.
"I see my father’s castle walls
Look down upon the sea;
The red wine will flow there to-night,
And all for love of me.
"I left a gentle maiden there:
For all the tales they say
Of woman’s wrong and faithlessness
To him who is away;
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