George Walter Thornbury

“ And cried, “My brother, boast not so!
⁠As sunshine is to the dark night,
So are our Saxon hills to yours;
⁠For ours with silver caverns shine,
While your mere slopes of stone and clay
⁠Glow only with the peasant’s vine.” ”

“ That no one else but himself could wield.
And he bade them drag his galley forth,
And load it with trunks of the driest pine,
And store it with oak-butts knotty and ringed,
And pile it with fir-cones line on line.
So they set the gold-cloth sails all fair,
And they tied the well-worn helm due north,
And they bore him down on their brazen shields
To the barque that was destined to bear him forth. ”