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View original text (without footnotes) 1 Trura church - Truro Cathedral 2 starry-gazzy pie : a fish pie made of pilchards. The fish are
cooked whole, with the heads piercing the crust as though gazing
up to the heavens.
How pleasant here at cool of day
Along the winding walks to stray,
Where ebbs and flows the murmuring main,
Whose music fills the woodbine lane,
High on the beach with shingles strewn,
As rise thy vespers, Gyllyngdune !
It is not meet to pass through life
For ever in the city's strife,
Where noise and clamour bear the sway:
Then, weary worker, come away;
Its gentle calm shall cheer thee soon,
Though thou drop tears at Gyllyngdune !
I care but little for the crowd,
Whose empty caskets rattle loud ;
Or towns o'erflowed with selfish men,
Where guilt exists in darksome den ;
Or gilded hall, or gay saloon :
No; rather give me Gyllyngdune.
How fresh the waves break on the shore !
How gently drips the boatman's oar !
How grandly the white sea-gulls ride !
How gracefully the swallows glide !
While floats the sailor's merry tune
Upon the breeze at Gyllyngdune.
And old Pendennis on his height
Looks down well-pleased on such a sight.
There stands he like a warrior bold,
Nor heeds he heat nor heeds he cold,
From burst of morn till night's dark noon,
To guard my lovely Gyllyngdune.
When last I chanced to ramble here,
The winds were still, the skies were clear;
Two lovers sat upon a seat,
With ocean shining at their feet,
Whispering their loves beneath the moon,
Which filled with silver Gyllyngdune.
Dear home of love ! sweet haunt of peace !
Here weary life's dark bickerings cease.
A sacred song is on the air
Which lulls to rest the storm of care,
And lifts the heart to heaven's high noon ;
My beautiful, my Gyllyngdune !
Will's ferret was buried this morn:
When Samuel came down from his bed,
He whisper'd, with aspect forlorn,
"O, Kitty, Will's ferret is dead."
And Kitty soon told it to Mark,
And Mark to the rest of his clan.
We sorrow'd with visages dark,
As if we were mourning a man.
"Come, Ann, let us lay her to rest,
And you must prepare us a bier :
We will heap the cold earth on her breast;"
And we wiped from our eyelids a tear.
So Ann made a coffin so small,
Of cast-off brown paper and thread:
This served for a shroud and a pall, --
False trappings, unknown to the dead.
And Samuel was sexton and clerk,
And Benjamin bearer so brave,
While Kitty, and Jacob, and Mark
Soon bore her away to the grave.
My mother was curious enow,
And so she came softly behind,
Well pleased with her children, I trow,
Who to the poor brute were so kind.
'Neath the hawthorn its grave was dug deep,
With sharp-pointed pickaxe and spade.
Lie down, little ferret, and sleep
On the couch that affection has made.