A Sidmouth Lad

Salcombe Hill and four hills more
Lie to leftward of this shore.
On the right Peak Hill arises
Ever rises, sickening, o’er.

Two score rotting years I’ve seen
Sidmouth sit those hills between:
Only Sidmouth—and twice over
Must I bide it, as I’ve been.

Then a churchyard hole for me,
By the dull voice of the sea.
Rotting, still in Sidmouth rotting,
Rotting to eternity.