At Gibraltar23
I
England, I stand on thy imperial ground,
Not all a stranger; as thy bugles blow,
I feel within my blood old battles flow—
The blood whose ancient founts in thee are found,
Still surging dark against the Christian bound
Wide Islam presses; well its people know
Thy heights that watch them wandering below;
I think how Lucknow heard their gathering sound.
I turn, and meet the cruel, turbaned face.
England, ’tis sweet to be so much thy son!
I feel the conqueror in my blood and race;
Last night Trafalgar awed me, and to-day
Gibraltar wakened; hark, thy evening gun
Startles the desert over Africa!
George Edward Woodberry.
Notes
23 Taken from “North Shore Watch and Other Poems” (copyrighted 1890). By courtesy of The Macmillan Company.