Over the wilderness of sea
The good ship flew; and now the strand
Is reached, and like a bird set free
I enter — Fairyland!

White hawthorn glimmers on that hedge,
Star-daisies twinkle at my feet,
A skylark pours from heaven's edge
His carol clear and sweet.

There, shining woods stretch out a hand,
That vale a radiant welcome smiles,
Is this indeed my Motherland?
This heavenliest of isles?

Oft in my visions has it gleamed,
Oft fancy painted it for me;
But neither dream nor fancy seemed
As fair as what I see.

Brightest sea-jewel! Fairyland!
Is it indeed not fit and meet
That from your breast should spring a band
Of singers true and sweet?

Singers whose mighty voices chaunt
A past by deed and song impearled;
Singers whose deathless numbers haunt
Our pathways through the world:

I hear them as I stand and gaze,
And swift my wayward thoughts have run
Unto a land, lit by the blaze
Of an austerer sun;

A barren land, bescarred and burned,
Barren, and silent, ah, so long!
Had they but seen it they had turned
Its silence into song.