Land, Ho!

I know tis but a loom of land,
Yet is it land, and so I will rejoice,
I know I cannot hear His voice
Upon the shore, nor see Him stand;
Yet is it land, ho! land.

The land! the land! the lovely land!
Far off, dost say? Far off, ah, blessèd home!
Farewell! farewell! thou salt sea-foam!
Ah, keel upon the silver sand,
Land, ho! land.

You cannot see the land, my land,
You cannot see, and yet the land is there,
My land, my land, through murky air,
I did not say twas close at hand,
But, land, ho! land.

Dost hear the bells of my sweet land,
Dost hear the kine, dost hear the merry birds?
No voice, tis true, no spoken words,
No tongue that thou mayst understand,
Yet is it land, ho! land.

Its clad in purple mist, my land,
In regal robe it is apparellèd,
A crown is set upon its head,
And on its breast a golden band,
Land, ho! land.

Dost wonder that I long for land?
My land is not a land as others are,
Upon its crest there beams a star,
And lilies grow upon the strand,
Land, ho! land.

Give me the helm! there is the land!
Ha! lusty mariners, she takes the breeze!
And what my spirit sees it sees,
Leap, bark, as leaps the thunderbrand,
Land, ho! land.

Thomas Edward Brown

Thomas Edward Brown was a Manx poet, scholar, and teacher known primarily for his humorous and satirical dialect poems. Born on May 5, 1830, in the Isle of Man, Brown's poetry often depicted rural Manx life, blending humor with a keen eye for detail. He spent a significant part of his career as a teacher and headmaster in England, which influenced his literary work. Brown's best-known collection, 'Fo'c's'le Yarns,' published in 1881, cemented his reputation as a significant literary figure in Manx culture. He passed away on October 29, 1897.

Thomas Edward Brown

Disguises

Thomas Edward Brown, Simple Poetry

An Oxford Idyll

Thomas Edward Brown, Simple Poetry

I Bended Unto Me A Bough Of May

Thomas Edward Brown, Simple Poetry

Specula

Thomas Edward Brown, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

My Land.

I.

She is a rich and rare land;
Oh! she's a fresh and fair land;
She is a dear and rare land--
This native land of mine.


II.

No men than her's are braver--
Her women's hearts ne'er waver;
I'd freely die to save her,
And think my lot divine.


III.

She's not a dull or cold land;
No! she's a warm and bold land;
Oh! she's a true and old land--
This native land of mine.


IV.

Could beauty ever guard her,
And virtue still reward her,
No foe would cross her border--
No friend within it pine!


V.

Oh! she's a fresh and fair land;
Oh! she's a true and rare land;
Yes! she's a rare and fair land--
This native land of mine.

Thomas Osborne Davis

Land-Ho!

UP, UP WITH THE SIGNAL!--The land is in sight!
We'll be happy, if never again, boys, to-night!
The cold cheerless ocean in safety we've passed,
And the warm genial earth glads our vision at last.
In the land of the stranger true hearts we shall find,
To soothe us in absence of those left behind.
Land!--land-ho!--All hearts glow with joy at the sight!
We'll be happy, if never again, boys, to-night!

THE SIGNAL IS WAVING!--Till morn we'll remain,
Then part in the hope to meet one day again!
Round the hearth-stone of home in the land of our birth,
The holiest spot on the face of the earth!
Dear country! our thoughts are as constant to thee
As the steel to the star, or the stream to the sea.
Ho!--land-ho!--We near it!--We bound at the sight!
Then be happy, if neve...

George Pope Morris

Know'st Thou The Land?

    Know'st thou the land where the pious and bold
    Beared Christianity's emblem of old,
    And civilization's beneficent reign
    Extended o'er anarchy's savage domain?
    The land of the dauntless explorers who prest
    Upstream, through the wilderness, into the West?
    Know'st thou the land of the soldier and knight,
    The land of adventure and toil and delight?
                Know'st thou the land?
                Know'st thou the land?
    'Tis the land of my home, my beloved native land.

    Know'st thou the land where the Briton and Gaul,
    In courage and prowess supreme over all,
    Contending for lordship and vying for place,
    Collided and locked in a mighty embrace
    So bravely that fame has awarded the palm
    Of deathless...

W. M. MacKeracher

My Father-Land

Where is the minstrel's Father-land?
Where the sparks of noble spirits flew,
Where flowery wreaths for beauty grew,
Where strong hearts glowed so glad and true
For all things sacred, good and grand:
There was my Father-land.

How named the minstrel's Father-land?
O'er slaughtered son 'neath tyrants' yokes,
She weepeth now and foreign strokes;
They called her once the Land of Oaks
Land of the Free the German Land:
Thus was called my Father-land.
Why weeps the minstrel's Father-land?
Because while tyrant's tempest hailed
The people's chosen princes quailed,
And all their sacred pledges failed;
Because she could no ear command,
Alas must weep my Father-land.

Whom calls the minstrel's Father-land?
She calls on heaven with wild alarm
...

Hanford Lennox Gordon

Iceland First Seen

Lo from our loitering ship
a new land at last to be seen;
Toothed rocks down the side of the firth
on the east guard a weary wide lea,
And black slope the hill-sides above,
striped adown with their desolate green:
And a peak rises up on the west
from the meeting of cloud and of sea,
Foursquare from base unto point
like the building of Gods that have been,
The last of that waste of the mountains
all cloud-wreathed and snow-flecked and grey,
And bright with the dawn that began
just now at the ending of day.

Ah! what came we forth for to see
that our hearts are so hot with desire?
Is it enough for our rest,
the sight of this desolate strand,
And the mountain-waste voiceless as death
but for winds that may sleep not nor tire?
Why do we lo...

William Morris

A Riverina Road

Now while so many turn with love and longing
To wan lands lying in the grey North Sea,
To thee we turn, hearts, memries, all belonging,
Dear land of ours, to thee.

West, ever west, with the strong sunshine marching
Beyond the mountains, far from this soft coast,
Until we almost see the great plains arching,
In endless mirage lost.

A land of camps where seldom is sojourning,
Where men like the dim fathers of our race
Halt for a time, and next day, unreturning,
Fare ever on apace.

Last night how many a leaping blaze affrighted
The wailing birds of passage in their file:
And dawn sees ashes dead and embers whited
Where men had dwelt awhile.

The sun may burn, the mirage shift and vanish
And fade and glare by turns along the sky;
...

Thomas Heney