Dover Cliffs

On these white cliffs, that calm above the flood
  Uprear their shadowing heads, and at their feet
  Hear not the surge that has for ages beat,
How many a lonely wanderer has stood!
And, whilst the lifted murmur met his ear,
  And o'er the distant billows the still eve
  Sailed slow, has thought of all his heart must leave
To-morrow; of the friends he loved most dear;
Of social scenes, from which he wept to part!
  Oh! if, like me, he knew how fruitless all
  The thoughts that would full fain the past recall,
Soon would he quell the risings of his heart,
And brave the wild winds and unhearing tide--
The World his country, and his GOD his guide.