Gibraltar

Seven weeks of sea, and twice seven days of storm 
Upon the huge Atlantic, and once more 
We ride into still water and the calm 
Of a sweet evening screened by either shore 
Of Spain and Barbary. Our toils are o’er,
Our exile is accomplished. Once again 
We look on Europe, mistress as of yore 
Of the fair earth and of the hearts of men. 
Ay, this is the famed rock, which Hercules 
And Goth and Moor bequeathed us. At this door
England stands sentry. God! to hear the shrill 
Sweet treble of her fifes upon the breeze, 
And at the summons of the rock gun’s roar 
To see her red coats marching from the hill.