Alexander B Meek Poems >>
Land Of The South

I
                        LAND of the South! – imperial land! –
                        How proud thy mountains rise!
                        How sweet thy scenes on every hand!
                        How fair thy covering skies!
                        But not for this – oh, not for these – 
                        I love thy fields to roam;
                        Thou hast a dearer spell to me, –
                        Thou art my native home!

II
                        Thy rivers roll their liquid wealth,
                        Unequaled to the sea; 
                        Thy hills and valleys bloom with health,
                        And green with verdure be!
                        But not for thy proud ocean streams,
                        Not for thy azure dome,
                        Sweet, sunny South, I cling to thee, – 
                        Thou art my native home!

III
                        I’ve stood beneath Italia’s clime,
                        Beloved of tale and song,
                        On Helvyn’s hills, proud and sublime,
                        Where nature’s wonders throng; 
                        By Tempe’s classic sunlit streams,
                        Where Gods, of old, did roam, –
                        But ne’er have found so fair a land
                        As thou, my native home!

IV
                        And thou hast prouder glories, too, 
                        Than nature ever gave;
                        Peace sheds o’er thee her genial dew,
                        And Freedom’s pinions wave;
                        Fair Science flings her pearls around,
                        Religion lifts her dome, – 
                        These, these endear thee to my heart,
                        My own, loved native home!

V
                        And “Heaven’s best gift to man” is thine –
                        God bless thy rosy girls!
                        Like sylvan flowers they sweetly shine, 
                        Their hearts are pure as pearls!
                        And grace and goodness circle them,
                        Where’er their footsteps roam;
                        How can I then, whilst loving them,
                        Not love my native home? 

VI
                        Land of the South! – imperial land! –
                        Then here ‘s a health to thee:
                        Long as thy mountain barriers stand,
                        May’st thou be blest and free!
                        May dark dissension’s banner ne’er 
                        Wave o’er thy fertile loam!
                        But should it come, there’s one will die
                        To save his native home!
Alexander Balfour

(Alexander B Meek)

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