The Dedication

Songs of the former men ! the lowly rhyme
Breath'd in meek numbers by our Tamar-side ;
Ye towers which rise around me, gray with time !
Ye heaving waves whereby my visions glide !
People this page with thoughts that may abide —
Beneath some living eye when I am gone,
When men shall turn the waving grass aside,
Men of strange garb perchance, and alter'd tone,
And ask whose name is worn from out that ancient stone !

What is my wish ? Not that an echoing crowd
Publish my praises on some distant strand ;
Not that the voices of those men be loud
With whom a strange and nameless man I stand ;
'Tis the fond vision that some Western hand
Will turn this page — a native lip proclaim
Him who lov'd well and long the Rocky Land.
Hills of Old Cornwall ! in your antique fame,
Oh ! that a voice unborn might blend my future name !

And Thou ! whose ear hath listen'd to my song,
Link'd to the minstrel by a holy tie :
Thou ! to whom grateful memories belong.
Of gentle heart, kind hand, and loving eye;
For Thee I weave these words — if one should sigh
O'er him who in these vallies lov'd and died ;
If a recording word be breathed hereby,
Thou shalt with him that homage still divide,
When our warm hearts be hush'd, and withering side by side.