Great Britain through the Ice

Methought I lived in the icy times forlorn;
And, with a fond forecasting love and pride,
I hung o'er frozen England: — 'When,' I cried,
'When will the island of our hopes be born?
When will our fields be seen, our church-bells heard?
And Avon, Doon, and Tweed break forth in song?
This blank unstoried ice be warm'd and stirr'd,
And Thames, and Clyde, and Humber roll along
To a free sea-board? airs of paradise
Instal our summer and our flowery springs,
And lift the larks, and land the nightingales?
And this wild alien unfamiliar Wales
Melt home among her harps? and vernal skies
Thaw out old Dover for the houseless kings?'