The stately Homes of England, How beautiful they stand! Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land.

The flames roll'd on--he would not go Without his father's word; That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard.

Oh, call my brother back to me! I cannot play alone: The summer comes with flower and bee,- Where is my brother gone?

The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead.

[Descriptio Britanniae] Campis late pansis collibusque amoeno situ locatis, praepollenti culturae aptis, montibus alternandis animalium pastibus maxime covenie…

None of Nature's landscapes are ugly so long as they are wild.

These are the gardens of the Desert, these The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, For which the speech of England has no name- The Prairies.