While proud old England sinks in chains.
The best of his ballads, to my mind, was this—the music of which I have tried to preserve, for a little old lady of seventy years, his daughter, sang it to me long ago:
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[Music
On yonder high mountain there the castle doth stand,
All decked in green ivy from the top to the strand;
Fine arches, fine porches, and the limestone so white—
’Tis a guide for the sailor in the dark stormy night.