Farewell to the Tyne

Farewell, lovely Tyne, in thy soft murmurs flowing,

Adieu to the shades of thy mouldering towers!

And sweet be the flowers on thy wild margin growing,

And sweet by the nymphs who inhabit thy bowers!

 

And there shall be ties which no distance can sever

Thou land of our fathers, the dauntless and free;

Tho’ the charms of each change smile around me, yet never

Shall the sigh be inconstant that’s hallow’d to thee.

 

Thy full orb of glory will blaze o’er each contest –

Thy sons, e’er renown’d, be the dread of each foe –

Till thy tars chill with fear in the fight or the tempest,

And the pure streams of Heddon have ceased more to flow.

 

May commerce be thine – and from Tynemouth to Stella

May thy dark dingy waters auspiciously roll –

And thy lads in the keels long be jovial and mellow,

With faces as black as the keel or the coal.

 

O Albion! of worlds thou shalt e’er be the wonder,

Thy tough wooden walls, thy protection and pride,

So long as the bolts of thy cloud-rending thunder

Are hurl’d by the lads on the banks of Tyneside.