Classic Poem

Lo! Albion's cliffs, in glorious light that shine,
Welcome the princess of the infant West.
'Twas nobly done, thou queen of Stuart's line,
To soothe the tremors of that stranger's breast;
And when, upon thy ladies richly dight,
She, through a flood of ebon tresses bright,
Uplifts the glances of a timid guest,
What sees she there? The greeting smiles that brought
O'er her own lofty brow its native hues of thought.