FRENCHMAN, halt here awhyle nor leave this lande Where Nature a soe rockye wall doth rear, That Ariège cleaves with his impetuous hande, A countrye that in beautye hath no peer. Pilgrym, 'tis not a mountayne thou dost see But a Briareus vast whose loftye girth Doth holde the pass against his enemie, Near Spaine from France, and France from Spanysh earth. One arm in France, the other in Spaine set, As Atlas on his head he hath like weighte; Within two seas his separate feet are wet; The forests dense are locks upon his pate; The rocks his bones are, and the rivers roarynge The eternal sweat of travail downward pourynge. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MENAPHON: DORON'S JIG by ROBERT GREENE THE CALL OF THE WILD by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE ON A GREEK VASE by FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN THE VANISHERS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: THE FOURTH CANTO, OR LAST QUARTER by WILLIAM BASSE |