The Cliffs of Old Tynemouth
Oh! the Cliffs of Old Tynemouth they’re wild & they’re sweet,
And dear are the waters that roll at their feet;
And the old ruined Abbey, it ne’er shall depart;
Tis the star of my fancy, the home of my heart.
Oh! ’twas there that my childhood fled cheerful and gay,
There I loitered the morning of boyhood away,
And now as I wander the old beach alone,
The waves seem to whisper the names that are gone.
Twas there with my Alice I walked hand-in-hand,
While the wild waves in moonlight leapt o’er the bright sand;
And sweet were the echoes of the dark Cliffs above,
But oh! sweeter her voice as she murmured her love.
On thy waters, Old Tynemouth, throng seamen as brave
As e’er cheer’d in the battle, or conquer’d the wave;
And for sweet pretty maidens, seek England around,
Near the Cliffs of Old Tynemouth the fairest are found.
Other lands may be fairer, but nought can be seen,
Like the shore where our first love and boyhood have been;
Oh! give me the Cliffs and the wild roaring sea
The Cliffs of old Tynemouth for ever for me.
by David Ross Lietch (1843)
No air-built castles, and no fairy bowers,
But thou, fair Tynemouth, and thy well-known towers,
Now bid th’ historic muse explore the maze
Of long past years, and tales of other days.
Pride of Northumbria!—from thy crowded port,
Where Europe’s brave commercial sons resort,
Her boasted mines send forth their sable stores,
To buy the varied wealth of distant shores.
Here the tall lighthouse, bold in spiral height,
Glads with its welcome beam the seaman’s sight.
Here, too, the firm redoubt, the rampart’s length,
The death-fraught cannon, and the bastion’s strength,
Hang frowning o’er the briny deep below,
To guard the coast against th’ invading foe.
Here health salubrious spreads her balmy wings,
And woos the sufferer to her saline springs;
And, here the antiquarian strays around
The ruin’d abbey, and its sacred ground.
Jane Harvey
From ‘The Castle of Tynemouth. A Tale’ (1806)
Photograph: Lee Stoneman
Photograph: Lee Stoneman
No air-built castles, and no fairy bowers,
But thou, fair Tynemouth, and thy well-known towers,
Now bid th’ historic muse explore the maze
Of long past years, and tales of other days.
Pride of Northumbria!—from thy crowded port,
Where Europe’s brave commercial sons resort,
Her boasted mines send forth their sable stores,
To buy the varied wealth of distant shores.
Here the tall lighthouse, bold in spiral height,
Glads with its welcome beam the seaman’s sight.
Here, too, the firm redoubt, the rampart’s length,
The death-fraught cannon, and the bastion’s strength,
Hang frowning o’er the briny deep below,
To guard the coast against th’ invading foe.
Here health salubrious spreads her balmy wings,
And woos the sufferer to her saline springs;
And, here the antiquarian strays around
The ruin’d abbey, and its sacred ground.
Jane Harvey
From ‘The Castle of Tynemouth. A Tale’ (1806)
