Now, rapt in ecstasy, I, listening, gaze,
Till lost in mournful musings' wildering maze,
And feel the pensive spirit of the hour
Steal o'er my soul in all its magic power:
That gentle, soothing, melancholy sprite,
That haunts these scenes, so tranquil, fair, and bright,
These lonely sea-girt shores, and moonlight bays,
Whilst o'er the waters dance the paly rays;
That dwells unseen, albeit we feel 't is near,
And moves th' unconscious sigh and trembling tear,
And, with her potent magic, knows the art
To wake the plaintive music of the heart;
Whose rapid touch can o'er the feelings fly,
And wake the chords of sensibility.
How softly sweet is smiling Spring's advance!
Fairest and brightest in the harmonious dance,
When forth she wanders o'er her rich domains,
Clothing with beauty all the verdant plains:
Veil'd in a rosy cloud of odours sweet,
O'er hills and dales she treads with printless feet:
Beneath her steps the blushing flow'ret springs,
While Zephyrs fan her with their balmy wings:
She walks in beauty and in matchless grace,
And lights with smiles fair Nature's blooming face.
BEHOLD that godlike Form, all pale and wan!
The man of sorrows He, the God of man!
Behold that Form, in mortal flesh array'd,
O'erwhelm'd in agony, all prostrate laid
Low in the dust of sad Gethsemane!
Behold that Form, nail'd to the bloody tree,
That pallid, tranquil brow, in blood-stains dyed,
Those bleeding hands, those feet, that pierced side!
Mortals of earth, angels of light above,
Behold the wonders of redeeming love!
Hear His last prayer! O hear His dying cry!
""T is finish'd!" see Him bow His head, and die.
The conflict's o'er,- salvation's work is done,—
Death is destroy'd,-immortal glory won!
O MONA! I love thee, thou land of my birth!
Tho' long I have roam'd the world's wilderness o'er,
No spot have I found on the fair face of earth
Half so dear as thy own rocky, sea-beaten shore.
Tho' the world hath not rung with the deeds of thy fame,
Nor history's tablets thy glories have borne,
Yet gems of bright Genius, unknown as thy name,
And flowers of fair Virtue thy valleys adorn;
Where Truth and pure Piety, join'd hand in hand,—
Sweet cherubic sisters,-have made their abode,
And a fair, blooming Eden have form'd in thy land,
Where thy sons in sweet converse walk humbly with God.
O yes! I have reason to love thee, dear Isle!
For thou wert the land of my heavenly birth,
Where Mercy beam'd o'er me in sweet, sunny smile,
And raised me above the dull regions of earth;
Where first the glad tidings of joy and of truth
Delighted my heart and enlighten'd my mind,
Proclaim'd by the lips of a friend1 of my youth,-
A preacher of righteousness, gracious and kind,–
Whose friendship I shar'd in the days that are fled, When, play-mates together, we stray'd o'er thy strand With many who now are laid low with the dead,
Who then were the gayest of youth's smiling band.
Ah! little we reck'd of the briefness of life,
And little we thought of the pall and the shroud, Of the cares of the world, of its sin and its strife, Which soon the gay visions of youth would o'ercloud.
We dreamt not of pain and we dreamt not of sorrow,
But pluck'd the fair flow'rets of joy in their bloom,
Which blossom'd to-day, but to fade on the morrow,—
Like roses, when scatter'd to deck the cold tomb.
Too long by the spell of fond Fancy enchanted,
We sought for true joys where they ne'er could be found; For our hopes, in the garden of Ignorance planted,
But spring up to wither and perish around.
But at length we were led to bright Truth's blissful bowers,
Where joys, pure and deathless, adorn her abode,
And invited to pluck her ripe fruits and her flowers,
And to dwell evermore in the gardens of God.
For ever, dear Island! thy hills are before me,
In Memory's vision, all verdant and bright;
And O! as these fond recollections rush o'er me,
They fill me with pensive, but hallow'd, delight.
Then, long o'er thy fields, dearest Isle of the ocean!
May the soft dews of heaven descend from above,
And thy sons and thy daughters, in purest devotion,
Be happy in Friendship, and blessed in Love.
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