Page:Poems Cook.djvu/114

Its waves have charm'd my dazzled eye,
Like molten silver dashing by:
Still, still, I could not love the Rhine;
The land it water'd was not mine:
I sigh'd to see the moon's mild beam.
Fall on Loch Leven's gentle stream!

I've wander'd by the placid Rhone,
When night was on her starry throne;
I've look'd upon the Tiber's tide,
And pluck'd the wild flowers by its side;
I've heard the gondolier's wild note
O'er the Lagoon's fair waters float:—
Still, still, I turn'd, with willing feet,
My native North again to greet!
Again to see the moon's mild beam
Fall on Loch Leven's gentle stream!

 

---

 

MY GRAVE.

Sweet is the ocean grave, under the azure wave,
 Where the rich coral the sea-grot illumes;
Where pearls and amber meet, decking the winding-sheet
 Making the sailor's the brightest of tombs.

Let the proud soldier rest, wrapt in his gory vest,
 Where he may happen to fall on his shield.
To sink in the glory-strife, was his first hope in life;
 Dig him his grave on the red battle-field.

Lay the one great and rich, in the strong cloister niche;
 Give him his coffin of cedar and gold;
Let the wild torchlight fall, flouting the velvet pall;
 Lock him in marble vault, darksome and cold.

98