193
LINES FOR MUSIC.
ROUGH distant lands I've wandered far,And basked 'neath sunny skies;
I've revelled in the joyous breeze,
Where Alpine mountains rise:
But never throbbed my heart so high,
With hope and gladness then,
As now, when o'er the waves I see
Those snow-white cliffs again.
Talk not of balmy southern skies,
Bright though their hues may be;
For warm glad hearts and beaming eyes
Are worth them all to me:
And such I know await me now,
Across that dark blue main,—
Oh, for a bird's swift wing to reach
Those snow-white cliffs again!
Bright though their hues may be;
For warm glad hearts and beaming eyes
Are worth them all to me:
And such I know await me now,
Across that dark blue main,—
Oh, for a bird's swift wing to reach
Those snow-white cliffs again!
For though all wild with youth and joy,
I've loved afar to roam,
Yet oft in dreams those pleading eyes
Have gently lured me home;
And now at last, my heart beats high
With rapture almost pain,
As o'er the waves I bound, to reach
Those snow-white cliffs again.
I've loved afar to roam,
Yet oft in dreams those pleading eyes
Have gently lured me home;
And now at last, my heart beats high
With rapture almost pain,
As o'er the waves I bound, to reach
Those snow-white cliffs again.
E.
February 26, 1847.
