 | Christina |  |
Oh! it is sweet, in this disjointed age,
To 'scape awhile life's sad realities,
Where history weeps o'er the recording page
Of human crimes and human miseries!
From want, from war, th' enfranchis'd spirit flies—
How gladly flies! how mournfully returns!
Still in that Southern isle embowered lies,
Hiding 'mid palmy groves, and glistening burns,
And England's stormy skies and wilder discord spurns.
To 'scape awhile life's sad realities,
Where history weeps o'er the recording page
Of human crimes and human miseries!
186
How gladly flies! how mournfully returns!
Still in that Southern isle embowered lies,
Hiding 'mid palmy groves, and glistening burns,
And England's stormy skies and wilder discord spurns.
Still fancy lingers there; to contemplate
The lovely scene, enamor'd of her theme!
Connubial love, most blissful draught of fate,
Mix'd with no rancorous tear, or jealous dream,
Pure, unpolluted, as the crystal stream,
Perfect, as joy in Eden's happy vale;
And peace, content, and piety's mild beam,
Gild with refulgent light the verdant dale,
A softer music breathe, and load the ambient gale.
The lovely scene, enamor'd of her theme!
Connubial love, most blissful draught of fate,
Mix'd with no rancorous tear, or jealous dream,
Pure, unpolluted, as the crystal stream,
Perfect, as joy in Eden's happy vale;
And peace, content, and piety's mild beam,
Gild with refulgent light the verdant dale,
A softer music breathe, and load the ambient gale.
187
Home, wanderer, home again! The spell is past,
Which lur'd thee, Fancy, to that Southern isle;
The silent lyre from the high plantain cast,
Unvocal now, no longer would beguile
A gentle lady's tear, or critic's smile.
Fancy, why lingerest thou? Thy pleasing pain
Is all gone by; return and rest awhile;
Again perchance to wake the echoing strain
With firmer, bolder hand. Home, wanderer, home again!
Which lur'd thee, Fancy, to that Southern isle;
The silent lyre from the high plantain cast,
Unvocal now, no longer would beguile
A gentle lady's tear, or critic's smile.
Fancy, why lingerest thou? Thy pleasing pain
Is all gone by; return and rest awhile;
Again perchance to wake the echoing strain
With firmer, bolder hand. Home, wanderer, home again!
| Christina | |