 | Ranolf and Amohia |  |
VI.
Then to the glen that fronts the islets twainAnd to their isle itself they come—
That ever-singing isle—through all the train
Of water-birds that swarm the simmering plain,
Thick as the sower's air-scattered grain.
And then their bower of mánuka they gain
Already soothing with a sense of home.
The grateful viands follow, fountain-drest;
And then that churme monotonous, ne'er represt,
Lulls them again entranced to Love's Elysian rest.
| Ranolf and Amohia | |