THE SONG OF GULNARE.
I
Far from my own land, the land of my fathers,
The ship of the stranger now bears me away;
Darkly around me the ocean mist gathers,
I hear not a sound, save the dash of the spray.
Now, near me, night-watch the forecastle paces,
Striving to banish the exile's despair,
He praises the Isles that we seek, but all places
Are cheerless without the sweet song of Gulnare.
II
Oh! my own country, thy fruits and thy flowers
Would fade 'neath the islander's temperate sky,
Let me return to the orange-tree bowers,
And there with my own love contented I'll die.
They say that they lead me where woman possesses
A soft eye of azure, and light golden hair;
But give me the land of the long ebon tresses,
The glance of dark lustre, the song of Gulnare.
