Poems by James Hyslop :: :: University of Virginia Library

Where 'midst Brazilian forests dark,
Janeiro's waters run,
A Scottish minstrel left his bark
To view the setting sun.
He reach'd a woody cliff, which high
Looks far o'er land and sea;
With pensive heart, and moisten'd eye,
Thus mournfully sang he;—

Could balmiest bowers and brightest skies
Make foreign climates dear,
Or fruits and flowers of Paradise,
I might be happy here:
For, on a lovelier land than this
The sun did never shine;
But my sweet home of happiness
Lies far beyond the Line.

'Tis far away, oh! very far,
Midst northern waters blue;
Its soft and shining Polar star
I cannot follow now:

209

When 'cross the Equinoctial Line
The frigate wing'd her flight,
I sighed, and saw its ray decline
Behind the waters bright.

And yet 'tis sweet, thus far away,
In foreign lands alone,
When friends so dear of life's young day
Around thee there is none,
To walk where mango-forests spring,
And broad deep rivers flow,
The sadness of the heart to sing
In sweetest songs of woe;

To see the mountains, green with woods,
Wave darkly round the bay;
And far at sea, amidst the clouds,
The swift ships glide away,
To rise, like yon bright stars above,
In some far distant clime,
And fade again, like dreams of love,
Amidst the waves of Time.

Yon evening star, that soft and bright
Is shining on the sea,
In Scotland many a summer night
Has sweetly shone on me.
We thought not, dear one, when with me
You smil'd beneath its ray,
It e'er would make a sigh for thee
In lands so far away.

But sigh not, love, although afar
I journey on the deep;
O do not seek the greenwood bower
To wander and to weep;
But think how faithful, fond, and true
The lover of thy youth,
Who hourly sighs and thinks of you,
Far in the sunny south.

O might I with yon setting sun
But journey for a day,
As swiftly as the planets run,
'Midst clouds and stars away!

210

How soon I'd change the fiery glow
Of bright and burning climes,
To tread the hill of heath and snow
I've trod in other times!

How dear to view my native sky!
But, ah! the dream is vain;
Again a few short hours, and I
Embark upon the main.
For many a season, many a year,
I o'er the world must roam;
The winds and waves my soul to cheer,
The blue seas for my home.

Yet welcome be the tempest's ire;
I glory in its pride,
When thunders break, and sheeted fire
Is flashing on the tide!
From watery cliffs, when dashed below,
Down yawning vales of death,
With quivering mast, and foaming prow,
We proudly cut our path.