 | The Lonely Isle |  |
49
SOLITUDE.
Here might the hoary sage delighted roam,And injured Virtue find a tranquil home;
Here might pure innocence enjoy true rest,
And sweet Contentment might be doubly blest;
And here, retired from life's tumultuous stage,
In peace I'd close my earthly pilgrimage,
In some Savannah, some romantic dell,
Close to the sea-side I would rear my cell,
A little hut,—but round it there would be,
The shady Orange and the Tamarind tree,
A spot of Plantains would my field adorn,
And spread their broad leaves to the rays of morn;
The mountain Cabbage, king of forest trees,
And lofty Cocoa would invite the breeze—
In a long arch I'd form them as they grew,
Down to the shore, a Gothic avenue;
Then all the fruits the tropics could afford,
Should deck my garden and adorn my board,
The Sapadillo and the Nectarine,
The Mammee Apple and the clustering Vine,
The Guava, Shaddock, Pine, the Prickly Pear,
And Grenadillo, I with care would rear—
50
I'd weave a simple melancholy song;
Or with some book, that drew the ways of men,
I'd tread the mazy paths of life again;
Or stray, at night, by some meandering stream,
'Neath the mild lustre of the lonely beam,
There would I muse “on deeds of other days,”
Recalling youth, and all its pleasant ways,
My thoughts would sadly on my comrades dwell,
Who softly slumber in the silent cell—
But chief, my loved One, I would think of thee,
For 'till life close thou'lt be dear to me;
Back to those days my trembling soul would rove,
When I, enraptured, gained thy virgin love,
Then all was peace, save when thy matchless charms
Raised my tranced soul to thrilling soft alarms,
When in my heart the bright flame blazed on high,
Fired with the beamy lustre of thine eye,
When from thy lips I snatched the balmy kiss,
And sunk enraptured on the lap of bliss;
I knew that bliss was lasting and secure,
Thy mind was noble, and thy love was pure—
Thou'rt now an Angel in the realms above.
Say, wilt thou watch thy first, thy only Love?
Say, wouldst thou, lovely pattern of all good,
Be nigh thy Lover in his Solitude?
In every sound, in every leaf that fell,
In every gale that murmured thro' my cell,
In each soft echo floating on the air,
I'd start, and think my Guardian Angel there—
51
Till midnight wooed me to a calm repose.
Thus would I pass my pilgrimage away,
Till tottering age proclaimed life's closing day,
In peace with God, all tranquil, calm within,
With joy I'd view my evening setting in;
On my hard bed I would resign my breath,
And sink, with pleasure, in the arms of death.
| The Lonely Isle | |