Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither.
Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed,-render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.
One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.
Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.