The Happy Isle

There was a light upon the stream,
Just one pale and silent beam
From the moon's departing car,
From the setting morning star,
Like Hope asking timidly
Whether it must live or die;
But that twilight pause is past,
Crimson hues are colouring fast,
All the eastern clouds that fly,
Banners spread triumphantly.
The moon is but a speck of white,
The sun has looked away her light;
Farewell, Night, thy shadowy gleams,
Dewy flowers, gentle dreams!
Be thy starry pinions furled,
Day has blushed upon the world.
Never day-beam hath shone o'er
Lovelier or wilder shore!
Half was land, and half was sea
Where the eye could only see
The blue sky for boundary.
From the green woods sounds are ringing,
For the wakened birds are singing
To the blossoms where they slept,
Thanks for the sweet watch they kept.
Here stand tall and stately trees;
Others, that the slightest breeze
Bows to earth, and from their bloom
Shakes and rifles the perfume:
Like woman, feeble but to bless,
Sweetest in weak loveliness!
Music is upon the air,
Azure wings are waving there;
Music is on yonder hill,
A low song from its bright rill,
Where the water lilies float,
And the Indian Cupid's boat,
The red lotus; while above
Hang the Grecian flowers of love,
Roses—leading soft and bright,
Lives, half perfume and half light;
In their leaves the honey bee
Lulled to sleep voluptuously.
There are shades, which the red sun
Never yet has looked upon,
Where the moon has but the power
Of a cool and twilight hour.
By the sea are sparry caves,
Where the music of the waves
Never ceases, and the walls
Are hung with the coronals
Left by Sea-maids, when they wring
Pearls which in their wet hair cling.
’Tis a land of fruit and flowers,
Silver waters, sunny hours;
Human foot has never prest
Its so sweet and silent rest.
But a bark is on the sea,
And those in that bark will be
Soon upon the island shore,
And its loneliness is o'er!
Oh, if any dare intrude
On the lovely solitude;
If there be that need not fear
Breaking the sweet quiet here;
If there should be those, for whom
Leaves expand and flowers bloom,
Birds breathe song,—oh, if there be,
Surely, Love, it is for thee!
Lover's step would softly press
Flowers with its light caress;
Lover's words would have a tone
With each song in unison;
Lover's smiles would be as fair
As the sunniest day-beam there;
And no roses would be sweet
As the sighs when lovers meet.
The slight bark came o'er the sea,
Two leant in it mournfully:
One who left her convent cell
With the youth she loved so well,
One who left his native land
For the sake of that dear hand.
Shine and storm they had sailed through—
What is there love dare not do?
Her arm round his neck was thrown,
His was round her like a zone,
Guarding with such anxious fear
All it had in life most dear.
Pale her cheek, and the sea spray
Dashed upon it, as she lay
Pillowed on her lover's arm;
But her lip still kept the charm
(Fondly raised to his the while)
Of its own peculiar smile,
As with him she had no fear
Of the rushing waters near;
And the youth's dark flashing eye
Answered her's so tenderly,
So wildly, warmly, passionate,
As she only were his fate. - - -
But Hope rises from her grave,
There is land upon the wave:
What are toils or perils past?
Reached is the bright isle at last,
Free from care or earthly thrall,
For love's own sweet festival!