Or that their souls some beauteous dream obeyed:
They know not where to look or listen,
For pools and streams of crystal glisten
Above, around,-embracing like the air
The soft-reflected trees; while everywhere
From shady nook, clear hill, and sunny glade,
The ever-varying soul of music played ;
As if, at some capricious thing's command,
Indulging every momentary mood,

With voice and instrument, a fairy band
Beneath some echoing precipice now stood,
Now on steep mountain's rocky battlement,
Or from the clouds their blended chorus sent,
With jocund din to mock the solitude.
They gaze with never-sated eyes

On lengthening lines of flowery dyes,

That through the woods, and up the mountains run:

Not richer radiance robes the Even,

When she ascends her throne in Heaven,

Beside the setting sun.

Scattering the blossomy gems away,

Like the white shower of the Ocean spray,
Across their path for ever glide or shoot
Birds of such beauty, as might lead
The soul to think that magic power decreed
Spirits to dwell therein; nor are they mute,
But each doth chant his own beloved strain,
For ever trembling on a natural tune,
The heart's emotions seeming so to suit,
That the rapt Lovers are desiring soon,
That silence never may return again.

A cheerful welcome these bright creatures sing;
And as the Lovers roam from glade to glade,
That shine with sunlight, and with music ring,
Seems but for them the enchanted island made.
So strong the influence of the fairy scene,
That soon they feel as if for many a year
In love and rapture they had lingered here,

While with the beauteous things that once have been
Long, long ago, or only in the mind

By Fancy imaged, lies their native Wales,

Its dim-seen hills, and all its streamy vales:

Sounds in their souls its rushing mountain-wind,

Like music heard in youth, remembered well,
But when or where it rose they cannot tell.
Delightful woods, and many a cloudless sky,
Are in their memory strangely floating by,
But the faint pageant slowly melts away,
And to the living earth they yield
Their willing hearts, as if revealed
In all its glory on this mystic day.

Like fire, strange flowers around them flame,
Sweet, harmless fire, breathed from some magic urn,

The silky gossamer that may not burn,

Too wildly beautiful to bear a name.
And when the Ocean sends a breeze,

To wake the music sleeping in the trees,

Trees scarce they seem to be; for many a flower,

Radiant as dew, or ruby polished bright,
Glances on every spray, that bending light
Around the stem, in variegated bows,
Appear like some awakened fountain-shower,
That with the colour of the evening glows.

And towering o'er these beauteous woods, Gigantic rocks were ever dimly seen, Breaking with solemn grey the tremulous green, And frowning far in castellated pride; While, hastening to the Ocean, hoary floods Sent up a thin and radiant mist between, Softening the beauty that it could not hide. Lo! higher still the stately Palm-trees rise, Chequering the clouds with their unbending stems, And o'er the clouds amid the dark-blue skies Lifting their rich unfading diadems.

How calm and placidly they rest

Upon the Heavens' indulgent breast,

As if their branches never breeze had known!

Light bathes them aye in glancing showers,
And Silence mid their lofty bowers

Sits on her moveless throne.

Entranced there the Lovers gaze,

Till every human fear decays,

And bliss steals slowly through their quiet souls;

Though ever lost to humankind

And all they love, they are resigned:

While with a scarce-heard murmur rolls,

Like the waves that break along the shore,
The sound of the world they must see no more.
List! Mary is the first to speak,

Her tender voice still tenderer in her bliss;
And breathing o'er her silent husband's cheek,
As from an infant's lip, a timid kiss,

Whose touch at once all lingering sorrow calms,
Says, "God to us in love hath given

A home on earth, most like to Heaven,
Our own sweet ISLE OF PALMS."

And where shall these happy lovers dwell? Shall they seek in the cliffs for some mossy cell? Some wilder haunt than ever hermit knew? Where they may shun the mid-day heat, And slumber in a safe retreat,

When evening sheds her dew;

Or shall they build a leafy nest,

Where they like birds may sport and rest,

By clustering bloom preserved from sun and rain, Upon some little radiant mound

Within reach of the freshening sound

That murmurs from the Main?

No farther need their footsteps roam :

Even where they stand, a sylvan home

Steals like a thought upon their startled sight;
For Nature's breath with playful power

Hath framed an undecaying bower,

With colours heavenly bright.

Beyond a green and level lawn,

Its porch and roof of roses dawn

Through arching trees that lend a mellowing shade.

How gleams the bower with countless dyes!

Unwearied spring fresh bloom supplies,

Still brightening where they fade.

Two noble Palms, the forest's pride,

Guarding the bower on either side,

Their straight majestic stems to heaven uprear :

There Beauty sleeps in Grandeur's arms,

And sheltered there from all alarms,

Hath nought on earth to fear.

The Dwellers in that lovely bower,

If mortal shape may breathe such blessed air,

Might gaze on it from morn till evening-hour,
Nor wish for other sight more touching fair.
Why look abroad? All things are here
Delightful to the eye and ear,

And fragrance pure as light floats all around.
But if they look-those mystic gleams,
The glory we adore in dreams,

May here in truth be found.

Fronting the bower, eternal woods,
Darkening the mountain solitudes,

With awe the soul oppress :

There dwells, with shadowy glories crowned,
Rejoicing in the gloom profound,

The Spirit of the Wilderness.

Lo! stretching inward on the right,

A winding vale eludes the sight,

But where it dies the happy soul must dream:
Oh! never sure beneath the sun,

Along such lovely banks did run

So musical a stream.

But who shall dare in thought to paint

Yon fairy waterfall?

Still moistened by the misty showers,

From fiery red, to yellow soft and faint,
Fantastic bands of fearless flowers
Sport o'er the rocky wall;

And ever, through the shrouding spray,

Whose diamonds glance as bright as they,

Float birds of graceful form, and gorgeous plumes,

Or dazzling white as snow;

While, as the passing sun illumes
The river's bed, in silent pride
Spanning the cataract roaring wide,
Unnumbered rainbows glow.

But turn around, if thou hast power
To leave a scene so fair,

And looking leftwards from the bower,
What glory meets thee there!
For lo! the heaven-encircled Sea
Outspreads his dazzling pageantry,
As if the whole creation were his own,
And the Isle, on which thy feet now stand,
In beauty rose at his command,

And for his joy alone.

Beyond his billows rolling bright,
The Spirit dares not wing her flight;
For where, upon the boundless deep,
Should she, if wearied, sink to sleep?
Back to the beauteous Isle of Palms
Glad she returns; there constant calms
The bays, that sleep like inland lakes, invest:
Delightful all;-but to your eyes,

O blessed Pair! one circlet lies
More fair than all the rest.

At evening, through that silent bay

With beating hearts ye steered your way,

Yet trusting in the guiding love of Heaven;
And there, upon your bended knees,

To the unseen Pilot of the Seas

Your speechless prayers were given.

From your bower-porch the skiff behold
That to this Eden bore

Your almost hopeless souls: how bold
It seems to lie, all danger o’er,

A speck amid the fluid gold

That burns along the shore !

Five cloudless days have, from the placid deep,

In glory risen o'er this refulgent Isle,

And still the Sun retired to rest too soon;
And each night with more gracious smile,
Guarding the lovers when they sleep,
Hath watched the holy Moon.

Through many a dim and dazzling glade,
They in their restless joy have strayed,
In many a grot reposed, and twilight cave;
Have wandered round each ocean bay,
And gazed where inland waters lay
Serene as night, and bright as day,
Untouched by wind or wave.

Happy their doom, though strange and wild,

And soon their souls are reconciled

For ever here to live, and here to die.

Why should they grieve? a constant mirth

With music fills the air and earth,

And beautifies the sky.

High on the rocks the wild-flowers shine

In beauty bathed, and joy divine :