| |
| FROM the pleasant paths I used to tread | |
| Full many a mile away, | |
| I dream of the rocks of old White Head, | |
| And the billows of Casco Bay. | |
| I sit once more on the island beach, | 5 |
| Where the waves dash glad and high, | |
| And listen again their mystic speech, | |
| As the murmurous ranks go by; | |
| While, lying here on my tiresome bed, | |
| I cheat the dreary day | 10 |
| By fondly picturing old White Head | |
| And the waters of Casco Bay. | |
| |
| Beyond it the laden ships go out, | |
| Out into the open sea, | |
| To battle with danger, and storm, and doubt, | 15 |
| And the ocean’s treachery; | |
| And the homeward vessels, which long have sped | |
| Through tempest and spray and foam, | |
| Catch first a glimmer of old White Head, | |
| And are sure they are almost home; | 20 |
| And many a homesick tear is shed | |
| By wanderers miles away, | |
| As memory whispers of old White Head, | |
| And the islands of Casco Bay. | |
| |
| Ah, rarest mosses that ever were seen | 25 |
| Grow brightly on old White Head; | |
| Orange, and russet, and emerald green | |
| Wide over the rocks are spread; | |
| And when the sweet June sunlight shines, | |
| The gossiping zephyr tells | 30 |
| Where ruby and golden columbines | |
| Are swinging their myriad bells. | |
| Ah, thus, as I lie on my tiresome bed, | |
| I cheat the dreary day | |
| By summer pictures of old White Head, | 35 |
| And the billows of Casco Bay. | |
| |
| Did I forget? It is winter now | |
| On the islands and old White Head. | |
| The snow lies deep on the cliff’s high brow, | |
| And the lichens and blooms are dead; | 40 |
| Under the ice, with sob and sigh, | |
| The prisoned billows heave, | |
| And the clouds hang dark, and the sea-bird’s cry, | |
| And the winds complain and grieve,— | |
| Yet, lying here on my tiresome bed, | 45 |
| It cheers me to think alway | |
| That the summer is shining on old White Head, | |
| And the islands of Casco Bay! | |
| |
