MY NATIVE BAY.
My native bay is calm and bright,
As e’er it was of yore
When, in the days of hope and love,
I stood upon its shore;
The sky is glowing, soft, and blue,
As once in youth it smiled,
When summer seas and summer skies
Where always bright and mild.
The sky—how oft hath darkness dwelt,
Since then, upon its breast;
The sea—how oft have tempests broke
Its gentle dream of rest!
So oft hath darker woe come o’er
Calm self-enjoying thought;
And passion’s storms a wilder scene
Within my bosom wrought.
Now, after years of absence, pass’d
In wretchedness and pain,
I come and find those seas and skies
All calm and bright again.
The darkness and the storm from both
Have trackless pass’d away;
And gentle as in youth, once more
Thou seem’st, my native bay!
Oh, that, like thee, when toil is o’er,
And all my griefs are past,
This ravaged bosom might subside
To peace and joy at last!
And while it lay all calm like thee,
In pure unruffled sleep,
Oh, might a heaven as bright as this
Be mirror’d in its deep!
R. C.