Whose shores are as a harp, where billows break
In spray of music, and the breezes shake
O’er spicy seas a woof of colour and tone,
While that sweet music echoes like a moan
In the island’s heart, and sighs around the lake,
Where, watching fearfully a watchful snake,
A damsel weeps upon her emerald throne.
Life’s ocean, breaking round thy senses’ shore
Struck golden song, as from the strand of day:
For us the joy, for thee the fell foe lay—