O, be ye blest for all the happiness
Which I have known in your wild loneliness.
Old sea, whose voice yet chimes upon my ear,—
Old paths, whose every winding step was dear,—
Dark rocky promontories,—echoing caves,
Worn hollow by the white feet of the waves,—
Blue lake-like waters,—legend-haunted isle,
Over ye all, bright be the summer's smile;
And gently fall the winter on your breast,
Haunts of my youth, my memory's place of rest.