And, oh, the splendour of the sea,—
The blue belt glimmering soft and far,
Through many a tumbled rock and tree
Strewn ’neath the overhanging scar!
’Tis twenty years and more, since here,
As man and wife we sought this Isle,
Dear to us both, O wife most dear,
And we can greet it with a smile.
Not now alone we come once more,
But bringing young ones of our brood—
One boy (Salopian), and four
Girls, blooming into maidenhood.
And I had late begun to fret
And sicken at the sordid town—
The crime, the guilt, and, loathlier yet,
The helpless, hopeless sinking down;
The want, the misery, the woe,
The stubborn heart which will not turn;
The tears which will or will not flow;
The shame which does or does not burn.
And Winter’s frosts had proved unkind,
With darkest gloom and deadliest cold;
A time which will be brought to mind,
And talked of, when our boys are old.
And thus the contrast seemed to wake
New vigour in the heart and brain;
Sea, land, and sky conspired to make
The jaded spirit young again;
Or hopes for growing girl or boy,
Or thankfulness for things that be,
Or sweet content in wedded joy,
Set all the world to harmony.
And so I know not if it be
That there are causes one or many,
But this year’s Spring still seems to me
More exquisite than any.