I.
’Twas years since I had heard the name,
When, seen in print, before my eyes
The old Round Tower seemed to rise,
With silent scorn of noisy fame.
II.
Our little boat, like water-bird,
Touches the still Lake, breast to breast;
No sound disturbs the solemn rest
Save kiss of oar and whisper’d word.
III.
All Nature wears a placid smile
Of gold and blue and tender green;
And in the setting of the scene
Lies, like a gem, the Holy Isle.
IV.
Hushed is the music of the oar;
A little hand is placed in mine;
My blood runs wildly, as with wine—
We stand together on the shore.