Loving the language of the torrent’s roar,
Or the rough river’s wild bespated rush;
Loving the dark pine woods, amidst whose glades
The timid roe hides from the gaze of man;
Loving the great grey ocean’s varying face,
Now calm, now rugged, rising into storm,
Anon so peaceful, so serene, and still,
When passion’s fury sinks beneath the wave.
Maremna sleeps
Amidst the scenes that rear’d her early years