And shrines itself in mental solitude,
An uncomplaining and a nameless woe.
That coldly smiles midst pleasure’s brightest ray,
As the chill glacier’s peak reflects the flush of day.
XVIII.
Such grief is theirs, who, fix’d on foreign shore,
Sigh for the spirit of their native gales,
As pines the seaman, midst the ocean’s roar,
For the green earth, with all its woods and vales.
Thus feels thy child, whose memory dwells with thee,