Morn’s early beam, eve’s balmy breeze,
Her purity define;
But Ida’s dearer far than these,
To this fond breast of mine.
“My heart is on the hills. The shades
Of night are on my brow:
Ye pleasant haunts and silent glades,
My soul is with you now!
I bless the star-crowned islands where
My Ida’s footsteps roam: