To his bravery owes he being—
Last to quit the groaning deck—
In his fight his comrades perished—
Days he floated on the wreck.
Till this lone and lovely island,
Cheered him with refreshing bloom;
Saved him from the ravening ocean,
To a sad and lingering doom.
In a cave has he his dwelling,
High, o'erlooking wide the main,
Where he feeds in painful being,
Longings infinite and vain.
Nightly there he burns a beacon;
Often there the day he spends;
And towards his native country
Wistful gaze o'er ocean sends.
There a cross has he erected—
Near to which an altar stands,
Humble growth of feelings holy
Reared by his unaided hands.
Truly needs he prove a Christian,
Thus cut off from all his kind;
Firmest faith he needs in Heaven;
And boundless fortitude of mind.
Store he needs of endless knowledge,
His unvaried hours to cheer;
Furnished with sublime resources
For this solitude austere.
Still the isle is very lovely—
Never yet in Poet's mind,
Haunt of Peri, realm of faéry,
Was more lavishly divined.
Lovely as the Primal Garden,
In the light of Sabbath blest;
Human love alone is wanting
In this Eden of the West.
Leap from rocks the living waters:
Hang delicious fruits around:
And all birds of gorgeous plumage
Fill the air with happy sound.