But fierce as the snake with his eyeballs of fire, When his scales are all brilliant and glowing with ire, Are the warriors to all, save the maids of their isle, Whose law is their will, whose life is their smile; From beauty there valour and strength are not rovers, And peace reigns supreme in the green isle of lovers.
And he who has sought to set foot on its shore, In mazes perplex'd, has beheld it no more; It fleets on the vision, deluding the view, Its banks still retire as the hunters pursue; O! who in this vain world of wo shall discover, The home undisturb'd, the green isle of the lover!
THAT SILENT MOON.
BY THE RT. REV. G. W. DOANE.
That silent moon, that silent moon, Careering now through cloudless sky, Oh! who shall tell what varied scenes Have pass'd beneath her placid eye, Since first, to light this wayward earth, She walked in tranquil beauty forth.
How oft has guilt's unhallow'd hand, And superstition's senseless rite, And loud, licentious revelry, Profaned her pure and holy light: Small sympathy is hers, I ween, With sights like these, that virgin queen.
But dear to her, in summer eve, By rippling wave, or tufted grove, When hand in hand is purely clasp'd, And heart meets heart in holy love, To smile, in quiet loneliness, And hear each whisper'd vow and bless.
Dispersed along the world's wide way, When friends are far, and fond ones rove, How powerful she to wake the thought, And start the tear for those we love! Who watch, with us, at night's pale noon, And gaze upon that silent moon.
How powerful, too, to hearts that mourn, The magic of that moonlight sky, To bring again the vanish'd scenes, The happy eves of days gone by; Again to bring, 'mid bursting tears, The loved, the lost of other years.