The heavens above wore their brightest smile,
As the bark was moor’d by that fairy isle;
The sails were furl’d, the voyage was o’er:
I should buffet the waves of the world no more.
I look’d to the ocean—the bark was gone,
And I stood on that beautiful isle, alone.
My wish was granted, and I was blest;
My spirit revell’d in perfect rest,—
A Dead Sea calm,—even thought repos’d
Like a weary dove with its pinions closed.