(For the Mirror.)
Oh fly with me my lady love, my island home is free,
And its flowers will bloom more sweetly still, when gazed upon by thee;
Come, lady, come, the stars are bright—in all their radiant power,
As if they gave their fairy light to guide thee to my bower.
Oh fly with me, my little bark is waiting ’neath the steep,
And the midnight breeze is fresh to waft thee o’er the stilly deep;
Though tempests blow they should not raise thy fears, nor scathe thy form,
For love would hover o’er thee still, a halo in the storm.
I’ve found for thee, my lady love, the freshest flowing springs,