A SONG OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND. COME take our boy, and we will go Before our cabin door; The winds shall bring us, as they blow, And I will sing him, as he lies, Songs that were made of yore: I'll sing, in his delighted ear, The island lays thou lov'st to hear. And thou, while stammering I repeat, Thy country's tongue shalt teach; 'Tis not so soft, but far more sweet Upon Tahete's beach, Thou cam'st to woo me to be thine, I knew thy meaning-thou didst praise A SONG OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND. Ah! well for me they won thy gaze,- But thine were fairer yet! I'm glad to see my infant wear Thy soft blue eyes and sunny hair, And when my sight is met By his white brow and blooming cheek, Come talk of Europe's maids with me, Whose necks and cheeks, they tell, Outshine the beauty of the sea, White foam and crimson shell. I'll shape like theirs my simple dress, A sight to please thee well: Come, for the low sunlight calls, We lose the pleasant hours; 'Tis lovelier than these cottage walls, And I will learn of thee a prayer, To Him who gave a home so fair, A lot so blest as ours The God who made, for thee and me, This sweet lone isle amid the sea. 141 THE SKIES. Ay! gloriously thou standest there, That, swelling wide o'er earth and air, With thy bright vault, and sapphire wall, Far, far below thee, tall old trees Arise, and piles built up of old, The eagle soars his utmost height, Thou hast thy frowns-with thee on high The storm has made his airy seat, Beyond that soft blue curtain lie His stores of hail and sleet. Thence the consuming lightnings break, There the strong hurricanes awake. THE SKIES. 143 Yet art thou prodigal of smiles Smiles, sweeter than thy frowns are stern: A shout at thy return. The glory that comes down from thee, The sun, the gorgeous sun is thine, The pomp that brings and shuts the day, Thence look the thoughtful stars, and there The meek moon walks the silent air. The sunny Italy may boast The beauteous tints that flush her skies, And lovely, round the Grecian coast, May thy blue pillars rise. I only know how fair they stand And they are fair—a charm is theirs, That earth, the proud green earth, has not- That haunt her sweetest spot. And read of Heaven's eternal year. |