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THE STRANGER ON EARTH.
Do mighty mountains old
Thy loveliness enfold?
Or deserts guard thee with their burning gloom?
As the dread flaming brand
That hung o'er Eden's land,
Shut up the pathway to that world of bloom?
Or art thou some lone isle,
Girt ever by the smile
Of waves, wherein Heaven's azure slumbering lies?
Oh! send by breeze or bird,
A sign, a leaf, a word,
A guiding flower-breath from thine own pure skies!
Yes! mournfully profound,
Within my soul, a sound
Speaks, like a shell's low murmur for the sea;
Whispering, thou radiant clime!
That but o'er Death and Time,
The Exile-Spirit can be borne to thee!
