Page:Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath 1831.pdf/3

Fair stream, my Tajo!—Youth, with all its glow
And pride of feeling, through my soul and frame
Again seems rushing, as these noble waves
Past their bright shores flow joyously. Sweet land,
My own, my fathers' land of sunny skies,
And orange bowers! Oh! is it not a dream
That thus I tread thy soil? Or do I wake
From a dark dream but now? Gonzalez, say,
Doth it not bring the flush of early life
Back on th' awakening spirit, thus to gaze
On the far-sweeping river, and the shades
Which in their undulating motion speak
Of gentle winds amidst bright waters born;
After the fiery skies and dark red lands
Of the lone desert? Time and toil must needs
Have changed our mien; but this, our blessed land
Hath gained but richer beauty since we bade
Her glowing shores farewell? Seems it not thus?
Thy brow is clouded!

Gonzalez. To mine eye the scene
Wears, amidst all its quiet loveliness,
A hue of desolation; and the calm,
The solitude, and silence which pervade
Earth, air, and ocean, seem belonging less
To peace than sadness! We have proudly stood
Even on this shore, beside th' Atlantic wave,
When it hath looked not thus!

Sebastian. Aye, now thy soul
Is in the past! Oh no! it looked not thus,
When the morn smiled upon our thousand sails,