our wet clothes, and were at last comfortably in our berths a little after midnight,—of course it was broad daylight still.[1]
- ↑ I have spoken of my worthy brother who is somewhat of a poet and somewhat of an antiquarian as well as an inveterate traveller! My readers will no doubt be glad to read the following beautiful specimen of his poetry on the Home of the Sun.
I saw thee in my native skies
Where fiercely shines thy summer ray,
I saw thee midst the palm trees rise
And sink in Gunga far away.
I saw Aurora blushing bright
Herald thy rise at early morn,
I saw thy fiery car of light
Sink down at eve midst waving corn.
I wondered where thy home might be,
Thy place of rest at dead of night,
In some green spot, midst wood and tree,
Or in some mountain hid from sight.
I saw thee rising from the sea
And dip into the sea again,
I wondered if your home would be
Within the bosom of the main.
I followed thee from clime to clime,
From fiery tropic to the pole,
And long I watched thy course sublime
From mountains to where billows roll.
I watched thee o'er Himalay rise,
O'er snow-capped peak and dark defile,
I saw thee in the groves of spice,
Embosomed in green Ceylon isle.
And o'er Arabian hills of sand
I saw thee shoot thy fiery ray,
And in the ancient Pharoh's land
I hailed thee, radiant god of day!
Long did I seek, long did I roam—
Alas! I sought and roamed in vain—
I could not find, O Sun! thy home
In the blue sky or earth or main.
