Phenix Gazette

From the Saratoga Sentinel.
THE OCEAN ISLE.
AIR—O Lassie art thou sleeping yet.
Far, far away in Ocean's bed,
Where nature lies in silence dead,
An island shows its flowery head,
In midst of dark blue waves—love.
There is no sound of living thing,
No hum of insect on the wing,
No feather'd songsters there to sing,
In mid'st of dark green woods—love.
The rising Sun, the noon-tide ray,
The soften'd light of closing day,
Reflecting from the trembling spray,
Are seen by no bright eye—love.
The flowret's bloom is always new,
The lily's cup is moist with dew,
The rose's blush is warm and true,
Fair emblems of thyself—love.
At dead of night when winds take wing.
And comb the surf of ocean's swing,
They move not leaf nor any thing,
In that sequester'd isle—love.
The heavens are always clear and fair,
There's health and fragrance in the air;
The looming stars roll brightly there,
Across the "softened blue"—love.
The maiden there has nought to fear,
In mountain cave, or fountain clear,
For gallant ship does not come near,
To track the snow white sand—love.
Say maiden would'st thou be the Queen,
Of this fair isle, unknown, unseen,
And spend thy life in "love's young dream,"
And take me as thy choice—love?
Arise, my love, and let us go.
And leave the realms of grief and woe,
Here take my hand and heart's warm glow,
Off, off to our ocean isle—love.
M