Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 40 1834.pdf/23



Oh! tell me not the woods are fair, Now Spring is on her way;— Well, well I know how lightly there, In joy, the young leaves play; How sweet, on winds of morn or eve, The violet's breath may be;— Yet ask me, woo me not to leave My lone Rock by the Sea.

The wild wave's thunder on the shore, The curlew's restless cries, Are to my watching heart more dear Than all earth's melodies. Come back, my ocean rover, come! There's but one place for me Till I can greet thy swift sail home— My lone Rock by the Sea!