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

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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!

. 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!

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