Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1837.pdf/75

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another light surrounded Than our actual sky; With the purple ocean bounded Does the island lie, Like a dream of the old world. Bare the rugged heights ascending, Bring to mind the past, When the weary voyage ending, Was the anchor cast. And the stranger sails were furled Beside the glorious island Where Ulysses was the king.

Still does fancy see the palace, With its carved gates; Where the suitors drained the chalice, Mocking at the Fates. Stern, and dark, and veiled are they. Still their silent thread entwining Of our wretched life; With their cold pale hands combining Hate, and fear, and strife. Hovers the avenging day O’er the glorious island Where Ulysses was the king.

Grant my fancy pardon, If amid these trees Still it sees the garden Of old Laertes, Where he met his glorious son. The apple boughs were drooping Beneath their rosy fruit, And the rich brown pears were stooping To the old man at their foot, While his daily task was done In the glorious island, Where Ulysses was the king