The visions of those that sail
O'er the wave with its snow-white foam,
Are haunted with scenes of the beauteous vale
That encloses their peaceful home.

They have wander'd through groves of the west,
Illumed with the fire-flies' light;
But their native land kindles a charm in each breast,
Unwaken'd by regions more bright.

The haunts that were dear to the heart
As an exquisite dream of romance,
Strew thoughts, like sweet flow'rs, round its holiest part,
And their fancy-bound spirits entrance.

Then away with the fluttering sail!
And away with the bounding wave!
While the musical sounds of the ocean-gale
Are wafted around the brave!

* * * * *


Ray wittily observes that an obscure and prolix author may not
improperly be compared to a Cuttle-fish, since he may be said to hide
himself under his own ink.

* * * * *