| |
| THOUGH I have forsaken long | |
| Fairy land of tuneful song, | |
| Though my lips forget to tell | |
| Thoughts they once could utter well, | |
| How can I, with heart and tongue, | 5 |
| See unloved, or love unsung, | |
| Scenes like those that rise before | |
| The enchanted eye in sweet Glandore? | |
| |
| Though a high and holy call | |
| Claims my soul and senses all, | 10 |
| Saints might sing a type like this | |
| Of their own bright realms of bliss; | |
| Man may tell in strains of love, | |
| O, how fair the world above, | |
| When such beauty beameth o’er | 15 |
| The heaven below of sweet Glandore! | |
| |
| Cloudless sky and sparkling sea, | |
| Cliff and shore and forest tree, | |
| Glen and stream and mountain blue, | |
| Burst at once upon the view; | 20 |
| The gay, the beautiful, the grand, | |
| Blending over wave and land, | |
| Till the eye can ask no more | |
| Than it hath in sweet Glandore. | |
| |
| But the sunshine on the sea, | 25 |
| And the emerald of the lea, | |
| And the ever smiling skies | |
| Charm not heart or soul or eyes, | |
| Like the grasp of friendship’s hand, | |
| Like the welcome warm and bland, | 30 |
| As the sunlight gleaming o’er | |
| The happy homes of sweet Glandore. | |
| |
| For the loveliest scenes that e’er | |
| Smiled of heaven the image fair, | |
| Like the beautiful in death, | 35 |
| Have nor soul nor voice nor breath; | |
| O, ’t is but the kindly heart | |
| Can to them true life impart. | |
| Tree and flower, and sea and shore, | |
| Thus live and breathe in sweet Glandore. | 40 |
| |
| Time may chill and bow and bind | |
| Glowing heart and chainless mind; | |
| They droop,—the flowers of fancy, youth, | |
| Round the ripening fruits of truth; | |
| Yet I feel, while here I stray, | 45 |
| Dawn again youth’s sunny day; | |
| Fancy, with her radiant store, | |
| Comes again in sweet Glandore. | |
| |
| Lovely region of Glandore! | |
| Friends beloved forevermore! | 50 |
| Mid the tranquil bliss I feel | |
| One sad thought begins to steal,— | |
| Soon must come the parting day, | |
| And my steps no more will stray, | |
| And my voice be heard no more | 55 |
| Among the scenes of sweet Glandore! | |
| |
