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| HERE in this narrow island glen | |
| Between the dark hill and the sea, | |
| Remote from books, remote from men, | |
| I sit; but, O, how near to thee! | |
| |
| I bend above thy broidery frame; | 5 |
| I smell thy flowers; thy voice I hear: | |
| Of Italy thou speak’st; that name | |
| Woke long thy wish,—at last thy tear! | |
| |
| Hadst thou but watched that azure deep; | |
| Those rocks with myrtles mantled o’er; | 10 |
| Misenum’s cape, yon mountains’ sweep; | |
| The smile of that Circean shore! | |
| |
| But seen that crag’s embattled crest, | |
| Whereon Colonna mourned alone, | |
| An eagle widowed in her nest,— | 15 |
| Heart strong and faithful to thine own! | |
| |
| This was not in thy fates. Thy life | |
| Lay circled in a narrower bound: | |
| Child, sister, tenderest mother, wife,— | |
| Love made that circle holy ground. | 20 |
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| Love blessed thy home,—its trees, its earth, | |
| Its stones,—that ofttimes trodden road | |
| Which linked the region of thy birth | |
| With that till death thy still abode. | |
| |
| From the loud river’s rocky beach | 25 |
| To that clear lake the woodlands shade, | |
| Love stretched his arms. In sight of each | |
| The place of thy repose is made. | |
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