Classic Poem

WRITTEN DURING A CALM, ON THE COAST OF ITAL .

'Tis moonlight o'er the beauteous sea,
 The sky is calm and still the ocean;
Our bark glides on so quietly
 That not a ripple tells her motion.

On fair Italia's silent shore
 The orb of night shines sweetly down;
But ah! it gilds not as of yore
 The land of valor and renown!

Her name is dimm'd—the light is fled
 Which glory threw around her brave,
And crouching where his fathers bled,
 The hero's son's a soulless slave!

But thou art fair, Italia, still,
 As in thy day of proudest power;
Each grove, and vale, and verdant hill,
 Blooms as in nature's natal hour.

Thou'rt like the form of one belov'd
 Ere aught proclaims the spirit fled;
No feature chang'd, no charm remov'd,
 Thou seem'st to sleep—but thou art dead!

*****

The lovely scene, the tranquil hour,
 Spread twilight softness o'er the mind;
And Memory, with her magic power,
 Recalls the home I've left behind.

O'er ocean's breast I'm doom'd to rove,
 And many a clime 'tis mine to see;
But absence cannot conquer love,
 And least of all my love for thee!

Oft, in the midnight watch, thy form
 Companion of my thoughts hath come,
And like a sunbeam on the storm,
 Shed light and gladness through the gloom;

And oft, when sleep hath seal'd mine eyes,
 On Fancy's wings I've flown to thee;
But soon such dear delusion flies,
 And I have waked far, far at sea!

The dark blue waves have been my home,
 And tempests oft have frown'd above me;
But still my heart, where'er I roam,
 Is o'er the deep, with those who love me.