Ah! if from this dreary vale
Where the fog banks ever lie,
To escape I could prevail
Who would be so glad as I?
Yonder hills rejoice my sight,
Ever young and ever green;
Had I wings to aid my flight,
Soon were leapt the space between.

Harmonies entrance mine ear,
Tones of sweet celestial calm;
And the gentle zephyrs bear
Odours of enchanting balm.
Fruits I see with golden sheen
Peeping through their leafy veil;
Never have those flowers been
Ravaged by the wintry gale.

Happy those who dwell above
There in everlasting light;
Healing must the breezes prove
Circling o'er yon airy height.
But the torrent bids me shrink,
Whose forbidding waters roll
Boiling to their very brink,
Haunting my unhappy soul.

I see a bark upon the tide,
But the boatman, where is he?
Never heed—in Heaven confide,
Who will fill the sails for thee.
Faith thou needest, and must dare,
Or the gods withhold their hand.
Nought but miracle can bear
Man into the unknown land.