Classic Poem

Hard by the cottage, innocent and free,
Where swayed my cradle, — near that hidden cot,
Its ripples overflowing from their grot,
Bursts forth my fountain, lost in greenery.
When the new moon was mirrored radiantly
On its clear wave in that sequestered spot,
How oft I cried, — Oh, happy is their lot
Who cross the vast expanses of the sea! —

It was God's will that I the deck should tread
And find my wish to full fruition grown
Amid the billows of the tossing sea.
God in the deeps I saw, and bowed my head;
And now, upon the sea, I dream alone
My humble, sweet and murmurous fount, of thee!