A DREAM OF THE LONELY ISLE.

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BY MRS. M. ST. LEON LOUD.

———

There is an isle in the far south sea,

Sunny and bright as an isle can be;

Sweet is the sound of the ocean wave,

As its sparkling waters the green shores lave;

And from the shell that upon the strand

Lies half buried in golden sand—

A thrilling tone through the still air rings,

Like music trembling on fairy strings.

Flowers like those which the Peris find

In the bowers of their paradise, and bind

In the flowing tresses, are blooming there,

And gay birds glance through the scented air.

Gems and pearls are strew’d on the earth

Untouch’d—there are none to know their worth;

And that fair island death comes not nigh:

Why should he come?—there are none to die.

My heart had grown, like the Misanthrope’s,

Cold and dead to all human hopes;

Fame and fortune alike had proved

Baseless dreams, and the friends I loved

Vanish’d away, like the flowers that fade

In the deadly blight of the Upas shade.

I long’d upon that green isle to be,

Far away o’er the sounding sea;

Where no human voice, with its words of pain,

Could ever fall on my ear again.

Life seem’d a desert waste to me,

And I sought in slumber from care to flee.

Away, away, o’er the waters blue,

Light as a sea-bird the vessel flew.

Deep ocean furrows her timbers plow,

As the waves are parted before her prow;

And the foaming billows close o’er her path,

Hissing and roaring, as if in wrath.

But swiftly onward, through foam and spray,

To the lonely island she steers her way.

The heavens above wore their brightest smile,

As the bark was moor’d by that fairy isle;

The sails were furl’d, the voyage was o’er:

I should buffet the waves of the world no more.

I look’d to the ocean—the bark was gone,

And I stood on that beautiful isle, alone.

My wish was granted, and I was blest;

My spirit revell’d in perfect rest,—

A Dead Sea calm,—even thought repos’d

Like a weary dove with its pinions closed.

Beauty was round me: bright roses hung

Their blushing wreaths o’er my head, and flung

Fragrance abroad on the gale, to me

Sweeter than odors of Araby;

Wealth was mine, for the yellow gold

Lay before me in heaps untold.

Death to that island knew not the way,

But life was mine for ever and aye,

Till Love again made my heart its throne,

And I ceased to dwell on the isle, alone.

Long did my footsteps delighted range

My peaceful home, but there came a change;

My heart grew sad, and I looked with pain

On all I had barter’d life’s ties to gain.

A chilling weight on my spirits fell,

As the low, soft wail of the ocean shell—

Or the bee’s faint hum in the flowery wood,

Was all that broke on my solitude.

Oh! then I felt, in my loneliness,

That earth had no power the heart to bless,

Unwarm’d by affection’s holy ray;

And hope was withered, as day by day

I watch’d for the bark, but in vain, in vain;

She never sought that green isle again.

I stretch’d my arms o’er the heaving sea,

And pray’d aloud, in my agony,

That Love’s pure spirit might with me dwell—

Then rose the waves with a murmuring swell,

Higher and higher, till nought was seen

Where slept in beauty that islet green.

The waters pass’d o’er me,—the spell was broke;

From the dream of the lonely isle I woke,

With a heart redeem’d from its selfish stain,

To mingle in scenes of the world again

With cheerful spirit—and rather share

The pains and sorrows which mortals bear,

Than dwell where no shade on my path is thrown,

’Mid fadeless flowers and bright gems, alone.

Philadelphia.