And, need I say, that hope referred alone
To her who in his heart had fixed her throne,
And reigned within it still, the sovereign queen.
Yet darkest visions oft would flit between
His fondest fancies, as the thought returned
That she for whom his soul still restless burned,
Would be another's now, while haply he,
Lost to her heart, would to her memory be
As the remembrance of a pleasing dream,
Vague and forgotten half, but which we deem
Worthy no waking thought. Thus years rolled by;
Hope wilder glowed and brightened in his eye.
Nor knew he why he hoped; but though despair
The Enthusiast's heart may madly grasp, and glare
Even on his soul, it may not long remain
A dweller on his breast, for hope doth reign
There as o'er its inheritance; and he
Lives in fond visions of futurity.
III.
Twelve slow and chequered years had passed.--Again
A stately vessel ploughed the pathless main,
And waves and days together glided by,
Till, as a cloud on the Enthusiast's eye,
His island home rose from the ocean's breast--
A thing of strength, of glory, and of rest--
The giant of the deep!--while on his sight
Burst the blue hills, and cliffs of dazzling white--
Stronger than death! and beautiful as strong!
Kissed by the sea, and worshipped with its song!
"Home of my fathers!" the Enthusiast cried;
"Their home--ay, and their grave!" he said and sighed.
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