Thou art rich in the spoils of the deep sounding sea, Thou art blest in thy clime, (of all climates for me,) Thou hast wealth on thy bosom, where orange-flowers blow, And thy groves with their golden-hued fruit bending low, In thy broad-leafed banana, thy fig and the lime, And grandeur and beauty, in palm-tree and vine. Thou hast wreaths on thy brow, and gay flowers ever bloom, Wafting upward and onward a deathless perfume, While round thee the sea-birds first circle, then rise, Then sink to the wave and then glance tow'rd the skies!
While their bright plumage glows 'neath the sun's burning light, And their screams echo back in a song of delight. Thou hast hearts that are noble, and doubtless are brave, Thou hast altars to bow at, for worship and praise, Thou hast light when night's curtains around thee are driven From the Cross which beams out in the far southern heaven, Yet one spot of darkness remains on thy breast, As a cloud in the depth of a calm sky at rest.
Like a queen that is crowned, or a king on his throne, In grandeur thou sittest majestic and lone, And the power of thy beauty is breathed on each gale As it sweeps o'er thy hills or descends to the vale; And homage is offered most boundless and free, Oh, Isle of the Ocean, in gladness to thee, So circled with waters, so dashed by the spray Of the waves which leap upward then stop in their way.
And lo! thou art loved by a child of the West, For the beauty and bloom of thy tropical breast, Yet dearer by far is that land where the skies Though colder bends o'er it and bleak winds arise, Where the broad chart of Nature is boldly unfurled, And a light from the free beameth out o'er the world.
Yes, dearer that land where the eagle on high Spreads his wings to the wind as he cleaves the cold sky, Where mountain, and torrent, and forest and vale, Are swept by the path of the storm-ridden gale, And each rock is an altar, each heart is a shrine, Where Freedom is worshiped in Liberty clime, And her banners float out on the breath of the gale, Bright symbols of glory which proudly we hail, And her bulwarks are reared where the heart of the brave Refused to be subject, and scorned to be slave.
There is a pathos in those azure eyes, Touching, and beautiful, and strange, fair child! When the fringed lids upturn, such radiance mild Beams out as in some brimming lakelet lies, Which undisturbed reflects the cloudless skies: No tokens glitter there of passion wild, That into ecstasy with time shall rise; But in the deep of those clear orbs are signs-- Which Poesy's prophetic eye divines-- Of woman's love, enduring, undefiled! If, like the lake at rest, through life we see Thy face reflect the heaven that in it shines, No _idol_ to thy worshipers thou'lt be, For he will worship HEAVEN, who worships _thee_.