[From Mona's Isle, 1844]

MY NATIVE ISLE.

My dear loved Isle ! thy rocky shores
Still linger on my view,
Though twenty years have told their tale
Since last I sigh’d adieu
Unto thy heather~mantled hills,
Where stray’d I when a child,
And chased the partridge ‘mongst the heath,
Or pluck’d the flowers wild.

Thy vast gigantic Snaafield’s height,
Which in thy centre stands,
Whose towering rugged barren crest
One general view commands
Of England’s northern, western coast,
And Scotland’s southern Mull,
While old Beaumaris’ head in Wales
Displays its form in full;

Vast Arran too, in Erin’s isle,
Amid the haze is seen,
While rolls St. George’s Channel-flood
In foaming waves between—
Thy snow-capt hills I still behold
In memory’s early shade,
And all the peaceful- rural joys
That ‘mongst thy rocks pervade:

All—all thy charms across me steal,
And twine around my heart,
And oft a momentary bliss
‘Mongst cares of life impart—
My dear loved isle, thy rocky shores
Still linger on my view,
Though twenty years have told their tale
Since last I sigh’d adieu!