Classic Poem

Hail to thee, and fare-thee-well!
Unstable, cold as sleet,
Broken is the childish spell
That held me at your feet.

I know now how the land beguiles,
How cunning is the sea;
It was the magic of the isles
Alone enchanted me.

The birken trees, with sly intent,
Waved round your walk their grace,
Majestic mountains o'er you lean't,
Transfiguring your face;

Perfumes that from the moor arise,
I thought came from your hair,
It was the sea looked in your eyes,
And mirrored blueness there.

That voice so sweet on heathy bens
Which now my heart recalls—
Naught but the glamour of the glens
Sounding with water-falls!

Maternal nature's petted child,
Tricked out to dupe and please,
All false with fascination wild,
Lent by the Hebrides!

Those evening raptures I confessed,
Contemplating your mind,
Were but the influence of the mist,
The star-shine and the wind.

Farewell! the bagpipe's battle air
Completes my wakening;
It calls me from these isles to where
A truer love is beckoning.

There is no witchery for me
In the far land of the stranger,
And steadfastness must ever be
In the bold true eyes of danger!