Oh , tell me not of Eastern groves,
With palm-tree and banana,
Give me a cot, and let me dwell
In the green isle of Canna.

Though bright the sun shines in the West
On Prairie and Savannah,
More soft his smiles fall, and more sweet
Upon the braes of Canna.

Oh, were I sought by Eastern King
To be his loved Sultana,
I'd rather list thy winds and waves,
And rest in thee, fair Canna.

With one loved friend, whose smile would be
To me like daily manna,
I'd gladly live and calmly die
In thee, my bonnie Canna.

I would not in the moated Grange
E'er wail like Mariana;
I'd drink the sunshine of the heart,
And happy be in Canna.

The wines of France we ne'er would seek,
Nor weeds from fair Havanna,
Contented with the homely fair
And balmy air of Canna.

Though Syria's haughty chief might praise
His Pharpar and Abana,
I'd rather bathe in the blue waves
That kiss thy shores, fair Canna.

And sweeter than the sweetest songs
On harp played or piano,
The voices 'mong thy terraced braes
That waken day, green Canna.

Oh, I have been in all the lands
From Russia tOhispania,
And thou art gem of all I've seen,
Thou sunny, breezy Canna.

Farewell, farewell, thou happy isle,
Abide in thee I maunna;
But smiling years, with plenty crowned,
Be aye thy dower, O Canna.

May day's high king grant thee his beams;
And silver-bowed Diana
Give summer dews in crystal showers,
To steep thy flowrets, Canna.

In wintry mists, though winds may rave,
The storm king's wild Hosanna;
His songs to thee be soft and low,
Pearl of the ocean, Canna!