Classic Poem

Oh ! tell me not the woods are fair,
Now Spring is on her way;
Well, well I know how brightly there
In joy the young leaves play;
How sweet on winds of morn or eve
The violet's breath may be; —
Yet ask me, woo me not to leave
My lone rock by the sea.

The wild wave's thunder on the shore,
The curlew's restless cries,
Unto my watching heart are more
Than all earth's melodies.
Come back, my ocean rover! come!
There's but one place for me,
Till I can greet thy swift sail home —
My lone rock by the sea!