And thus, unto our mutual loss,
Whene’er I paced the sloping moss
Of green Killiney, or across
    The intervening waters,
Up Howth’s brown sides my feet would wend,
To see thy sinuous bosom bend,
Or view thine outstretch’d arms extend
    To clasp thine islet daughters;

Then would this spectre of my fear
Beside me stand—­How calm and clear
Slept underneath, the green waves, near
    The tide-worn rocks’ recesses;
Or when they woke, and leapt from land,
Like startled sea-nymphs, hand-in-hand,
Seeking the southern silver strand
    With floating emerald tresses: 

It lay o’er all, a moral mist,
Even on the hills, when evening kissed
The granite peaks to amethyst,
    I felt its fatal shadow: 
It darkened o’er the brightest rills,
It lowered upon the sunniest hills,
And hid the wing`ed song that fills
    The moorland and the meadow.

But now that I have been to view
All even Nature’s self can do,
And from Gaeta’s arch of blue
    Borne many a fond memento;
And from each fair and famous scene,
Where Beauty is, and Power hath been,
Along the golden shores between
    Misenum and Sorrento: 

I can look proudly in thy face,
Fair daughter of a hardier race,
And feel thy winning well-known grace,
    Without my old misgiving;
And as I kneel upon thy strand,
And kiss thy once unvalued hand,
Proclaim earth holds no lovelier land,
    Where life is worth the living.

TO ETHNA.

  First loved, last loved, best loved of all I’ve loved! 
  Ethna, my boyhood’s dream, my manhood’s light,
  Pure angel spirit, in whose light I’ve moved,
  Full many a year, along life’s darksome night! 
  Thou wert my star, serenely shining bright
  Beyond youth’s passing clouds and mists obscure
  Thou wert the power that kept my spirit white,
  My soul unsoiled, my heart untouched and pure. 
Thine was the light from heaven that ever must endure.

  Purest, and best, and brightest, no mishap,
  No chance, or change can break our mutual ties;
  My heart lies spread before thee like a map,
  Here roll the tides, and there the mountains rise;
  Here dangers frown and there hope’s streamlet flies,
  And golden promontories cleave the main: 
  And I have looked into thy lustrous eyes,
  And saw the thought thou couldst not all restrain,
A sweet, soft, sympathetic pity for my pain!

  Dearest, and best, I dedicate to thee,
  From this hour forth, my hopes, my dreams, my cares,
  All that I am, and all I e’er may be,
  Youth’s clustering locks, and age’s thin white hairs;
  Thou by my side, fair vision, unawares—­
  Sweet saint—­shalt guard me as with angel’s wings;
  To thee shall rise the morning’s hopeful prayers,
  The evening hymns, the thoughts that midnight brings,
The worship that like fire out of the warm heart springs.