  Hark! hear the billow swell; Bright Madeira, fare thee well, Shining mountains, azure skies, Sunniest hearts and friendliest eyes: All my soul has felt so long, Like a joyous flow of song, Sinks at vesper’s distant bell, Loved Madeira, fare thee well. Summer island, now no more Shall I move along thy shore, Where in all thy waves I caught Oracles of peaceful thought; Mid thy glittering walls and towers, Girt by vines and gay with flowers, Oft in sleep shall fancy dwell: Loved Madeira, fare thee well. Rock-built isle, whose mountains rude, Are the throne of solitude; Where from giant crag and steep I have gazed on valleys deep, From each stern aerial mass; Land of lovely peak and dell, Loved Madeira, fare thee well. Far within the cares of life, Hushed beyond the sound of strife, Where, methinks, thy spirits call From thy soothing waterfall; Oft shalt thy remembrance be Quiet strength and joy to me, Brightening mem’ry’s dusky cell, Loved Madeira, fare thee well. From the heights of time and toil, Where I stand on heavenly soil, Far around, discerning clear Many a various land and year, Most the vision seems to smile Warmed by the Hesperian isle; Round thee floats a sunny spell, While I murmur, fare thee well. Often magic lures me far Toward the East’s familiar star; Older powers with earlier sway, Chanting call me hence away; And I hear above thy foam, Trembling round the voice of home, Whispering more than tongue can tell— Yet, Madeira, fare thee well. On thee still may summer breathe, Still thy crown with blossoms wreathe; And may still, with peace divine, More of noblest life be thine: Making hearts of kindliest mould Earnest, glad, serene, and bold. So, supreme all ill to quell, God, fair island, keep thee well! John Stirling. [Image of decorative bar not available.] |
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