[From Mona's Isle, 1844]
REMOTE and unfriended on lifes troubled ocean,
The lone bard of Mannin in sorrow reclines,
And midst the loud tumult of foreign commotion,
Oer the harp at his lonely condition repines,
And sighs for the joys of his own native island,
And Coma the seat of his forefathers race,
Whose lowland green meadows, and heather-clad highland,
Nor time, nor affliction, can ever efface
From the memry of him whose heart still grows fonder
As the years of his exile reluctantly roll,
For absence but seems to imprint them the stronger
With time-baffling traces on memorys scroll.
Ah, Mannin ! dear Mannin ! how can I neglect thee?
My unroaming heart closely clings to thy shore,
And while it yet throbs I shall never forget thee,
Tho I should behold thee, my Mannin, no more.
As clings the young infant, with fondling caresses,
Unto the glad mother to gaze on her smile
So does my fond heart, midst the worlds sad distresses,
Cling close to the rocks of my dear native isle!
As pines the wild hart, on Syrias parchd
The murmuring streamlets clear waters to see
Or the green myrtle groves that shade the cool fountains
So pine I in absence, my Mannin, for thee!