[From Manx Soc vol XXI]
Thy lovely bay, thy noble pier;
Thy woodland scenes, thy waters pure and clear;
Thy breezes soft, imparting healths sweet balm,
To cheer the mind, the bodys pain to calm.
Thy lofty hills, with emerald verdure crowned,
Thy cattle feeding on the sloping ground;
Thy peaceful valley, dotted oer with sheep,
Thy own pure river flowing to the deep;
These, and a thousand charms, my heart beguile,
O how I love thee ! Douglas of the Isle.
Thy rock of refuge, too, with beacon
For hapless seamen, wreckd in perils hour;
What words can tell the thoughts within me raised,
Of bliss bestowed, as on it I have gazed?
To soothe each being who the storm outlives,
This little tower a welcome refuge gives
Where oft the home-bound skiff, in times of yore,
Hath struck upon the rock in sight of shore!
Oh, Hillary ! thy
In love hath raised this magic piece of art;
The bays chief ornament, with use combined.
It stands the beacon, too, of thy great mind!
In chaste simplicity it rears its head,
Nor heeds the spray, nor wildest storm doth dread!
Secure within its sea-girt islet rock,
Its modest walls may brave Times latest shock.
Thy scenes I still retrace, they still beguile
My heart to love thee ! Douglas of the Isle.