Chapter 82 - Page 2

"The land of Love!" the old man murmured, as we neared the beach,
where innumerable shells were gently rolling in the playful surf, and
murmuring from their tuneful valves. Behind, another, and a verdant
surf played against lofty banks of leaves; where the breeze, likewise,
found its shore.

And now, emerging from beneath the trees, there came a goodly
multitude in flowing robes; palm-branches in their hands; and as they
came, they sang:--

Hail! voyagers, hail!
Whence e'er ye come, where'er ye rove,
No calmer strand,
No sweeter land,
Will e'er ye view, than the Land of Love!

Hail! voyagers, hail!
To these, our shores, soft gales invite:
The palm plumes wave,
The billows lave,
And hither point fix'd stars of light!

Hail! voyagers, hail!
Think not our groves wide brood with gloom;
In this, our isle,
Bright flowers smile:
Full urns, rose-heaped, these valleys bloom.

Hail! voyagers, hail!
Be not deceived; renounce vain things;
Ye may not find
A tranquil mind,
Though hence ye sail with swiftest wings.

Hail! voyagers, hail!
Time flies full fast; life soon is o'er;
And ye may mourn,
That hither borne,
Ye left behind our pleasant shore.