AN isle with rugged, rock-bound shore...

AN isle with rugged, rock-bound shore Along our glittering pathway lay— A lonely isle, whose bare coast bore No trace of gentle spring, that day.

A cot upon a brown hill there, A path that to a lighthouse led; These simple scenes, a picture fair With pleasing dreams, our fancy fed,

We seemed to see that gleaming ray Pierce far away the midnight gloom, In fancy too across the bay We heard the fog-horn's warning tone

Wake echoes from the cliffs so bare While mariner, with listening ear The warning heard, and steered with care His ship past rocks that frowned near.