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.