IDA.

WHERE Hudson’ s wave, o’ er silvery sands,

Winds through the hills afar,

Old Cro’ nest like a monarch stands,

Crowned with a single star:

And there, amid the billowy swells

Of rock-ribbed, cloud-capt earth,

My fair and gentle IDA dwells,

A nymph of mountain birth.

The snow-curl that the cliff receives,

The diamonds of the showers,

Spring’ s tender blossoms, buds and leaves,

The sisterhood of flowers,—

Morn’ s early beam, eve’ s balmy breeze,

Her purity define;

But IDA’ S dearer far than these

To this fond breast of mine.

My heart is on the hills. The shades

Of night are on my brow;

Ye pleasant haunts and silent glades,

My soul is with you now!

I bless the star-crowned islands where

My IDA’ S footsteps roam,—

Oh for a falcon’ s wing to bear

Me onward to my home!