. Lyrics on freedom, love and death . e is hot as Hades,And I must go. So please the gods, then, and the wind blows steadyAnd favoring, Monday next Fll blow the foam From off a cup,—be sure and have it ready!—With you at home ! Tybee Island, Georgia, June, 1882. 12 177 TYBEE. Lone Ultima Thule, fare thee well ! Upon thy ocean-battered shore If it should be that nevermoreIn all this life my eyes should dwell ; If it should be that neath thy shades,No more in rapture to my breast,When the red sun is in the west. These arms shall clasp thine amorous maids ; If it should be, that I shall gaze. Whe
. Lyrics on freedom, love and death . e is hot as Hades,And I must go. So please the gods, then, and the wind blows steadyAnd favoring, Monday next Fll blow the foam From off a cup,—be sure and have it ready!—With you at home ! Tybee Island, Georgia, June, 1882. 12 177 TYBEE. Lone Ultima Thule, fare thee well ! Upon thy ocean-battered shore If it should be that nevermoreIn all this life my eyes should dwell ; If it should be that neath thy shades,No more in rapture to my breast,When the red sun is in the west. These arms shall clasp thine amorous maids ; If it should be, that I shall gaze. When the broad moonbeams on it more upon thine emerald deep, I bow to Fates mysterious ways : And, leaving in the hands of Him Who threads the future through and throughThe few who stay, the faithful few, Say only, as the woods grow dim. And as the wild-voiced sea winds swell,—Say only, as I wave my handFor the last time out toward thy strand, Lone Ultima Thule—fare thee well ! Atlantic Ocean, off Tybee, June, 1882. 178. INSULA FORTUNATE Oh, for a breeze from the balmy islands,The fortunate islands and blest of the sea ! Vine-lands or pine-lands, lowlands or highlands,So they be summer lands—nought care we. Here are we thralled by the autocrat hoaryxd heartless—the hater of lily and rose— Winter, who gives us no gleam of the glory And brightness and bloom that the summer-timeknows. Here Love lies dormant or dead for a season ; Joy plumes her wing for less desolate clime ;Hope flings farewell to us, giving no reason ; Faith even goes star-ward to tarry a time. 179 IiisiiUc Fortunatcc. Paean Apollo, disdaining to linger, Calls to his lovers of song and of shine, Calls those who love him, and, pointing the fingerFair to the southward, goes over the Line. So then, of sweetness, of summer forsaken,What is the wonder that ones who are wise Sigh for the isles where forever men wakenTo scent-laden airs and to song-laden skies ? What wonder we long for a breeze from
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