Classic Poem

Gleaming the ocean appear'd, the beauteous billows were smiling,
While a fresh, favouring wind, filling the sails, drove us on.
Free was my bosom from yearning; yet soon my languishing glances
Turn'd themselves backward in haste, seeking the snow-cover'd hills.
Treasures unnumber'd are southwards lying. Yet one to the northwards
Draws me resistlessly back, like the strong magnet in force.