Classic Poem

Oh ! happy lone retreat!
Where my forefathers sleep;
Though the rough surging billows beat
Against thy woody steep,

Peace dwells for ever there,
Beneath thy lonely shade;
Where those, to pensive mem'ry dear,
My earliest friends are laid.

Oh! that my weary head
Was laid with theirs at rest;
And the green turf was lightly spread
Upon this aching breast.

Gladly I'd bid adieu,
Unpitying world, to thee;
Though pleasures thy gay paths bestrew,
They give no joy to me.

Yon solitary isle,
Where the dark alders wave,
And spring's first wild flowers sweetly smile
On many a grass-grown grave—

Yon little isle alone
The dwelling of the dead,
Whose dark sequester'd alleys none
But weeping mourners tread,

Has far more charms for me,
Than pleasure's gay resorts;
Than stately mansions fair to see,
And all the pomp of courts.

There shall reproaches end,
There calumnies shall cease;
And the base treachery of a friend
No more shall wound my peace.

Oh! that the boat were come
That should convey me o'er,
To yon, my last long-wish'd for home,
Thence to return no more.