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THE GOLDEN ISLAND: ARRAN FROM AYR.
- DEEP set in distant seas it lies;
- The morning vapors float and fall,
- The noonday clouds above it rise,
- Then drop as white as virgin’s pall.
- And sometimes, when that shroud uplifts,
- The far green fields show strange and fair;
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- Mute waterfalls in sliver rifts
- Sparkle adown the hillside bare.
- But ah! mists gather, more and more;
- And though the blue sky has no tears,
- And the sea laughs with light all o’er,—
- The lovely Island disappears.
- O vanished Island of the blest!
- O dream of all things pure and high!
- Hid in deep seas, as faithful breast
- Hides loves that have but seemed to die,—
- Whether on seas dividing tossed,
- Or led through fertile lands the while,
- Better lose all things than have lost
- The memory of the morning Isle!
- For lo! when gloaming shadows glide,
- And all is calm in earth and air,
- Above the heaving of the tide
- The lonely Island rises fair;
- Its purple peaks shine, outlined grand
- And clear, as noble lives nigh done;
- While stretches bright from land to land
- The broad sea‐pathway to the sun.
- He wraps it in his glory’s blaze,
- He stoops to kiss its forehead cold;
- And, all transfigured by his rays,
- It gleams—an Isle of molten gold.
- The sun may set, the shades descend,
- Earth sleep—and yet while sleeping smile;
- But it will live unto life’s end—
- That vision of the Golden Isle.
