| |
| BY another light surrounded | |
| Than our actual sky; | |
| With the purple ocean bounded | |
| Does the island lie | |
| Like a dream of the old world. | 5 |
| Bare the rugged heights ascending | |
| Bring to mind the past, | |
| When, the weary voyage ending, | |
| Was the anchor cast, | |
| And the stranger sails were furled | 10 |
| Beside the glorious island | |
| Where Ulysses was the king. | |
| |
| Still does Fancy see the palace | |
| With its carvéd gates; | |
| Where the suitors drained the chalice, | 15 |
| Mocking at the Fates. | |
| Stern and dark and veiled are they, | |
| Still their silent thread intwining | |
| Of our wretched life; | |
| With their cold, pale hands combining | 20 |
| Hate and fear and strife. | |
| Hovers the avenging day | |
| O’er the glorious island | |
| Where Ulysses was the king. | |
| |
| Grant my fancy pardon | 25 |
| If amid these trees | |
| Still it sees the garden | |
| Of old Laertes, | |
| Where he met his glorious son. | |
| The apple boughs were drooping | 30 |
| Beneath their rosy fruit, | |
| And the rich brown pears were stooping | |
| To the old man at their foot, | |
| While his daily task was done | |
| In the glorious island | 35 |
| Where Ulysses was the king. | |
| |
| ’T is a vain and cold invention, | |
| ’T is the spirit’s wrong, | |
| Which to some small mind’s pretension | |
| Would subdue that song, | 40 |
| Shrined in manhood’s general heart. | |
| One almighty mind, one only, | |
| Could such strain have sung; | |
| Ever be the laurel lonely | |
| Where such lyre is hung. | 45 |
| Be the world a thing apart | |
| Of the glorious island | |
| Where Ulysses was the king. | |
| |
