II.

With an ever-sounding choral chant, And a clear, cerulean, wild desire To clasp that fairy island nigher, The sinuous waves of ocean pant; For here all natural things are free To mingle in passionate harmony. The light from their mirror turns away With a golden splendour, in the day, But nightly, when coroneted Even Marshals the shining queen of heaven, There gleams a silvery scenery, From the rim of the great prismatic sea Around the isle of Canary To the central crags of Pisgatiri, Where the crested eagle builds his eyry, Scanning the shores of sweet Canary.