Edith, it ever was thy husband’s wish, Since he hath known in what is happiness, To find some little home, some low retreat, Where the vain uproar of the worthless world Might never reach his ear; and where, if chance The tidings of its horrible strifes arrived, They would endear retirement, as the blast Of winter makes the sheltered traveller Draw closer to the hearth-side, every nerve Awake to the warm comfort. Quietness Should be his inmate there; and he would live To thee, and to himself, and to our God. To dwell in that foul city, — to endure The common, hollow, cold, lip-intercourse Of life; to walk abroad and never see Green field, or running brook, or setting sun! Will it not wither up my faculties, Like some poor myrtle that in the town air Pines on the parlour window?

Everywhere Nature is lovely: on the mountain height, Or where the embosomed mountain-glen displays Secure sublimity, or where around The undulated surface gently slopes With mingled hill and valley; — everywhere Nature is lovely; even in scenes like these, Where not a hillock breaks the unvaried plain, The eye may find new charms that seeks delight.

At eve I walk abroad; the setting sun Hath softened with a calm and mellow hue The cool fresh air; below, a bright expanse, The waters of the Broad¹ lie luminous I gaze around; the unbounded plain presents Ocean immensity, whose circling line The bending heaven shuts in. So even here Methinks I could be well content to fix My sojourn; grow familiar with these scenes Till time and memory make them dear to me, And wish no other home.

There have been hours When I have longed to mount the winged bark And seek those better climes,² where orange groves Breathe on the evening gale voluptuous joy. And, Edith! though I heard from thee alone The pleasant accents of my native tongue, And saw no wonted countenance but thine, I could be happy in the stranger’s land, Possessing all in thee. O best beloved! Companion, friend, and yet a dearer name! I trod those better climes a heartless thing, Cintra’s cool rocks, and where Arrabida Lifts from the ocean its sublimer heights, Thine image wandered with me, and one wish Disturbed the deep delight.

Even now that wish, Making short absence painful, still recurs. The voice of friendship, that familiar voice, From which in other scenes I daily heard First greeting, poorly satisfies the heart. And wanting thee, tho’ in best intercourse, Such as in after years remembrance oft Will love to dwell upon; yet when the sun Goes down, I see his setting beams with joy, And count again the allotted days, and think The hour will soon arrive when I shall meet The eager greeting of affection’s eye, And hear the welcome of the voice I love.