As the poor mariner, his voyage o'er,
Returning, heart-full, to his native shore,
Hangs up, before some altar's blazonment,
To mild Madonna, or protecting saint,
A votive wreath of myrtle or of flowers
To such as guided him in peril's hours;
Perhaps an effigy in wax or wood,—
Things of small worth, but signs of gratitude:
So Lady, at my little labour's end,
Do I, to thee, this humble verse append ;
For thou hast cheer'd me as I onward went,
And half my fancy-half my feeling lent;
And thy sweet voice-oh never heard in vain!
Hath chased despondency and soften'd pain,
And the deep sadness gathering round my heart,
Hath paused to hear its music-and depart;
While thy bright eye, like Una's, full of grace,
Hath made all sunshine in a shady place;
And kindly smiling on me, oft hath given
Italian aspects to a northern heaven.