SEEING MONA AGAIN.
Fair Mona, thou gem of the waters.
Thy hills with delight I behold;
Where thy healthy sons and fair daughters
Are tripping o'er cowslips of gold.
The skylark his carol is singing,
While rivers meandering glide,
And streams in the hillside are springing,
And travel right down to the tide.
The silver mists still round thee gather,
Yet the wizard chief is not there;
Reclining upon the blue heather,
Old Manannan beg Mac-y-Lir.
The sun on thy mountains is shining.
The "three legs" are now out of date;
While gorse bush and heather is twining,
As all things are ruled by cold fate.
Thy vales with primroses bespangled,
That daisies and violets adorn,
The rocks where of yore I have angled,
Besprinkled with dew in the morn.
Thy hills with the gay heather flowers,
I own are thrice welcome to me;
Thy dark glens and gay fairy bowers,
Thou beautiful gem of the sea!
By billows of ocean surrounded,
As clear as the bright crystal stream,
Where arrows of Cupid have wounded
The bosom of many a swain.
How welcome to me are thy mountains,
Thy rude cliffs and pebbly shore;
Though thy rippling streamlets and fountains
Are haunted by fairies no more.
Fair Mona! of beauty exquisite,
There's no place so lovely and dear;
Though mermaids no longer re-visit,
Nor on thy rude rocks comb their hair.
