From out a river, winding in the gloom
Of a lone hill, through marsh and lifeless fir,
Our barque came drifting in the ample room
Of wide waters: we fled life’s fervid stir,
And pleasant isles, like ships at anchor lay,
Full rigged with stately pines, and mirror’d gave
Tremulous in the breeze that stirred in play
Their fretted image to the rippled wave,
And on one isle we landed, and there found
A furnished tent, hard by a house of prayer.
“Here will we dwell,” we cried: “this narrow bound
Shall give the limit to our wish and care.
Here rest, like desert pilgrims, faint with thirst and heat
Who loose the way-worn sandals from the dusty feet.”