WHERE Hudson’s wave, o’er silvery sands,
Winds through the hills afar,
Old Cro’nest like a monarch stands,
Crowned with a single star:
And there, amid the billowy swells
Of rock-ribbed, cloud-capt earth,
My fair and gentle IDA dwells,
A nymph of mountain birth.
The snow-curl that the cliff receives,
The diamonds of the showers,
Spring’s tender blossoms, buds and leaves,
The sisterhood of flowers,—
Morn’s early beam, eve’s balmy breeze,
Her purity define;
But IDA’S dearer far than these
To this fond breast of mine.
My heart is on the hills. The shades
Of night are on my brow;
Ye pleasant haunts and silent glades,
My soul is with you now!
I bless the star-crowned islands where
My IDA’S footsteps roam,—
Oh for a falcon’s wing to bear
Me onward to my home!
[Illustration]