"Land of the South! Oh, lovely land of song!
And is my dwelling by thy classic streams;
And is the fate so fondly wished and long,
Mine in the fullest measure of my dreams,--
By thy green hills and sunny glades to roam,
To live among thy happy shepherd swains
Where now the peaceful virtues have their home;
A blissful lot! nor aught of grief remains
Save for that friend, beloved, bewailed, revered,
To whom my heart for thrice ten years was bound
By truest love and gratitude endeared:
The glory of his land, in whom were found
Genius unmatched, and mastery of the soul,
Beyond all human wight, save Shakspeare's own controul."