By Charles P. Ilsley

Oh, this is not my home—
I miss the glorious sea,
Its white and sparkling foam,
And lofty melody.
All things seem strange to me—
I miss the rocky shore,
Where broke so sullenly
The waves with deaf'ning roar:
The sands that shone like gold
Beneath the blazing sun,
O'er which the waters roll'd,
Soft chanting as they run:
And oh, the glorious sight!
Ships moving to and fro,
Like birds upon their flight,
So silently they go!
I climb the mountain's height,
And sadly gaze around,
No waters meet my sight,
I hear no rushing sound.
Oh, would I were at home,
Beside the glorious sea,
To bathe within its foam
And list its melody!