Come, take our boy, and we will go <br />Before our cabin door; <br />The winds shall bring us, as they blow, <br />The murmurs of the shore; <br />And we will kiss his young blue eyes, <br />And I will sing him, as he lies, <br />Songs that were made of yore: <br />I'll sing, in his delighted ear, <br />The island lays thou lov'st to hear. <br /> <br />And thou, while stammering I repeat, <br />Thy country's tongue shalt teach; <br />'Tis not so soft, but far more sweet, <br />Than my own native speech: <br />For thou no other tongue didst know, <br />When, scarcely twenty moons ago, <br />Upon Tahete's beach, <br />Thou cam'st to woo me to be thine, <br />With many a speaking look and sign. <br /> <br />I knew thy meaning--thou didst praise <br />My eyes, my locks of jet; <br />Ah! well for me they won thy gaze,-- <br />But thine were fairer yet! <br /> <br />I'm glad to see my infant wear <br />Thy soft blue eyes and sunny hair, <br />And when my sight is met <br />By his white brow and blooming cheek, <br />I feel a joy I cannot speak. <br /> <br />Come talk of Europe's maids with me, <br />Whose necks and cheeks, they tell, <br />Outshine the beauty of the sea, <br />White foam and crimson shell. <br />I'll shape like theirs my simple dress, <br />And bind like them each jetty tress. <br />A sight to please thee well: <br />And for my dusky brow will braid <br />A bonnet like an English maid. <br /> <br />Come, for the soft low sunlight calls, <br />We lose the pleasant hours; <br />'Tis lovelier than these cottage walls,-- <br />That seat among the flowers. <br />And I will learn of thee a prayer, <br />To Him, who gave a home so fair, <br />A lot so blessed as ours-- <br />The God who made, for thee and me, <br />This sweet lone isle amid the sea.<br /><br />William Cullen Bryant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-song-of-pitcairn-s-island/
