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50
WHITE HEAD.
Under the ice, with sob and sigh,
The prisoned billows heave,
And the clouds hang dark, and the sea-birds cry,
And the winds complain and grieve,—
Yet, lying here on my tiresome bed,
It cheers me to think alway
That the summer is shining on old White Head,
And the islands of Casco Bay!
The prisoned billows heave,
And the clouds hang dark, and the sea-birds cry,
And the winds complain and grieve,—
Yet, lying here on my tiresome bed,
It cheers me to think alway
That the summer is shining on old White Head,
And the islands of Casco Bay!
