Quaint city on the Finnish sea,
Old when America was new;
How restful are thy rocks to me;
Thy quiet streets, this ocean view.
The great red sun gilds tree and dome,
And kingly prison, cold and gray,
And lingers on the churchly home
Where lovely Catharine came to lay
Her sceptre down among her own,
And be at rest from care and strife;
A peasant girl on queenly throne;
To Eric, a devoted wife.
It kisses, too, the sacred spring
Where Pagans came, in rudest dress,
To give themselves an offering
Unto the Sun of Righteousness.
I fancy mountains all aflame,
With crests as golden as the stars;
I see ships riding on the main,
With ruby decks and opal spars.
Clouds chase each other on the blue
Like children dancing on the wold;
But now fades out the brilliant hue;
Red grows to purple, then to gold,
And then to tender, dim twilight;
The boats lie silent in the bay;
The winds are hushed; chill grows the night,
And Nature sleeps at close of day.
