UP and down my thoughts are roaming,
As the day is turn 'd to night,
And around me through the gloaming
Spreads a wierd fantastic light.
'Tis not real, but like the glimmer
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Of a long remember 'd day, -
Which though past, is none the dimmer,
Reproduced in magic way.
On a beach the waves are rolling
In successive rush of sound,
And a vesper-bell is tolling
From a solitary mound,
On whose rugged peaks are gleaming
Convent walls and arches white, -
All around the land is dreaming,
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The Cricket Eleven.
