Page:Diary of ten years.djvu/34

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18

Are you as the dead? has all pleasure fled?
  Are there no joys for those who roam?
Can no place on earth but the place of our birth
  Be called by the sweet name of home?

From its native clay,—from its native clay
  We transplant to a genial soil
The vigorous shoot, lo! it soon takes root,
  And will amply repay our toil.

Though it pine at first—though it pine at first
  With regret for its parent bed,
The bright sunny clime, and propitious time,
  Will raise up its fallen head.

Friends hallow a spot—Love hallows a spot,
  But bliss is to no spot confin'd;
'Tis here, or 'tis there, 'tis everywhere,
  Its dwelling place is in the mind.

Let us make a home,—let us make a home,
  Wherever our lot may be cast;
Let us new friends find, bear the old in mind,
  And cherish the days that are past.

So shine on sweet hope, and shine bright sweet hope,
  And if the sky darken,—why then,
We'll look for the ray of that promis'd day,
  When friends may all meet once again.

5th.—Nothing worthy of note has occured of late; we have fine weather, a smooth sea, and a favourable wind.

13th.—I have my expectations excited, from hearing that a great flaming cross is frequently seen in our present position, lat. 38°, long. 67° 35' at midnight. I have seen it, but with great disappointment.

It is composed of many stars, of no extraordinary brilliancy. The sky has not been clear for some time; and it was only last night that I saw it in its erect position at midnight.

I also saw the Pleiades, a beautiful constellation, the sight of which (so powerful is the association of ideas) led my