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RETURN TO NATIVE LAND.
79
Who beneath the sable pall
Hath the poet's lyre let fall?
Who that won a nation's trust
Sleep in silence and the dust?
While with faint and trembling fires
Fearfully my heart inquires,
Hears it not an answer swell
"God hath ordered! all is well!"
Home! my home! though earth and sky
Still conceal thee from mine eye,
Still though envious leagues remain
Ere thy vine-clad porch I gain,
Lightest leaf that wooed the gale,
Frailest plant with petals pale,
That beside thy threshold grew,
Ne'er have faded from my view;
On my cheek, through cloud and storm,
Still thy parting kiss was warm;
O'er each dream thine accents free
Stole like angel melody;
Little footsteps, light as wings,
Hands that swept the tuneful strings,
