THE NATIVE VILLAGE.
��VERDANT and beautiful ! How fair thy vales !
With what a smile thy gentle river glides ;
While thro' the vale of interwoven boughs
Thy peaceful dwellings pleasantly look forth.
Yon hallow'd temple, crown 'd with snowy spire,
Casts a lone shadow o'er the sacred spot
Where sleeps the white-haired shepherd 'mid his flock
The lov'd of God and man. The statesman's head,
With all its gather 'd mass of curious lore,
Locked up in marble and the soldier's arm,
Strong for his country, in her hour of need,
Are here, too, 'neath the turf. And there, amid
The lawns and gardens which their hands had dress 'd,
The ancient fathers, with their numerous race,
Securely dwelt
Yon mansion hath a voice
Of other days. Through the dim lapse of years, And rule of strangers, still around its halls Flit cherished images of good old times,
�� �
