INQUIRIES.
163
INQUIRIES.
Thy glance is on the mountain,
Thy foot is on the earth;
Thy thoughts are wandering through the vales
That bound thy place of birth.
The scenes of other years are spread
Before thee even now;
Though the hopes of bygone years are fled
Forever from thy brow.
Thy foot is on the earth;
Thy thoughts are wandering through the vales
That bound thy place of birth.
The scenes of other years are spread
Before thee even now;
Though the hopes of bygone years are fled
Forever from thy brow.
Tell me, my brother! tell me,
Is all as fair as when
Our feet went tripping o'er the fields
And through the woodland glen?
Dost thou hear the wild bird's melody
With the joyousness of yore;
Or have these feelings left the heart,
To people it no more?
Is all as fair as when
Our feet went tripping o'er the fields
And through the woodland glen?
Dost thou hear the wild bird's melody
With the joyousness of yore;
Or have these feelings left the heart,
To people it no more?
They would tell of many a pleasure.
Seized with a careless hand;
They would tell of many a blessed hour
Passed in thy mother-land.
Of many a hope born in a heart
Where inexperience reigned,
Of many a wayward wish withheld,
Of much more lost than gained!
Seized with a careless hand;
They would tell of many a blessed hour
Passed in thy mother-land.
Of many a hope born in a heart
Where inexperience reigned,
Of many a wayward wish withheld,
Of much more lost than gained!
