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The waves' low sound, and the breeze's sigh,
Blend in their thrilling melody,
And touch the heart with as deep a spell,
As the music of earth in its softest swell.
Blend in their thrilling melody,
And touch the heart with as deep a spell,
As the music of earth in its softest swell.
Oft, oft hast thou wandered here alone,
And listened with rapture to that wild tone;
And now, when thou hearest the rising breeze
Mournfully sigh through the bending trees,
Oh say, though afar thy footsteps roam,
Yet does not the form of thy childhood's home
Rise upon Memory's dream of the past,
Clear and distinct as when gazed on last?
And dost thou not long to tread once more
The land our fathers have trod before,—
To gaze upon mountain, wood, and plain,
And breathe the air of our hills again?
And listened with rapture to that wild tone;
And now, when thou hearest the rising breeze
Mournfully sigh through the bending trees,
Oh say, though afar thy footsteps roam,
Yet does not the form of thy childhood's home
Rise upon Memory's dream of the past,
Clear and distinct as when gazed on last?
And dost thou not long to tread once more
The land our fathers have trod before,—
To gaze upon mountain, wood, and plain,
And breathe the air of our hills again?
Well, soon I hope that the days may come,
When thou shalt revisit thine ancient home;
Jut oh, wherever thy footsteps tread,
May countless blessings be round thee shed;
May peace and joy, with unfading glow,
Lighten the path thou must tread below;
And dark or bright as thy lot may be,
Oh, oft may I share that lot with thee.
When thou shalt revisit thine ancient home;
Jut oh, wherever thy footsteps tread,
May countless blessings be round thee shed;
May peace and joy, with unfading glow,
Lighten the path thou must tread below;
And dark or bright as thy lot may be,
Oh, oft may I share that lot with thee.
E.
Glasslough, March 8, 1836.
