Poems (Toke)/Lines (I am here in thine own old home again)
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AM here in thine own old home again,
And with mingled feelings of joy and pain
I gaze once more on each time-worn tree,
Each spot which last I beheld with thee.
They are all unaltered and lovely still;
In wood and valley, on lake and hill,
The forms and colourings meet my gaze
Thou wert wont to love in former days:
And all is unchanged we used to see,
Save where, on many a time-worn tree,
The ivy has flung its unfading wreath,
To hide the wreck Time has wrought beneath:
Or where, like all perishing things of earth,
Laid low in the dust which first gave it birth,
Some lord of the forest's majestic form
Has bowed at last to the wintry storm;
Though many a blast it had braved before,
'Tis fallen now, and to rise no more:
Yet all is the same, and all speaks of thee;
The hills, the waters—each shadowing tree
Seems like a link in memory's chain,
And calls back thine image, thy voice again.
LINES.
AM here in thine own old home again,And with mingled feelings of joy and pain
I gaze once more on each time-worn tree,
Each spot which last I beheld with thee.
They are all unaltered and lovely still;
In wood and valley, on lake and hill,
The forms and colourings meet my gaze
Thou wert wont to love in former days:
And all is unchanged we used to see,
Save where, on many a time-worn tree,
The ivy has flung its unfading wreath,
To hide the wreck Time has wrought beneath:
Or where, like all perishing things of earth,
Laid low in the dust which first gave it birth,
Some lord of the forest's majestic form
Has bowed at last to the wintry storm;
Though many a blast it had braved before,
'Tis fallen now, and to rise no more:
Yet all is the same, and all speaks of thee;
The hills, the waters—each shadowing tree
Seems like a link in memory's chain,
And calls back thine image, thy voice again.
I stand on the sloping and verdant shore,
And gaze on the woods and waves once more;
Though scarcely as yet Spring's dawning hour
Has touched the earth with its gentle power,
Yet lovely is all, and fair to see,—
Oh! would thou wert here to gaze with me!
The ruffled lake, as it rolls below,
Seems sprinkled with moving wreaths of snow;
And breaking in foam on the pebbly shore,
With a sound oft heard, and beloved of yore,
Each ripple awakes, with its dreamy tone,
Soft visions of days that are past and gone:
Beyond, still scorning the tempest's power,
The ancient woods o'er the waters tower,
Rising like spirits of days long past,—
Darkly their shadow around is cast,
And their giant forms, as they tower on high,
Seem like the relics of days gone by.
Oh, lovely it is in the pensive shade
Of that dark and ancestral wood to tread,
And mark the beauties that mingle there,
Where all around and above is fair:
On every side immemorial trees
Gracefully wave in the rising breeze;
Beneath, the hazel and briar are seen,
Blent with the holly's unfading green;
Above, the oak scarce matured by time,
The tasselled larch and the fragrant lime,
The ash and elm in their rival pride,
With the shadowy beech, stand side by side,
While the graceful birch, with its stem of snow,
Hangs o'er the waters which roll below;
And lovely the sounds which meet mine ear,
For Nature's eternal voice is here:
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.
And gaze on the woods and waves once more;
Though scarcely as yet Spring's dawning hour
Has touched the earth with its gentle power,
Yet lovely is all, and fair to see,—
Oh! would thou wert here to gaze with me!
The ruffled lake, as it rolls below,
Seems sprinkled with moving wreaths of snow;
And breaking in foam on the pebbly shore,
With a sound oft heard, and beloved of yore,
Each ripple awakes, with its dreamy tone,
Soft visions of days that are past and gone:
Beyond, still scorning the tempest's power,
The ancient woods o'er the waters tower,
Rising like spirits of days long past,—
Darkly their shadow around is cast,
And their giant forms, as they tower on high,
Seem like the relics of days gone by.
Oh, lovely it is in the pensive shade
Of that dark and ancestral wood to tread,
And mark the beauties that mingle there,
Where all around and above is fair:
On every side immemorial trees
Gracefully wave in the rising breeze;
Beneath, the hazel and briar are seen,
Blent with the holly's unfading green;
Above, the oak scarce matured by time,
The tasselled larch and the fragrant lime,
The ash and elm in their rival pride,
With the shadowy beech, stand side by side,
While the graceful birch, with its stem of snow,
Hangs o'er the waters which roll below;
And lovely the sounds which meet mine ear,
For Nature's eternal voice is here:
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.
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.