Poems (Truesdell)/The Return

by Helen Truesdell

THE RETURN.

"I looked again—the wanderer had returned."
Byron.

Room for the loved one! room once more!—
 He has come again to his native shore;
He has come at last from the bounding sea,
 With a spirit light, with a spirit free:
There's a thrill in his heart, of rapture wild,
 Like the gushing tones of a joyous child.

He is pausing now by the hawthorn shade,
 The favorite haunt where his childhood played;
Where he used to stand, with a glistening eye,
 And list to the sea's wild lullaby:
For even there, by that shelly strand,
 Did he dream of a far-off stranger land.

Oh! that stranger land had charms for him,
 As he seemed to look through the future dim;
The gentle breath of a classic land
 Seemed to fan his cheek with its breezes bland,
And on Fancy's wings he was bounding free,
 A mariner o'er an "untroubled sea."

That time is passed, that dream proved true;
 He has plowed old Neptune's waters blue;
He has looked on Venice, the proud, the free,
 Where she sits in her glory, fair "Bride of the Sea,"
And traversed the shores of sunny France,
 Bright land of beauty and romance!—

And paused, where the moonlight softly lay
 On the ancient walls of the Alhambra,—
Where the last, last sigh of the sad Moor stole
 Like a knell of death to a parting soul:
But that time has passed, he has ceased to roam,
 And come at last to his native home.

And ne'er has he looked on a fairer sight,
 Than his father's house in the softened light;
And the lowly cottage, just beside,—
 The humble home of his plighted bride,
Where she's kept her faith for many years,
 And looked for his coming through dimming tears.