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246 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Sweet scenes may group around me, hill and dale, lagoon and wildwood, And eyes as bright and cloudless as the azure skies above; But strange the face of nature—not the happy haunts of childhood, And cold the glance of beauty—not the smile of early love; Even in the pulse of joy itself the native charm is wanting, For distant far the bosoms that would share it as their own : Too late to learn that loving hearts will never bear transplanting; Uprooted once, like seedless flowers, they wither lost and lone. Oh ! the old land, the green land, The land of lands, the queen land; Keep, keep the gorgeous splendor of your sunny Southern shore; Unfading and undying, O'er the world between us lying, The hallowed loves of former days are mine for evermore. |
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