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THE YOUNG ITINERANT. 343 |
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O, that beautiful home, far, far away, Which is sleeping now in the moon's pale ray, Is the spot where my fancy first took wing— How its memories glide, as I strive to sing !
" The friends I have loved, how tender and kind! How the bonds, which around my heart were
twined, Seem drawing me back to that hallow'd shade, To the spot where a joyous child I play'd ! I think of the tear in my mother's eye, Of a sister's counsel, a brother's sigh; I think of the hour when my heart was torn From that bright circle, to wander forlorn,—
" That sorrowful hour when a father's voice, Which had made my spirit so oft rejoice, Gave his last calm counsel of tender love, And commended his son to the Friend above; When my sister strove to suppress a sigh, And tears were gathering quick in her eye; And my brother's tone—I can hear it now, As he turn'd away with a mournful brow.
" Yet I would not return to that peaceful vale, Though sweetness may breathe on each passing
gale; I would not again be a lingerer there, Though the skies were more bright, and the
scenes more fair; |
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