The rolling clouds of storm and wind,
That gather round the northern coast,

Bring brighter sunshine to my mind,
Than all these scenes around can boast ;

And wheresoe'er my footsteps roam

StiU silently I sigh for home.
For kind and gentle hearts are there.
That beat for me where'er I go ;

M



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122 THOUGHTS OF HOME.
And beaming eyes and bosoms fair

And spotless, as the falling snow ;
And sights and sounds of early youth.
As bright, as beautiful as Truth.
Oh ! wondrous mystery of thought-
Imagination fond and dear !

My wandering spirit now has caught
The sounds of many a bygone year ;

And like a tale that fancy tells,

I hear the sound of village beUs.
I see the old grey ivied tower,
The worship of my early days ;

"Whereon through many a noontide hour,
In boyhood, I was wont to gaze ;

Whose cold, calm look, and hoary brow

Are treasured in my memory now.
Sweet summer o'er the glowing earth,
Her green and golden garb has thrown ;

And decked with sunny light and mirth
The streams that qnce were all my own :



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THOUGHTS OF HOME. 123



But lonely 'neath the linden's bough,
My old companions wander now.
But when the summer hours are fled,

And storm-clouds bring the wind and rain ;

And autumn leaves are strewn and dead,
And winter fialls o'er earth again,

The good old fire-side social glee

Will mingle with a sigh for me.
When spring-time comes with flowers again,
Around the sweet porch of my home,

For me alas ! they'll bloom in vain,
StiU severed by the ocean's foam ;

Methinks 'twere better far instead

To know their leaves were sere and dead.
