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THE WANDERER'S RETURN
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


123

THE WANDERER'S RETURN

He had roamed, where over flood and vale
Helvetia's mountains frowned,
Their dark sides clothed in rocky mail,
Their hoary summits crowned
With snows unknown to earthly stain—
Assailed by summer suns in vain.
He had seen the sunlight gild the towers
And ancient hills of Rome;
He had listened in Iberia's bowers
To the muleteer's song of home;
He had seen the silvering moonlight play
Where Venice on her islands lay.
He had seen the flowery laurel wave
O'er Virgil's place of rest,
And the torrents of the deep Rhone lave
The banks that Petrarch pressed—
He had wandered in the orange grove
Where that love bard had sung of love.
Each scene had charms—each o'er his soul
Enchanting visions brought,
And dreams of yore by moments stole
Upon his raptured thought,
Where mouldering tower, or classic clime,
Unclosed the scroll of olden time.
But deeper far were rapture's thrills,
And purer the delight!
When, safe from all a wanderer's ills,
The joy-inspiring sight
Of home's green vales, its streams and bowers,
Called back the dreams of childhood's hours.
Haverhill Gazette, March 3, 1827