University of Virginia Library

ON LEAVING THE PLACE OF MY NATIVITY.

I stand where often I have stood,
Beside this dark old mossy wood;
And tread, where oft my feet have trod,
Upon this bright and blooming sod.
The open fields, that round me lie,
Slope gently toward the southern sky;
Upon their bosom, far away,
The light winds with the harvest play.
Come up the green acclivity,
On silken wings, to visit me;
Sigh to my ear, I know not why,
And leave my presence with a sigh.
On yonder mountain's rugged breast
The pines in sullen silence rest;
The copses, drest in softer green,
Adorn the valley stretched between;
And through the openings of their shade
The winding river is betrayed:
The boatman dips his glistening oar
And pushes from the alder shore;
The sunbeams on the small waves play,
And twinkle through the shattered spray;
The echo of the mountain rill
Breaks softly from the beechen hill;
And river's flood, and wood and glen,
The homes and haunts of busy men,
The meeting line of earth and sky
Where the long circling forests lie;
Earth's fruits, in rich profusion given,
The glorious azure arch of heaven,
The golden sun's resplendent light,
All break at once upon my sight.
And what should cloud my heart with care
When all around is gay and fair?
It is that, on its coming wings,
The morrow my departure brings;
And that the scenes which round me lie
No more may meet my living eye:
The mossy knoll beneath the tree,
Where first I played in infancy,
The orchard, and the shady nook
Beside the rapid of the brook;
The wider range my boyhood knew—
The higher hill, the broader view,
The grassy steep upon whose brow
I muse in silent sadness now.
All these dear haunts of peace and rest
I leave, to wander in the West.
But there's a deeper sorrow still
Than leaving forest stream or hill;
For at this parting I forego
All that is dear to me below,
And break the sacred ties which bind
Heart to heart, and mind to mind.
She who in my early days
Trained my feet in virtue's ways,
And gave me, in my riper years,
Blessings mixed with smiles and tears,
No more may make this heart rejoice
With the sweet accents of her voice.
Yon upland, where the forest waves
Above the lonely place of graves,
O'er the dear friends whose ashes lie
Beneath this bright blue mountain sky;
My father! in whose voice I heard
Tones that all my bosom stirred;
And her, the meek and lovely flower,
Who faded in life's morning hour:—
That sacred spot no more shall be
A place of frequent haunt to me.
The locust-tree I planted there
May flourish long in summer air;
The soft gales bend it, and the sound
Of murmuring bees be heard around.
There birds shall sing, and white flocks feed,
The weary stranger stop his steed,
To muse awhile among the stones
That mark the rest of human bones.
But I, alas! no more may tread
The turf where sleep those loved ones—dead!
And she, who in her father's hall
Stands graceful, fair, erect, and tall,
Whose smiles and glances answered mine,
With look and mien almost divine,
Will smile upon another now,
And pledge her love in solemn vow;
Will leave her childhood's dwelling side,
And round her, in their strength and pride,
Shall sons arise, and daughters bloom,
To light the chambers of her home;
But years shall waste, and day by day
That bloom and beauty fade away,
Till she, so fair, so lovely now,
Beneath the weight of years shall bow;
And men shall lay her sleeping head
At last among the silent dead.
Though beauty's bloom so soon be past,
And death shall level all at last,
And though the cup of life's best years
O'erflow with bitterness and tears,
Still I am sad that I shall see
No more that form so dear to me;
It chills the current of my strain
To think we n'er shall meet again!