 | Poems and Poetical Fragments |  |
17
SONNET WRITTEN AT A DISTANCE FROM HOME.
My own dear country—thy remembrance comesLike softly-flowing music on my heart;
With thy green sunny hills, and happy homes,
And cots rose-bowered, bosomed in dells apart;
The merry pealings of our village bells
Gush ever and anon upon mine ear;
And is there not a far-off sound that tells
Of many-voicèd laughter shrill and clear?
Oh! were I now with thee—to sit and play
Under the hawthorn on the slope o' th' hill,
As I was wont to do; or pluck all day
The cowslip and the flaunting daffodil,
Till shepherds whistled homeward, and the West
Folded the large sun in her crimson breast.
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