CHANGES OF HOME.
I.
Well may we sing her beauties, this pleasant land of ours,
Her sunny smiles, her golden fruits, and all her world of flowers;
The young birds of her forest groves, the blue folds of her sky,
And all those airs of gentleness that never seem to fly:
They wind about our forms at noon, they woo us in the shade,
When panting, from the summer heats, the woodman seeks the glade;
They win us with a song of love, they cheer us with a dream,
That gilds our passing thoughts of life, as sunlight doth the stream;
And well would they persuade us now, in moments all too dear,
That, sinful though our hearts may be, we have our Eden here.
II.
Ah! well has lavish nature, from out her boundless store,
Spread wealth and loveliness around, on river, rock and shore:
No sweeter stream than Ashley glides—and, what of southern France?—
She boasts no brigher fields than ours within her matron glance;
Our skies look down in tenderness from out their realms of blue,
The fairest of Italian climes may claim no softer hue;
And let them sing of fruits of Spain, and let them boast the flowers,
The Moors' own culture, they may claim no dearer sweet than ours—
Perchance the dark-hair'd maiden is a glory in your eye,
But the blue-eyed Carolinian rules, when all the rest are nigh.
III.
And none may say, it is not true, the burden of my lay,
'Tis written still in song and sweet, in flower and fruit and ray;
Look on the scene around us now, and say if sung amiss,
The lay that pictures to your eye a spot so fair as this:
Gay springs the merry mock-bird around the cottage pale,—
And, scarcely taught by hunter's aim, the rabbit down the vale;
Each boon of kindly nature—her buds, her blooms, her flowers,
And, more than all, the maidens fair, that fill this land of ours,
Are still in rich perfection, as our fathers found them first,
But our sons are gentle now no more and all the land is curst.
IV.
Wild thoughts are in our bosoms and a savage discontent,
We love no more the life we led, the music, nor the scent;
The merry dance delights us not, as in that better time,
When glad, in happy bands we met, with spirits like our clime;
And all the social loveliness, and all the smile is gone
That link'd the spirits of our youth, and made our people one;
They smile no more together as in that earlier day,
Our maidens sigh in loneliness who once were always gay;
And though our skies are bright, and our sun looks down as then,
Ah me! the thought is sad I feel, we shall never smile again.
