Forest leaves :: :: University of Virginia Library

Yes, I have wander'd long,
Dear native-land from thee;
But still within my heart is shrin'd
Thy blessed memory.
Thy blessed memory!
Oh, bright its angels come,
Each with its dear familiar face
And loving words of Home.
Oh, who that on New England's breast
Her tiny infant foot-print prest,
However far her feet may stray,
Has ever borne her heart away.

Oh, I have wander'd long,
In weariness of soul,
Where cities glitter in their pride,
And noble rivers roll;

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Where noble rivers roll
Through valleys bright and warm,
And crested mountains proudly frown
Each o'er its mirror'd form.
But who, that braided childhood's dreams,
Beside New England's tuneful streams,
Where broader, deeper waters glide,
Can love the scenery, or the tide.

Oh, I have wander'd wide,
By many a far-famed spot,
Yet dear New England's hills and vales,
Have never been forgot;
Oh, never once forgot
My native city fair,
The blessed home of infancy,
The hallow'd house of prayer.
Who that in girlhood's summer hours
Was wreath'd amongst New England's flowers,
However far her steps may rove,
Can e'er forget her home of love.

Oh, many a year I've dwelt,
Within this shadowy dell,
And oft have hush'd my heart, to list
The wild harp's fitful swell;
The wild harp's fitful swell,
Has sooth'd my saddest hour,
But still the richest melodies
Breath'd from my native bower.

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Oh, who that learn'd the Muses' lore
In childhood, on New England's shore,
Can ever cease to love the strain,
That bears her spirit home again.