The Hope of the World and other poems by Charles Mackay |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
|
|
FAR FROM HOME.
|
|
 | The Hope of the World and other poems |  |
132
FAR FROM HOME.
TRANSLATED FROM THE BERNESE DIALECT.
Heart! my heart! why so dejected?
And what means thy constant woe?
Lovely are these foreign regions—
Heart! my heart! what grieves thee so?
And what means thy constant woe?
Lovely are these foreign regions—
Heart! my heart! what grieves thee so?
What doth grieve me?—all around me;
Quite forsaken here I roam;
True, 'tis fair in foreign regions,
But I'm pining for my home!
Quite forsaken here I roam;
True, 'tis fair in foreign regions,
But I'm pining for my home!
Oh, my home! for thee I languish!
Would that I could breathe thine air,
See my father, see my mother,
See thy hills and valleys fair!
Would that I could breathe thine air,
See my father, see my mother,
See thy hills and valleys fair!
133
Oh! to see the mountain summits,
Down whose sides the torrents ran!
Crags, that trod by chamois only,
Scorn the foot of mortal man!
Down whose sides the torrents ran!
Crags, that trod by chamois only,
Scorn the foot of mortal man!
Oh! to hear the sweet bells tinkling
As the drover mounts the hill;
With his kine and lambkins browsing,
Or disporting at their will.
As the drover mounts the hill;
With his kine and lambkins browsing,
Or disporting at their will.
Oh! to see my native village
Underneath the mountains blue,
With its green and flowery meadows,
And its lake as clear as dew;
Underneath the mountains blue,
With its green and flowery meadows,
And its lake as clear as dew;
And its many-colour'd houses—
Oh! to see them all once more!
And to greet the friendly neighbours,
Each man standing at his door.
Oh! to see them all once more!
And to greet the friendly neighbours,
Each man standing at his door.
134
No one loves us here, or shakes us
Warm and kindly by the hand;
Little children smile not on us
As at home in Switzerland.
Warm and kindly by the hand;
Little children smile not on us
As at home in Switzerland.
Oh! I pine to see the homestead
Where my happy youth flew by—
Up, my limbs, and bear me thither—
Bear me thither ere I die!
Where my happy youth flew by—
Up, my limbs, and bear me thither—
Bear me thither ere I die!
| The Hope of the World and other poems | |