 | Metrical essays |  |
111
AN EXILE'S SONG.
“Vincet amor patriæ.”
Virgil.
Virgil.
I
Still to thee, oh, still to theeMy spirit turns where'er I roam;
Still in my midnight dreams I see
Thy mounts—thy vales—my cottage-home—
And feels my brow thy breezes bland,
Once more, beloved Switzerland!
II
Once more thy mountain waters soundLike sweetest music on mine ear;
And old familiar scenes around
Speak to my heart of hours most dear;
Of love's fond glance—of friendship's hand—
Of kindred minds, dear Switzerland!
112
III
It is a joy, though but in dreamsTo be as in time past with thee;
For oh, on distant shores all seems
Dreary, and cold, and sad, to me;
My heart breaks 'neath the harsh command
Which parts us, lovely Switzerland!
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