Classic Poem

To thee, beloved and cherished spot —
To thee, thou ne'er to be forgot,
Till eyes and memory fail; —
To thee, with retrospective pain,
I now would chaunt a simple strain,
And languish o'er the tale.

Where first I tasted ether, where
My eyes gave their first vacant stare,
From eye-lids quivering weak,
Where first I lisped a feeble sound,
And tried upon this world's round
A footing firm to make.

Where first I played in infant days;
When all was tipped with golden rays,
From an auspicious sun.
While cares unknown, unseen, unheard,
Did not my sportive heart retard,
And I, a flirting one.

Where first I scanned my little book,
With heedless optic there to look,
Though master seemed austere; —
Where first I learned to win my bread,
Among the dewy brows of trade,
And cares were bordering near.

Where first I fancied all was joy,
Without a shadow of alloy
To dim its dazzling gleam; —
Where after years showed what I thought,
Was all by mystic fancy wrought,
While life was yet a dream.

Where first I sighed — where first I smiled, —
Where first my fancies were beguiled,
And sorrow found my breast, —
Where pleasures early lost their shine,
And cloudy skies too soon were mine,
And trouble stole my rest.

Even then with all its little snares,
This life had more delights than cares,
And still I fondly cherished
Each changing scene, and in it read
Some opening sentence, ere it fled,
But now these days are perished.

And, ah! how different is it now?
Maturer age has scored my brow —
Simplicity has fled;
And as I journey on, I find
The heart more subtlely inclined, —
More darkness round it shed.

Hopes disappointed — Cares unwise,
Distil the tear-drops from my eyes
And make me prone to mourn; —
And so 'twill be while life shall last,
A rugged vista void and vast,
Even till we do adjourn.

Yet life is doubly dear to me,
When, cherished home, I think of thee, —
When I behold thee still,
As beautiful and even as gay,
As when I passed life's early day
Beside thy little rill.

Perhaps what makes me love thee so,
Is that sincerest bosoms glow,
With never-fading love; —
'Cause those whom I consider dear,
Still breathe thy fragrant atmosphere,
Resweetened through each grove.

Though I am absent, thou art nigh
In all thy sweet sublimity;
And even in the night,
When I am lost to all but thee,
Thy lovely little haunts I see,
With Luna silvered bright.

I see mild Clutha's crystal tide,
So tranquil, flowing by thy side,
Where swelling sails are seen;
Its little banks are verdant too,
Its little waves are tinged with blue,
And fishes leap between.

Warm Sol with winter's chilly breeze,
Into an icy globe may freeze,
Still by thee shall I range; —
And Luna with her silver light,
May hide her head in endless night,
Yet shall I feel no change.

For, as we love the world more,
The longer we traverse its shore,
So shall it be with me;
The love I bear thee shall increase,
Till this fond heart's pulsation cease,
Then all shall ended be.