Classic Poem

(Fragment.)

Y E lingering hours speed on! with infant haste
My heart springs homeward, springs to meet the bliss,
Which but in one dear spot it ne'er can taste,
Joy's surest pledge, the dear domestic kiss.

Yet ere I leave thee, vale of many flowers,
My lowly harp would whisper one farewell;
Though glad to go, I linger in thy bowers,
And half could wish thou wert my native dell.

For oft from rustling copse, or fountain's flow,
Thine echoes soft have thrill'd mine heart along,
Lulling each wayward care and dream of woe,
And the wild wave made solemn undersong.

Oft has the conscious freedom swell'd my breast,
As on thy downs I drank the rushing gale,
Or mark'd, far stretching in the dark blue West,
The buoyant glories of the sun-bright sail.

And but my spirit sear'd by sorrow's brand
Can taste no more the bitter sweets of love,
Some fairy queen of that enchanted land
Had heard my harpings in the moonlight grove.

Forbidden is that dearest thrill to me,
But I can feel and bless the kindly gale,
That in thy bowers of ease and rural glee
Cheers the forlorn, and bids the stranger hail.