| |
| IN scenes untrod for many a year, | |
| I stand again, the long estranged; | |
| And gazing round me, ponder here | |
| On all that has, and has not changed. | |
| |
| The casual visitor would see | 5 |
| Naught altered in the aspects round; | |
| But long familiar shapes to me | |
| Are missing, which I fain had found. | |
| |
| Still stands the rock, still runs the flood, | |
| Which not an eye could pass unmov’d; | 10 |
| The flow’ry bank, the fringing wood, | |
| Which e’en the passer mark’d and lov’d. | |
| |
| But when mine eye’s delighted pride, | |
| Had dwelt the rocks high front upon, | |
| I sought upon its warmer side | 15 |
| A vine we train’d—and that was gone. | |
| |
| And though awhile content I gazed | |
| Upon the river quick and fair, | |
| I sought, ere long, a seat we raised | |
| In childhood—but it was not there. | 20 |
| |
| Stones lay around, I knew not whether | |
| Its relics, or the winter’s snow— | |
| And sitting where we sate together, | |
| Again I watch’d the torrent flow. | |
| |
| So whirl’d the waves that form’d it then, | 25 |
| In foam around yon jutting stone; | |
| So arrowy shot they down the glen, | |
| When here we pass’d the hours long flown. | |
| |
| There in the waters dipp’d the tree | |
| From which, the day I parted hence, | 30 |
| I took a few green leaves, to be | |
| My solace still through time and chance. | |
| |
| Full many a spring the tree has shone | |
| In sunlight, air, and beauty here; | |
| While I in cities gazed upon | 35 |
| The wither’d leaves of that one year. | |
| |
| That year was fraught with heavy things, | |
| With deaths and partings, loss and pain; | |
| And every object round me rings | |
| Its mournful epitaph again. | 40 |
| |
| But most, those small familiar traits, | |
| Which only we have lov’d or known; | |
| They flourish’d with our happier days— | |
| They wither’d because we were gone. | |
| |
| Their absence seems to speak of those | 45 |
| Who’re scatter’d far upon the earth, | |
| At whose young hands they once arose | |
| Whose eyes gazed gleeful on their birth. | |
| |
| Those hands since then have grasp’d the brand, | |
| Those eyes in grief grown dim and hot, | 50 |
| And wand’ring through a stranger’s land, | |
| Oft yearn’d to this remember’d spot. | |
| |
| How changed are they!—how changed am I! | |
| The early spring of life is gone, | |
| Gone is each youthful vanity,— | 55 |
| But what with years, oh what is won? | |
| |
| I know not—but while standing now | |
| Where open’d first the heart of youth, | |
| I recollect how high would glow | |
| Its thoughts of Glory, Faith, and Truth— | 60 |
| |
| How full it was of good and great, | |
| How true to heav’n how warm to men. | |
| Alas! I scarce forbear to hate | |
| The colder breast I bring again. | |
| |
| Hopes disappointed, sin, and time, | 65 |
| Have moulded me since here I stood; | |
| Ah! paint old feelings, rock sublime, | |
| Speak life’s fresh accents, mountain flood! | |
| |
