WHEN compelled, to rest or rove,
Far away, from her I love,
What shall clear the clouded eye
The mellow light of memory!
Oh! in such an hour, how dear,
Scenes of other days, appear,
Beaming, ever fair and bright,
In magic memory's golden light.

When the tones, I love to hear,
Fall not, on the charmed ear,
What, their music shall supply?
The gentle voice of memory!
Oh, in moments, such as these,
How each treasured tone will please;
Not a pulse, that is not stirred,
By each dear remembered word.

As along the purpling west,
When the sun has sunk to rest,
Many a lengthening line of light
Lingers still, and charms the sight:
So from thee, where'er I roam,
Beaming memories shall come,
Lighting, with their blessed rays,
To brighter hopes, of better days.

1825.

Project Canterbury