And faithful unchanged mem'ry sought
Familiar looks—alas! in vain—
Time had been there, and time had brought
New scenes, new faces, in his train.
Can this, I said, can this be home—
That home I've longed so much to see?
In such brief space do changes come,
Or is the change alone in me?
Thus o'er my spirit in suspense
A melancholy musing stole,—
'Till music, waking my wrapp'd sense,
Told the glad secret to my soul—
That one still liv'd, whose lyre gave out
A long, a well-remember'd sound,
Which like a talisman, dispell'd my doubt:
Then—not till then—my Home was found.
20th.—We have been watching the land (which is about thirty miles distant) since dinner time, and are now running parallel with it; we hope to anchor to-morrow.
I have been searching for my tents and iron bedsteads, and getting my packages into order.
This voyage, which once appeared interminable, now draws to a close; and though fifteen weeks have elapsed since I left Dublin, the time has passed more rapidly and agreeably than I could have believed to be possible. I do not recollect to have been so fat at any other period of my life, and am in perfect health. Even my cheeks have plumped out, and I have no longer the sallow visage of the student, but the ruddy
