Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1834.pdf/14

The soft brook wanders singing through the plain:
    My childhood knew one with a sweeter tone;
This wakes my spirit with no memories,
    As every where the exile is alone.

These songs are sweet—they breathe of grief and joy;
   But not in language which my heart has known:
They tell not of my griefs, nor of my joys—
   Still every where the exile is alone.

They ask me why I weep; and when I tell,
   They weep not o'er my secret sorrow shown;
They do not understand, and cannot weep—
   For every where the exile is alone.

Old men I’ve seen amid their children stand,
    Like olives mid the shoots their trunks have thrown—
None called me brother, and none called me child—
    Ah, every where the exile is alone.

I've seen the maiden on her lover smile—
    Smiles pure as gales in early morning blown;
But no one had for me a rosy smile—
    Still every where the exile is alone.

I've seen the young man take the young man's hand
    In strong embrace, as each to each had grown;
No kindly hand extended to meet mine—
    Ah! every where the exile is alone!

There is no friend, no wife, no sire, no son,
    Save in the long-loved land which is our own;
The wide world has one country, and one home;
    For every where the exile is alone!

Poor exile! cease thy plaint—e'en as thyself,
    All are as banished ones in this sad life;
All see those pass and vanish whom they love—
    Kindred and brethren, parent, friend, and wife.

Our country is not here; in vain man seeks—
    'Tis but a dream of night that he has won;
It fades—he wanders weary over earth—
    God, only God, can guide the exiled one.
L. E. L.