THE EMIGRANTS' RETURN.
They had traveled many a weary mile,
And now they stood once more
Beside their old ancestral home,
Their journeyings well nigh o'er:
Then rose each dear, familiar scene,
Before their earnest eyes,
Clad, as they oft had pictured them,
In hues of paradise.
And now they stood once more
Beside their old ancestral home,
Their journeyings well nigh o'er:
Then rose each dear, familiar scene,
Before their earnest eyes,
Clad, as they oft had pictured them,
In hues of paradise.
Closely the woodbine clung above
The lowly oaken door,
Like young affection clasping round
The old and feeble poor:
The rose still blushed her life away,
In listening to a dream,
And the sunbeam lay upon the hill,
The shadow on the stream.
The lowly oaken door,
Like young affection clasping round
The old and feeble poor:
The rose still blushed her life away,
In listening to a dream,
And the sunbeam lay upon the hill,
The shadow on the stream.
The change that maketh food for grief,
And seemeth everywhere,
The autumn to affection's leaf,
Had left no shadow there:
And seemeth everywhere,
The autumn to affection's leaf,
Had left no shadow there:
