Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/162

Violets so fresh, so deeply blue,
Or snow-drops of such pearly hue,
As thou didst strew, with aspect bland,
To roving eye and careless hand.
    Stern winter now hath hushed thy lay,
And mixed thy russet locks with grey,
And dashed thy frost-bound chalice down,
And reft the blossoms from thy crown;
But breasts that glow with love for thee,
From wintry torpor still are free,
And hearts that drew from thee their breath,
Should know no ice, save that of death.
    Those rugged features, sternly fair,
Those craggy summits, bleak and bare,
But most of all, yon sylvan shades,
Deep-hidden dells and lone cascades,
From richer climes, and scenes more gay,
Have won my soul's first love away.
    Home of my birth! old Time hath not,
To mar and scathe thy brow forgot,
Dark stains upon thy walls to fling,
And shade thy casements with his wing;
And pampered taste, and frowning pride
Might well thy humble roof deride,
But childhood's careless heart, its rest
Doth build, as light as ring-dove's nest,
And to the lowly dwelling bring
A wealth that mocks the sceptred king.
Thee, too, embowered 'mid rocks, I spy,
Meek dome where science met our eye,
Where knowledge spread her infant lore,
Revealing joys unknown before,
While friendship's charms, that ne'er can cloy,
Enhanced the student's silent joy.
    Return once more, ye much loved throng!
Replete with beauty, youth and song,