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HOMEWARD BOUND.
Hail, distant mountain! rearing dim
O'er my loved land, thy lofty head,
How welcome is thy sight to him
So long by chart and compass led;
Speck though thou art, and wrapped in haze,
Right pleasant 'tis on thee to gaze.
I've masked the lordly Teneriffe
Rise with rough forehead from the sea,
Gay songsters warbling round the cliff,
Rich strains of dulcet melody;
Yet rather would my listening ear
The wild birds of my country hear.
