THE COVENANTERS.
Mine home is but a blackened heap
In the midst of a lonesome wild,
And the owl and the bat may their night-watch keep
Where human faces smiled.
I rocked the cradle of seven fair sons,
And I worked for their infancy;
But, when like a child in mine own old age,
There are none to work for me!
Never! I will not know another home.
Ten summers have pass'd on, with their blue skies,
Green leaves, and singing birds, and sun-kiss'd fruit,
Since here I first took up my last abode,—
And here my bones shall rest. You say it is
A home for beasts, and not for humankind,
Q 2
