Poems (Frances Elizabeth Browne)/Fontstown

by Frances Elizabeth Browne

FONTSTOWN.

From Albion's shores a wanderer long,
Hibernia oft has been my song;
And well her beauties may inspire
The painter's art, or poet's lyre.

Sweet Erin! fair and lovely land,
Adorned by nature's bounteous hand
With hills and valleys, lakes and streams,
Beauteous as in a poet's dreams,—

Full oft thy loveliness I 've sung,
Thy praise has dwelt upon my tongue,
And many a wreath I 've fondly twined,
To grace thy sons and daughters kind.

Now once again my Muse shall wake
A simple strain, for Fontstown's sake;
A fairer spot, where all are fair,
Ne'er met my wandering footsteps there.

Fontstown! my sweet and peaceful home!
Along thy glades I love to roam,
Or rest beneath thy spreading trees,
While hawthorn sweets perfume the breeze,

Or saunter through the pleasant shade,
The arbour-walk, for coolness made,
With primroses and violets spread,
And branches clustering over head.

Emerging from the leafy screen,
The pleasant parsonage is seen;
While lovely flowers, of various hue
And fragrant scent, adorn the view.

Or turn we now that walk along,
With lilacs and laburnums hung,
And softly trace, with silent tread,
The precincts of the sacred dead.

No gloomy shadows here are thrown,
No marble urn, no sculptured stone;
But flowers and trees alone disclose
Where here they seek their last repose;

While, pointing to that heaven above,
Where disembodied spirits rove,
No more to suffer or to die,
The church erects its spire on high;

And, just beyond the grassy mound
Which marks the church-yard's hallowed ground,
The rural school-house quiet stands,
And our admiring gaze commands.

Each passing stranger's rapid glance
Attests its taste and elegance;
May peace and love within it dwell!
Fontstown! sweet Fontstown! fare thee well.