111
That we can feel how sweet they were:
‘Tis only at the parting hour,
Affection claims her thrilling power.
There are a thousand ties that wreathe
Around that word of magic—home;
Cold is the heart that e're could breathe
A wish from that lov'd spot to roam.
How fondly now my thoughts retrace—
All once so priz'd, now still more dear—
Each look of love, each gentle face,
The tender word, the parting tear;
Cherish'd and unforgotten seem
The gems of memory's sweetest dream.
As pants the hart in the long chace
For streams where the cool water flows,
So seeks my soul the resting place,
Where all its thoughts, its wishes close.
