MY HOME.
MAY I describe to you this bright midsummer even,
My sad, sweet friend, a picture of my home?
May I beguile your thoughts to this, my earthly Eden,
Where sometime hence I trust your feet may roam?
Nature, around these hills, is famed but for its wildness;
Above the village, west, our cottage brown;
We are charmed with birds, and winds of unsung mildness,
Where rocks and steeps wear a perpetual frown.
My sad, sweet friend, a picture of my home?
May I beguile your thoughts to this, my earthly Eden,
Where sometime hence I trust your feet may roam?
Nature, around these hills, is famed but for its wildness;
Above the village, west, our cottage brown;
We are charmed with birds, and winds of unsung mildness,
Where rocks and steeps wear a perpetual frown.
But smiling skies o'erhead, and laughing brooklets wander,
Lending their magic to subdue the scene;
And vales below, wrapped in a mist so tender,
Viewed through the vistas of the evergreen;
An influence soft, a quiet, holy feeling
Comes o'er my heart when I each picture view;
A sympathy to every sense appealing;
Would I could sketch them as they seem, for you.
Lending their magic to subdue the scene;
And vales below, wrapped in a mist so tender,
Viewed through the vistas of the evergreen;
An influence soft, a quiet, holy feeling
Comes o'er my heart when I each picture view;
A sympathy to every sense appealing;
Would I could sketch them as they seem, for you.
As you ascend behold, if I am not mistaken,
A villa, French, I think that is the style;
Emotions grand my home will not awaken,
Though loved by me, a most discordant pile;
A villa, French, I think that is the style;
Emotions grand my home will not awaken,
Though loved by me, a most discordant pile;
