Stanzas Written on Visiting My Birthplace

We are scatter' d — we are scatter'd —
. Though a jolly band were we!
Some sleep beneath the grave-sod,
And some are o'er the sea;
And Time hath wrought his changes
On the few who yet remain;
The joyous band that once we were
Wc cannot be again!
We are scatter'd — we are scatter'd! —
Upon the village-green,
Where we play'd in boyish recklessness,
How few of us are seen!
And the hearts that beat so lightly
In the joyousness of youth —
Some are crumbled in the sepulchre,
And some have lost their truth.
The beautiful — the beautiful
Are faded from our track!
We miss them and we mourn them,
But we cannot lure them back;
For an iron sleep hath bound them
In its passionless embrace —
We may weep — but cannot win them
From their dreary resting-place.
How mournfully — how mournfully
The memory doth come
Of the thousand scenes of happiness
Around our childhood's home!
A salutary sadness
Is brooding o'er the heart,
As it dwells upon remembrances
From which it will not part.
In memory — in memory —
How fondly do we gaze
Upon the magic loveliness
Of childhood's fleeting days!
The sparkling eye — the thrilling tone —
The smile upon its lips:
They all have gone! — but left a light
Which time cannot eclipse.
The happiness — the happiness
Of boyhood must depart;
Then comes the sense of loneliness
Upon the stricken heart!
We will not, or we cannot fling
Its sadness from our breast,
We cling to it instinctively,
We pant for its unrest!
We are scatter'd — we are scatter'd!
Yet may we meet again
In a brighter and a purer sphere,
Beyond the reach of pain!
Where the shadows of this lower world
Can never cloud the eye —
When the mortal hath put brightly on
Its immortality!