Native Scenes

O native scenes, nought to my heart clings nearer
Than you, ye Edens of my youthful hours;
Nought in this world warms my affections dearer
Than you, ye plains of white and yellow flowers;
Ye hawthorn hedge-rows, and ye woodbine bowers,
Where youth has rov'd, and still where manhood roves
The pasture-pathway 'neath the willow groves.
Ah, as my eye looks o'er those lovely scenes,
All the delights of former life beholding;
Spite of the pain, the care that intervenes,—
When lov'd remembrance is her bliss unfolding,
Picking her childish posies on your greens,—
My soul can pause o'er its distress awhile,
And Sorrow's cheek find leisure for a smile.