Former Home

In scenes untrod for many a year,
I stand again, the long estranged;
And gazing round me, ponder here
On all that has, and has not changed.

The casual visitor would see
Naught altered in the aspects round;
But long familiar shapes to me
Are missing, which I fain had found.

Still stands the rock, still runs the flood,
Which not an eye could pass unmov'd;
The flow'ry bank, the fringing wood.
Which e'en the passer mark'd and lov'd.

But when mine eye's delighted pride,
Had dwelt the rocks high front upon,
I sought upon its warmer side
A vine we train'd— and that was gone.

And though awhile content I gazed
Upon the river quick and fair,
I sought, ere long, a seat we raised
In childhood — but it was not there.

Stones lay around, I knew not whether
Its relics, or the winter's snow —
And sitting where we sate together,
Again I watch'd the torrent flow.