Home-sickness

THERE calleth me ever a marvellous Horn,
"Come away! Come away!"
Is it earthly music faring astray,

Or is it air-born?
Oh, whether it be a spirit-wile

Or a forest voice,
It biddeth mine ailing heart rejoice,

Yet sorrow the while!

In the greenwood glades — o'er the garlanded bowl-
Night, Noontide, and Morn,

The summoning call of that marvellous Horn
Tones home to my soul!

In vain have I sought for it east and west,

But I darkly feel
That so soon as its music shall cease to peal

I go to my rest!