Oh, to behold my native land once more!
To clasp my loved ones in a fond embrace!
To hear their voices sweet, and o'er and o'er
Each new expanded feature proudly trace;
To view them all complete, a fairy ring
Of joyous, beauteous blossoms in their spring!
Has Love prepared me such a cup as this?
Me--the poor wand'rer from my dovelets' nest?
Has life a purer joy, a heav'nlier bliss,
Than the maternal rapture of my breast?
Fill--fill, ye barque, your white, distended sails,
And fly with eagle speed through fav'ring gales.
No faded tints portray the glowing past;
No dull reflection damps my ardour's flame;
Vivid I hold the treasured mem'ries fast,
And, as in days gone by, the scene's the same;
An angel-group the little band appears, Their eyes all bright with smiles--mine dim with tears.
What though fair India draw my parting sighs?
And friendship kindles grateful retrospect?
My heart leaps onward to my native skies,
With all its loosened founts of love, unchecked--
And, when the stormy jets of ocean play,
Love sees the mimic rainbows in their spray.