Skip to main content

‹‹‹ prev (292) Page 50Page 50My bark is now upon the wave

(294) next ››› Page 52Page 52Waits

(293) Page 51 -
'Twas his, deaf to pity, to tenderness dead,
The (alien to crush, and the hnmble to spurn;
Bui I staid not. his scorn, -from his mansion I fled,
And my healing- heart vnWd never more to return.
When home shall receive me, fine home yet 1 know,
Oct its gloomy recess see the pine branches wave;
'Tis the tomb of my fathers!— The world is my foe,
And all my inheritance now is a grave.
Tis the tomb of my fathers, the grey-moisfend walls
Declining to earth, speak, emphatic, decay:
The gate oft its hinges,and hall-opening, calls
"Approach, most unhappy, thy dwelling of clay!'
Alas! thou sole dwelling ol all 1 hold dear,
How- little this meeting once aug'urd my breast.
From a wanderer accept, oh, my fathers! this tear:
Receive him, the last of your race, to your rest!

Images and transcriptions on this page, including medium image downloads, may be used under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence unless otherwise stated. Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence