Chapter XXXIII

Oh home! thou dearest, loveliest spot,
However bleak, however wild!--
Thy mem’ry time can never blot,
Whate’er thro’ life may be my lot.
Still, thou shalt charm thy wand’ring child;
Tho’ many a ling’ring year has past,
Since thy fond circle shed the tear,
(To one bright eye it was the last)
And many heav’d a sigh sincere,
That sorrow, genuine sorrow started,
When from thy blest retreats I parted;--
Still, tho’ the wreaths that fancy braided
In thy lov’d bosom, long have faded,
Those friends who lov’d my infancy,
Claim still my bosom’s warmest sigh,
They love me still, no fate can sever
That faithful bond that bides for ever;
A mother’s fond unfeigning love,
Fails only, with the throb of life,
It cannot false, or faithless prove,
By wo unmov’d, unaw’d by strife.
Oh dearer far than wealth, or fame,
Is a lov’d mother’s honor’d name,--
It leads us in our early way,
Ere reason lends its guardian ray;
It points to virtue’s bright reward,
It bids us shun deceitful vice,
Persuasion drops from every word,
And love attunes that heavenly voice.