Chapter XC

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There is a welcome in this Western Land
Like the old welcomes, which were said to give
The friendly heart where'er they gave the hand;
Within this soil the social virtues live,
Like its own forest trees, unprun'd and free--
At least there is one welcome here for me:
A breast that pillowed all my sorrows past,
And waits my coming now, and lov'd me first and last.