Oh, gaily sings the bird! and the wattle-boughs are stirrd
And rustled by the scented breath of spring;
Oh, the dreary wistful longing! Oh, the faces that are thronging!
Oh, the voices that are vaguely whispering!
Oh, tell me, father mine, ere the good ship crossd the brine,
On the gangway one mute hand-grip we exchangd;
Do you, past the grave, employ, for your stubborn, reckless boy,
Those petitions that in life were neer estranged?
Oh, tell me, sister dear, parting word and parting tear
Never passd between us; let me bear the blame,
Are you living, girl, or dead? bitter tears since then Ive shed
For the lips that lispd with mine a mothers name.
Oh, tell me, ancient friend, ever ready to defend,
In our boyhood, at the base of lifes long hill,