Far West Emigrant.

I.

Mine eye is weary of the plains
    Of verdure vast and wide
That stretch around me - lovely, calm,
    From morn till even-tide;
And I recall with aching heart
    My childhood's village home;
Its cottage roofs and garden plots,
    Its brooks of silver foam.


II.

True glowing verdure smiles around,
    And this rich virgin soil
Gives stores of wealth in quick return
    For hours of careless toil;
But oh! the reaper's joyous song
    Ne'er mounts to Heaven's dome,
For unknown is the mirth and joy
    Of the merry "Harvest Home."


III.

The solemn trackless woods are fair,
    And bright their summer dress;
But their still hush - their whisprings vague,
    My heart seem to oppress;
And 'neath their shadow could I sit,
    And think the livelong day
On my country's fields and hedges green,
    Gemmed with sweet hawthorn spray.


IV.

The graceful vines and strange bright flow'rs,
    I meet in every spot,
I'd give up for a daisy meek,
    A blue forget-me-not;
And from the brilliant birds I turn,
    Warbling the trees among;
I know them not - and breathe a sigh
    For lark or linnet's song.


V.

But useless now those vain regrets!
    My course must finish here;
In dreams alone I now can see
    Again my home so dear,
Or those fond loving friends who clung
    Weeping unto my breast;
And bade "God speed me" when I left,
    To seek the far, far West.