I.
Mine eye is weary of the plains
Of verdure vast and wide
That stretch around melovely, calm,
From morn till even-tide;
And I recall with aching heart
My childhoods 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 reapers joyous song
Neer mounts to Heavens 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 hushtheir whisprings vague,
My heart seem to oppress;
And neath their shadow could I sit,
And think the livelong day
On my countrys fields and hedges green,
Gemmed with sweet hawthorn spray.
IV.
The graceful vines and strange bright flowrs,
I meet in every spot,
Id 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 notand breathe a sigh
For lark or linnets 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.