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Again the well remembered spot I thread,
The spot of all in earth most dear to me;
Ye scenes of childhood, now forever fled,
Fond memory brings you back, with all your glee.
When
morn's fair goddess wide her gates did ope,
I've wandered here to greet her early dawn;
When tuneful birds their melodies awoke,
I've heard thy murmurs, lonely Horicon.
But
on thy placid bosom now to gaze
These
sightless orbs, alas! do strive in vain,
The golden sun sheds not for me it's rays,
To light o'er once familiar scenes again.
Oh!
what is sight; a gift I ne'er can know,-
But let me never murmur or repine-
Why should these eyes with tears of grief o'erflow
For that which never, can be mine.
Here
have I roamed at twilight's pensive hour,
When stars illum'd the blue ethereal sky;
Here breathed the fragrance of each sleeping flower
And heard the balmy zephyrs gently sigh.
But where are those my bosom held so dear,
Who in my joys and sorrows shared a part,
Whose accents fell like music on my ear?
How sacred is their memory to my heart!
Alas
their dwelling is the stranger's home,
I call, but echo's voice alone replies;
And as I wander o'er the spot, alone,
Unbidden tears of grief suffuse mine eyes.
When
sorrow blights some fondly cherished flower
We've nourished long and tenderly caressed,
Is there a balm that in that cheerless hour
Can sooth the anguish of the troubled breast?
Oh,
yes! Hope fondly whispers in mine ear,
That with those loved ones I shall meet again;
She from my cheek doth wipe the gushing tear,
And bids my anxious heart no more complain.
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The Blind Girl's Lament