I return'd to my own native land,
And I sought for the spot I had loved,
Where the rose and the lily had bloom'd 'neath my hand,
And my footsteps in childhood had roved.
I saw--but I wept at the change
Long years had thrown over the scene;--
It was there--but the desert's wild, desolate range
Was mark'd "where the garden had been."
I look'd for the cottage of white,
As it stood half conceal'd, half disclosed,
By the rose tree and vine which encircled it quite,
Near the sod where my fathers reposed.
It was gone--but the chimney was there,
The sad relic of long vanish'd years;
And the thorn and the brier now embraced, or were near,
Where my kindred had buried their cares.
I look'd for the valley and stream,
Where the bower and grove intertwined;
Where the wild hunter boy oft indulged in his dream
Of delights he was never to find.
The valley and stream--they were there,
But the shade of the green wood had pass'd;
The stream was a wild where the serpent might _lair_,
In that vale's ever shadowless waste.
I look'd for the mountain and hill,
Where the hunter delighted to stray,
And where at the twilight, the lone whippoorwill
Had pour'd forth his anchorite lay.
They were there--but the hunter was gone,
And the sound of his bugle was hush'd;
And the torrent was there--but the light-footed fawn
Drank not at its fount as it rush'd.
I look'd for the friends I lov'd best;
The friends of my earliest choice;
They had gone to that bourne where the dead are at rest,
Or cold was each care-stricken voice.
The living were there--but were chill'd
By the imprint of age and its cares;
They met me--just met me--and heartlessly smiled,
For their friendship had fled with their years.
Adieu to thee--"land of the leal,"
Fair land of the blue-vaulted sky;
Tho' I go--yet the heart thus inspired to feel,
Shall remember thee oft with a sigh.
_Elfin Moor, Va. January 14, 1835_.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.