My country, sir, is not a single spot
Of such a mould, or fixed to such a clime;
No! ’tis the social circle of my friends,
The loved community in which I’m linked,
And in whose welfare all my wishes centre.
MILLER’S _Mahomet_.
* * * * *
Whose heart has ne’er within him burned
As home his footsteps he hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand?
W. SCOTT; _Lay of the Last Minstrel_.
* * * * *
There blend the ties that strengthen
Our hearts in hours of grief,
The silver links that lengthen
Joy’s visits when most brief.
Then dost thou sigh for pleasure?
Oh! do not widely roam,
But seek that hidden treasure
At home, dear home!