Page:Felicia Hemans in The Monthly Magazine Volume 3 1827.pdf/2



- - - - - Has his heart forgot, so far away, Those native scenes—those rocks and torrents grey; The tall bananas whispering to the breeze; The shores—the sound of those encircling seas Heard from his infant days—and the piled heap Of holy stones, where his forefathers sleep?

waved not through an eastern sky, Beside a fount of Araby; It was not fanned by southern breeze, In some green isle of Indian seas; Nor did its graceful shadow sleep O'er stream of Afric, lone and deep:

But fair the exiled palm-tree grew, 'Midst foliage of no kindred hue; Through the laburnum's dropping gold Uprose that stem of orient mould, And Europe's violets, faintly sweet, Purpled the moss-beds at his feet.