Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/251



shade is on thy brow, sweet land, The shade is on thy brow, For autumn rends away the crown That summer gave but now; I turn me towards a greener clime, Where Albion's groves appear, But still the tear is on my cheek For thee, Edina dear.

There may, perchance, be richer realms, Where pride and splendour roll, But thou hast, sure, the wealth of heart, That wins the stranger's soul; There may, perchance, be those who say That Scotia's hills are drear, Yet tears are lingering on my cheek For thee, Edina dear.

And when, my pilgrim-wanderings o'er, I seek my native-land, And by my ingle-side once more Do clasp the kindred hand, And tell my listening children tales Of climes of foreign fame, Their grateful tears with mine will fall At dear Edina's name.