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Rh  As if commission'd to proclaim her hour Of final dissolution.—My sad heart Yearn'd o'er its first abode,—and though I fear'd Her atmosphere would soon be liquid fire, And all her glories vanish as a scroll, I fain must leave my Paradise for her.— —From my pure, odorous couch I madly leap'd.— I fell interminably.—At the shock The vision fled,—and I with transport hail'd The firm, green earth,—and girt myself to toil A little longer in her wildering race, Then in her bosom sleep.

 

Why wouldst thou banish from thy side One, who can ne'er forget thy care? Who in thy home would fain abide, Or all thy weary wanderings share?—

Say'st thou, alas!—no home is thine?— Then where the wild blast wrecks the tree, Where forests frown, or brambles twine, My Mother! I will dwell with thee.

Yes.—Yes.—O'er mountain, stream and hill, Fast by thy steps my feet shall tread, The same pure fount our cup shall fill, The same lone cavern be our bed:— 