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RETURN TO NATIVE LAND.

of birth, whose outline dear, O'er the morning mist doth peer, Blessed hills whose wings outspread Seemed to follow, as we fled, When our parting glance was bent On our country's battlement, As with white sails set, we sped Far away, o'er Ocean dread, How our glad return ye greet With a smile of welcome sweet! He who fashioned earth and sea, Made no hills more fair than ye.

Spires! that break the rolling tide Of man's worldliness and pride,