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My boyhood's haunt, through days of summer dreaming, Under young leaves that shook with melodies.

My home! the spirit of its love is breathing In every wind that plays across my track; From its white walls the very tendrils wreathing, Seem with soft links to draw the wanderer back.

There am I loved—there pray'd for—there my mother Sits by the hearth with meekly thoughtful eye; There my young sisters watch to greet their brother —Soon their glad footsteps down the path will fly.

There, in sweet strains of kindred music blending, All the home-voices meet at day's decline; One are those tones, as from one heart ascending,— There laughs my home—sad stranger! where is thine?