Page:The Amulet 1833.pdf/23



! sing again that mournful song, That song of other times! The music bears my soul along, To other, dearer climes.

I love its low and broken tone; The music seems to me Like the wild wind when singing lone Over a twilight sea.

It may not sound so sweet to you, To you it cannot bring The valleys where your childhood grew, The memories of your spring.

My father's house, my infancy, Rise present to my mind, As if I had not crossed the sea, Or left my youth behind.