Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/379



face I look upon doth greet me With smile that generous welcome lends; No ready hand, with cheerful glow, Is now stretched out, all glad, to meet me: A chill distrust on every brow, Assures me I have here no friends!

I miss the music of home voices, The rushing of the mountain flood, My country's birds that blithely sung In woodlands where green May rejoices, Discoursing love when life was young, And mirthful ever was my mood.

The breezes soft that fan my cheek, The bower that shades the sun from me, The sky that spans this Southern shore, Do all a different language speak From breeze and bower I loved of yore. And sky that spans my own countree.