ome

3031

ying wid my brudder

my kind old mudder! live and die.

among de bushes,

my memory rushes,

where I rove.

see de bees a-humming

d de comb?

I hear de banjo tumming,

my good old home?

Stephen Collins Foster [1826-1864]

he town with ships in the bay,
y heart it's there I was to-day;
art I was far away from here,
or and talking to my dear.

rie, home-it's home I want to be.
hoisted, and we'll away to sea.
he ash and the bonnie birken tree
ing green in the old countrie.

walking a lady I did meet

on her arm as she came down the street;

how I sailed, and the cradle standing ready

little babe that has never seen its daddie. me, dearie, home,

Ass, she shall wear a golden ring;

lad, he shall fight for his king;

k and his hat and his little jacket blue alk the quarter-deck as his daddie used to do. home, dearie, home,

a wind a-blowing, a-blowing from the west, of all the winds is the one I like the best,

For it blows at our backs, and it shakes our pennon free,
And it soon will blow us home to the old countrie.
For it's home, dearie, home-it's home I want to be.
Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea.
O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree
They're all growing green in the old countrie.
William Ernest Henley [1849-1903]

HOT WEATHER IN THE PLAINS-INDIA

FAR beyond the sky-line, where the steamers go, There's a cool, green country, there's the land I know; Where the gray mist rises from the hidden pool,

And the dew falls softly on the meadows cool.

When the exile's death has claimed me it is there my soul shall fly,

To the pleasant English country, when my time has come to

die;

Where the west wind on the uplands echoes back the seabird's cry→

Oh! it's there my soul will hasten though it's here my bones must lie.

From the many temples, tinkling bells ring clear,
But a fairer music in my heart I hear-

Lilt of English skylark, plash of woodland streams,
Songs of thrush and blackbird fill my waking dreams.
In each pause from work and worry, it is there my thoughts

will fly,

To the pleasant English country with the pearly, misty

sky

And the present's toil and trouble fade and cease and pass

me by

Oh! it's there I fain would wander, but it's here my bones must lie.

Hard and hot the sky spreads, one unchanging glare,
Far and wide the earth lies burnt and brown and bare,
Sunset brings no solace, night-time no redress,
Still the breathless silence mocks the land's distress.

Heart's Content

3033

s recross the waters to the spring-times long

English woods and pastures, 'neath a softer, ky;

th shall end my exile, thither will my spirit

my soul shall wander, though it's here my st lie.

HEART'S CONTENT

SAIL! a sail! Oh, whence away, nd whither, o'er the foam?

d brother mariners, we pray, God speed you safely home!" ow wish us not so foul a wind,

Until the fair be spent;

hearth and home we leave behind:

We sail for Heart's Content."

or Heart's Content! And sail ye so,

With canvas flowing free?

it, pray you, tell us, if ye know, Where may that harbor be?

r we that greet you, worn of time, Wave-racked, and tempest-rent, y sun and star, in every clime, Have searched for Heart's Content.

In every clime the world around,
The waste of waters o'er;
n El Dorado have we found,
That ne'er was found before.
he isles of spice, the lands of dawn,
Where East and West are blent-
ll these our eyes have looked upon,
But where is Heart's Content?

“Oh, turn again, while yet ye may,
And ere the hearths are cold,
And all the embers ashen-gray,

By which ye sat of old,
And dumb in death the loving lips
That mourned as forth ye went
To join the fleet of missing ships,
In quest of Heart's Content;

"And seek again the harbor-lights,
Which faithful fingers trim,
Ere yet alike the days and nights
Unto your eyes are dim!

For woe, alas! to those that roam
Till time and tide are spent,

And win no more the port of home-
The only Heart's Content!"

Unknown

SONG

STAY, stay at home, my heart, and rest;
Home-keeping hearts are happiest,

For those that wander they know not where
Are full of trouble and full of care;

To stay at home is best.

Weary and homesick and distressed,

They wander east, they wander west,

And are baffled and beaten and blown about
By the winds of the wilderness of doubt;

To stay at home is best.

Then stay at home, my heart, and rest;

The bird is safest in its nest;

Over all that flutter their wings and fly
A hawk is hovering in the sky;

To stay at home is best.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882]

The Old Home

3035

MY EARLY HOME

ERE sparrows build upon the trees,
And stockdove hides her nest;

The leaves are winnowed by the breeze
Into a calmer rest:

The black-cap's song was very sweet,
That used the rose to kiss;

t made the Paradise complete:
My early home was this.

The red-breast from the sweetbrier bush
Dropped down to pick the worm;
On the horse-chestnut sang the thrush,
O'er the house where I was born;
The moonlight, like a shower of pearls,
Fell o'er this 'bower of bliss',
And on the bench sat boys and girls:
My early home was this.

The old house stooped just like a cave,
Thatched o'er with mosses green;
Winter around the walls would rave,
But all was calm within;

The trees are here all green again,

Here bees the flowers still kiss,

But flowers and trees seemed sweeter then:
My early home was this.

John Clare [1793-1864]

THE OLD HOME

ane, an old gate, an old house by a tree; wood, a wild brook-they will not let me be: ood I knew them, and still they call to me.

eep in my heart's core I hear them and my eyes h tear-mists behold them beneath the oldtime skies, e-booru and rose-bloom and orchard-lands arise.