Xxvii

"It was indeed a miserable hour When, from the last hill-top, my sire surveyed, Peering above the trees, the steeple tower That on his marriage day sweet music made! Till then, he hoped his bones might there be laid Close by my mother in their native bowers: Bidding me trust in God, he stood and prayed;-- I could not pray:--through tears that fell in showers Glimmered our dear-loved home, alas! no longer ours!