Magnolia leaves / Mary Weston Fordham [electronic text]

THE EXILE'S REVERIE.

'Twas sunset's hour, the glorious day Had in its beauty passed away; The sun had bathed in golden dyes This Southern land of sunny skies; And crimson clouds, like birds of wing, Did o'er the earth their radiance fling; While zephyrs sang amid the trees, And song-birds warbled to the breeze; For Spring, just bursting into birth, Had come once more to gladden earth.

Near Pensacola's margin, lay, Laved by its never ceasing spray, The exile, from his native land The dweller on a foreign strand. And as he lay kind thoughts of home Like visions of the past did come; And mem'ry's mirror pictured clear The starlight of his boyhood there; The hopes that clustered round his brow, The shrine at which he loved to bow.

He mused aloud, Oh! Italy! Land of the chivalric, the free! Bruce may of Scotland tune his lyre, But thee alone, can'st me inspire.

Birthplace of beauty! never more Shall I behold thy vine-clad shore; The sward where I in childhood play'd— The haunts deep in the forest shade— The place where, mould'ring in decay, The ashes of a sire lay.

Why did I leave thee? As spring flowers Return no more through summer hours When once they blossom, bear and die, No more will bloom neath sultry sky; So heart of man when hopes have fled, And love lies buried with the dead, No second spring time sends one ray To cheer his path through life's dark day; Hope's blossoms like the early dew Once passed away, naught can renew.

Still I live on, and oft, at eve My isolated cot I leave; Thence to this lonely nook I hie To take a glance at days gone by. Each blue wave hast'ning to its goal (Fit type of the immortal soul) In thrilling accents seems to say Thou'rt nearing fast life's closing day; Thou soon wilt reach thy better home, The home where changes never come.