Oh! after many roving years,
        How sweet it is to come,
Tho the dwelling place of early youth,
        Our first, our dearest home!
To turn away our weary eyes,
        From proud ambition's towers,
And wander in the summer fields,
        Among the trees and flowers.

But I am changed since last I gazed
        On yonder tranquil scene
And sat beneath the old witch elm,
        That shades the village green;
And watched my boat upon the brook
        As t'were a regal galley;
And sighed not for a joy on earth,
        Beyond the happy valley.

I wish I could recall again
        That bright and blameless joy;
And summon to my weary heart,
        The feelings of a boy.
But I look on scenes of past delight,
        Without my wonted pleasure,
As a miser on the bed of death
        Looks coldly on his treasure.

SMEDELEN

January 11th 1850