"Oh, turn again, while yet ye may, By which ye sat of old, And dumb in death the loving lips "And seek again the harbor-lights, 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; For those that wander they know not where 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 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] MY EARLY HOME HERE sparrows build upon the trees, The leaves are winnowed by the breeze The black-cap's song was very sweet, It made the Paradise complete: The red-breast from the sweetbrier bush And on the bench sat boys and girls: The old house stooped just like a cave, The trees are here all green again, But flowers and trees seemed sweeter then: John Clare [1793-1864] THE OLD HOME AN old lane, an old gate, an old house by a tree; Down deep in my heart's core I hear them and my eyes Through tear-mists behold them beneath the oldtime skies, 'Mid bee-boom and rose-bloom and orchard-lands arise. I hear them; and heartsick with longing is my soul, To talk with the wild brook of all the long ago; To whisper the wood-wind of things we used to know To walk with the morning and watch its rose unfold; To tell to the old trees, and to each listening leaf, The old lane, the old gate, the old house by the tree, THE AULD HOUSE Oн, the auld house, the auld house,— The wild rose and the jessamine Oh, the auld laird, the auld laird, His ain wee dear auld house; And the leddy too, sae genty, There sheltered Scotland's heir, And clipped a lock wi' her ain hand, The mavis still doth sweetly sing, The bonny Earn's clear winding still, Deserted though ye be, There ne'er can be a new house Still flourishing the auld pear-tree The merry shout-oh! whiles we greet For they are a' wide scattered now; Some to the Indies gane, Not here we'll meet again. The setting sun, the setting sun! The cloudy splendor raised our hearts The auld dial, the auld dial! It tauld how time did pass; The wintry winds hae dung it doon, Now hid 'mang weeds and grass. Carolina Nairne [1766-1845] THE ROWAN TREE O ROWAN tree, O rowan tree! thou'lt aye be dear to me! There wasna sic a bonnie tree in a' the country side. O rowan tree! How fair wert thou in simmer time, wi' a' thy clusters white, How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi' berries red and bright! On thy fair stem were mony names which now nae mair I see, But they're engraven on my heart-forgot they ne'er can be! O rowan tree! We sat aneath thy spreading shade, the bairnies round thee ran, They pu'd thy bonnie berries red, and necklaces they strang. O there arose my father's prayer, in holy evening's calm; How sweet was then my mother's voice in the Martyr's psalm! Now a' are gane! we meet nae mair aneath the rowan tree! But hallowed thoughts around thee twine o' hame and infancy, O rowan tree! Carolina Nairne [1766-1845] THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD We sat within the farm-house old, |