ROMANCE.
FROM THE FRENCH.
How thrillingly remembrance clings,
My native France, to thee!
Oh, sister! life had joyous wings,
When by the deep-blue sea,
In the free light of childhood’s day,
We sported childhood’s hours away.
And thou rememb’rest too, when near
The fire side’s glimmering light,
Our mother chained the listening ear
With tales that charmed the night;
And smoothed our glossy locks, and prest
Us fondly to her matron breast.
And the old tower, where thou and I
Together knelt to pray;
Where matin voices swelled on high
To hail the coming day;
And vesper hymn, of praise and prayer,
Rose sweetly on the Summer air.
And the blue tranquil lake, with bank
Rich with the gifts of Spring—
Whose transient bubbles rose and sank,
Touched by the swallow’s wing;
When the sun swept across the deep
In glory to his ocean sleep.
And she—the loved, the lost, the friend
Of youth’s unclouded years—
Alas! remembrances but tend
To dim the past with tears:
Yet still my latest sigh shall be
Sacred, my native land! to thee!