Shining along thro’ banks with harebells dyed;
And many a bird to warble on the wing,
When morn her saffron robe o’er heaven and earth doth fling.
O! love of loves!—to thy white hand is given
Of earthly happiness the golden key!
“Thine are the joyous hours of winter’s even,
When the babes cling around their father’s knee;
And thine the voice that, on the midnight sea,
Melts the rude mariner with thoughts of home,
Peopling the gloom with all he longs to see.