Even as the swan returned,
Stoops to repose upon thine azure breast,
I greet each welcome spot
Forsaken long—but ne’er, ah, ne’er forgot!
’Twas here that memory grew—
’Twas here that childhood’s hopes and cares were left;
Its early freshness too—
Ere droops the soul, of her best joys bereft.
Where are they?—o’er the track
Of cold years, I would call the wanderers back!