The very thought which makes you form this wish
Forbids it to be mine. Your native land
Attracts you, and has mine no charm for me?
Shall a remembrance of your cherished home,
Your absent kindred and your dearest friends,
Which years and distance have not yet effaced,
Rule in your soul with softer, mightier sway
Than what I know, and hear, and feel of mine.
DAJA.
'Tis vain to struggle, for the ways of Heaven