He enter'd in his house—his home no more,
For without hearts there is no home—and felt
The solitude of passing his own door
Without a welcome.
—Byron.
894
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.
—Payne.
895
THAT LAND THY COUNTRY.
There is a land, of every land the pride,
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside;
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons emparadise the night;—
There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
While in his softened looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend;—
"Where shall that land, that spot of earth, be found?"
Art thou a man?—a patriot?—look around!
O, thou shalt find, where'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy home!
—Sir Walter Scott.
