Where roll the waters of that noble stream,
“Father of Rivers” called—the poet’s theme!
How oft the traveler deems he finds a home,
And plants his weary feet, no more to roam,
Feasts his delighted eyes on pastures green,
Nor dreams a blight can mar the lovely scene!
But many there no place of rest may have,
Save in one little spot—their early grave!
Homes of the west! too oft your precincts prove
Sad sepulchres of woman’s dearest love;