Look on the scenes where thy childhood grew—
Where thou hast pray’d at thy mother’s knee,
Where thou hast roved with thy brethren free;
Go thou, when life unto thee is changed,
Friends thou hast loved as thy soul, estranged;
When from the idols thy heart hath made,
Thou hast seen the colours of glory fade.
Oh! painfully then, by the wind’s low sigh,
By the voice of the stream, by the flower-cup’s dye,
By a thousand tokens of sight and sound,