While all the visions fancy weaves
Are stirring at the well-known sight.
But sweeter memories cluster here
Than ever stirred a seaman’s breast,
Than e’er provoked his grateful tear,
Or wooed the mariner to rest.
’Twas here our life of life began—
The spirit felt its dormant power;
’Twas here the child became a man—
The opening bud became a flower.