Some swelling melody is sweetly borne,
The sight will bring the loved and distant near,
And he will deem the soil he treads his own;
The music falling on his wearied ear
Will waken thoughts of home in every tone.
The wanderer leaves: but if a closing day
Departs with brighter glories in the west,
If e’en a cloud in evening shades away,
Stainèd with brighter hues than all the rest,
Then will he pause, where’er his steps may be,