And have the same feelings my bosom to fill?
Alas! it’s in ruins—love cannot retain it—
Tears gush for that Cottage which stood on the hill.
The rudely built Cottage, the old-fashioned Cottage,
The one-story Cottage, that stood on the hill.
Though parted by distance, those scenes of my childhood
Rise fresh in my mind, when to them I recur—
I fancy I visit the vale and the wildwood,
Where flowers yield perfume, like India’s myrrh;—
And then, in the warmth of the deepest emotion,