At peep of dawn, as I do now,
And tried to sing a cheerful lay—
But no—’twas ever “far away!”
I loved that land of fruits and flowers,
Where spring and summer twine their bowers,
And gentle zephyrs round them play—
But my birth-tree was far away!
Far north, where I was born and bred,
My winged thoughts were ever fled;
And, spurning joys that round me lay,