MY NATIVE LAND.

Hawke's Bay Herald, 14 June 1859, Page 2

MY NATIVE LAND.

Oh ! oft in my dreams when all else is still. Save the tempest breeze that blows o'er the hill ; My thoughts will turn to my Native Home, And again with the friends I love, I roam ; I hear their voices, so gentle and mild, And ? I dream that I am again a child ; But 'tis only in dreams that I see that strand, For I'm far away from my Native Land. I dream of the flowers that in England bloom, In meadow or forest, on hill or tomb ; I dream of the violet's transcendant blue, And seem gazing on its lovely hue 3 I dream of all fleeting and beautiful flowers, That I loved so well in those happy hours ; I dream I'm again with a merry band, Gathering flowers in my Native Land. I dream of each friend's beloved voice, And again as in youth doth my heart rejoice ; I dream of each sweetly-smiling face, To which love has given a nameless grace ; I dream of each tender, caressing word, Which I so oft in my childood heard ; And I feel the warm pressure of the hand, As I felt it pressed in my Native Land. I dream of the Sabbath so fall of peace, When the cares of the week seemed to cease ; And even now on my memory swells, The melodious sounds of the Sabbath bells ; Again we seem to kneel down in prayer, While a holy calm stills the Sabbath air ; A simple-hearted and holy band, How different here from my Native Land. Oh ! when, thou land of the faithful and true, Shall I the shores of thy beauty view? Oh ! when shall I meet with the friends so kind ? Few such on these far-off shores I find ; Brighter and lovelier do they seem, When I wake and find it is but a dream ; xind my heart still turns to that loving band, Who wait my return in my Native Land. M. A., Tfl Mat*