182 CLASSICAL MODERN POETRY. 



MY NATIVE SPOT. 



My native spot, my native spot, 



Where first I saw the day ; 

 Oh, ne'er through life to be forgot, 



Where'er my footsteps stray. 



Where first I knew a mother's love, 



And felt a mother's kiss ; 

 And day-dreams of the future strove 



With childhood's present bliss. 



Alas ! the present faded fast, 



The future never came, 

 And life is but a wither' d waste, 



And joy is but a name. 



Yet midst the wreck of hopes o'ercast, 



The weight of worldly ills, 

 With mournful pleasure still the past 



My aching bosom fills. 



There's nought maturer age can find 



To equal those bright hours, 

 When the sunshine of the opening mind 



Deck'd coming life with flowers. 



Each happy scene returns to view, 

 The loved, the dead are there, 



All gilded with the brilliant hue 

 Which childhood bade them wear. 



My thoughts yet dwell on each loved haunt, 



Beside each favourite tree ; 

 The verdant path, the grassy mount, 



An universe to me. 

 These speak of years of innocence, 



Of many a sportive game, 

 Of schemes of youthful confidence 



And airy plans of fame. 



Now vanish' d all the sports have fled,- 



Ambition and her train 

 No more excite this wearied head 



The loved are wept in vain. 



