The Wanderer + 

I wander among the hills of alien lands + 

Where Nature her prerogative resigns + 

To Man; where Comfort in her shack reclines + 

And all the arts and sciences commands. + 

But in my soul + 

The eastern billows roll⁠— + 

I hear the voices of my native strands. + 

My lingering eyes, a lonely hemlock fills + 

With grace and splendor rising manifold; + 

Beneath her boughs the maples spread their gold + 

And at her feet, the silver of the rills. + 

But in my heart + 

A peasant void of art + 

Echoes the voices of my native hills. + 

On every height a studied art confines + 

All human joy in social pulchritude; + 

The boxwood frowns where beckoning birches stood, + 

And where the thrushes carolled Fashion dines. + 

But through the spreading cheer + 

The shepherd’s reed I hear + 

Beneath my Lebanon terebinths and pines. + 

And though no voices here are heard of toil, + 

Nor accents least of sorrow, nor the din + 

Of multitudes, nor even at the Inn + 

The City is permitted aught to spoil, + 

Yet in my breast, + 

A shack at best, + 

Laments the mother of my native soil. + 

Even where the sumptuous solitudes deny + 

A shelter to a bird or butterfly, + 

As in the humblest dwelling of the dale + 

A gracious welcome ’s shown the passer-by; + 

But evermore clear + 

Allwhere I hear + 

The calling of my native hut and sky. + 

Land of my birth! a handful of thy sod + 

Resuscitates the flower of my faith; + 

For whatsoever the seer of science sayth, + 

Thou art the cradle and the tomb of God; + 

And forever I behold + 

A vision old + 

Of Beauty weeping where He once hath trod. + 