'T WAS a vision of childhood that came with its dawn, Ere the curtain that covered life's day-star was drawn ; The nurse told the tale when the shadows grew long, And the mother's soft lullaby breathed it in song. "There flows a fair stream by the hills of the west," I saw the green banks of the castle-crowned Rhine, Where the grapes drink the moonlight and change to wine; I stood by the Avon, whose waves as they glide Still whisper his glory who sleeps at their side. But my heart would still yearn for the sound of the waves That sing as they flow by my forefathers' graves; If manhood yet honors my cheek with a tear, I care not who sees it,- no blush for it here! Farewell to the deep-bosomed stream of the West! I fling this loose blossom to float on its breast; Nor let the dear love of its children grow cold, |