How oft I wonder at my lot!
How oft are all but thee forgot!
While in this half-despairing breast,
Love builds a little, quiet nest,
To hover o'er with joyous wing,
Nay, sometimes soar aloft and sing!
'Tis this alone the heart sustains,
Which poverty has bound in chains!




IV.


"Come, Edmund, now the sun goes down,
Thy many wanderings tell!
Say, after all thine eyes have seen,
If home appears so well!"

"So well! alas! ye do not know
How absence can endear!
In every hill, in every tree,
A thousand charms appear.

"The verdure of these English fields
Seems in my heart to glow--
There, as this shaded river winds,
I feel its waters flow.