A Young Irish Woman’s Memories of Home.

A YOUNG IRISH WOMAN’S MEMORIES OF HOME.

FROM the home of my childhood now far away,
I fondly recur to the land of my birth,
The sweet native spot, the dear rustic cot,
The scenes of my childhood, the dearest on earth.

Oh! well I remember, nor e’er shall forget,
The beauty and freshness of all things around,
The meadow, the brook, and each cherished nook,
The daisies and cowslips so often I found.

My labors were light, and my troubles but few,
Though poor, we were honest and lived in content,
Our fare it was simple, our hearts they were true,
And thankful for blessings a kind heaven sent.

But the day of misfortune at last on us fell:
To cross the blue sea I left my dear home,
For the shores of old England, where we had heard tell
Was plenty for all who hither might come.

No more the sweet air of my own native hills,
. No more the fair sight of fields waving with grain,
But the dust, and the smoke, and the noise of the mills,
In exchange for the past awaken but pain.

Another long voyage across the broad sea,
To the shores of the new-world an exile I come,
From the land of the oppressed to the land of the free,
Where the poor and distressed may find a kind home.

And here, far away from Erin’s dear isle,
My mind oft revisits the scenes of the past,
And thus many hours else sad I beguile,
But sorrow nor joy forever can last.

And so with my lot I’ll strive for content,
And new pleasures and friends be ready to find,
Still grateful for all by a kind heaven sent,
For friendship and truth to no spot are confined.