Whilst letter'd travellers delight to roam The time-torn temple and demolish'd dome; Stray with the Arab o'er the wreck of time, Where erst Palmyra's towers arose sublime; Or mark the lazy Turk's lethargic pride, And Grecian slavery on Ilyssus' side: Oh! be it mine to flee from empire's strife, And mark the changes of domestic life; See the fall'n scenes where once I bore my part, Where every change of fortune strikes the heart; As when the merry bells' responsive sound Proclaim the news of victory around; When eager patriots fly the news to spread Of glorious conquest, and of thousands dead; All feel the mighty glow of victor joy, Exult in blood, and triumph to destroy: But if extended on the gory plain, And, snatch'd in conquest, some lov'd friend be slain, Affection's tears will dim the sorrowing eye, And suffering nature grieve that one should die. Oft have my footsteps roam'd the sacred spot, Where heroes, kings, and minstrels, sleep forgot; Oft traced the mouldering castle's ivy'd wall, Or ruin'd convent tottering to its fall; Whilst sad reflection lov'd the solemn gloom, Paus'd o'er the pile, and ponder'd on the tomb: Yet never had my bosom felt such pain As, ALSTON, when I saw thy scenes again! For every long-lost pleasure rush'd to view, For every long-past sorrow rose anew; Where whilome all were friends, I stood alone, Unknowing all I saw, of all I saw unknown. ALSTON! no pilgrim ever crept around With more emotion Sion's sacred ground, Than fill'd my heart as slow I saunter'd o'er Those fields my infant steps had trod of yore; Where I had loiter'd out the summer hour, Chas'd the gay butterfly, and cull'd the flower; Sought the swift arrow's erring course to trace, Or with mine equals vied amid the chace. Cold was the morn, and bleak the wintry blast Howl'd o'er the meadow, when I view'd thee last; My bosom bounded, as I wander'd round Each well-known field, each long-remember'd ground. I saw the church where I had slept away The tedious service of the summer-day; Or, listening sad to all the preacher told, In winter wak'd, and shiver'd with the cold; And, as I pass'd along the well-trod way, Where whilome two by two we walk'd to pray, I saw the garden ground as usual rail'd, A fence, to fetch my ball, I oft had scal'd: Oh! it recall'd a thousand scenes to view, A thousand joys to which I long had bid adieu.