---

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - The Native Land. (From The Spanish Of Francisco De Aldana)
Work rating: Low

Clear fount of light! my native land on high,
Bright with a glory that shall never fade!
Mansion of truth! without a veil or shade,
Thy holy quiet meets the spirit`s eye.
There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence,
Gasping no longer for life`s feeble breath;
But, sentinelled in heaven, its glorious presence
With pitying eye beholds, yet fears not, death.
Beloved country! banished from thy shore,
A stranger in this prison-house of clay,
The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for thee!
Heavenward the bright perfections I adore
Direct, and the sure promise cheers the way,
That, whither love aspires, there shall my dwelling be.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.