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How brightly glistening in the sun
⁠The woodland ivy plays!
While yonder beeches from their barks
⁠Reflect his silver rays.

That sun surveys a lovely scene
⁠From softly smiling skies;
And wildly through unnumbered trees
⁠The wind of winter sighs:

Now loud, it thunders o'er my head,
⁠And now in distance dies.
But give me back my barren hills
⁠Where colder breezes rise;

Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees
⁠Can yield an answering swell,
But whеre a wilderness of hеath
⁠Returns the sound as well.

For yonder garden, fair and wide,
⁠With groves of evergreen,
Long winding walks, and borders trim,
⁠And velvet lawns between;

Restore to me that little spot,
⁠With grey walls compassed round,
Where knotted grass neglected lies,
⁠And weeds usurp the ground.

Though all around this mansion high
⁠Invites the foot to roam,
And though its halls are fair within—
⁠Oh, give me back my Home!