I love thee still, thou quaint old town !

Thou well remembered art !

Fond mem'ry leads my thoughts to thee -

Thoughts graven on my heart.

 

In dreams I oft revisit thee,

And, waking, call to mind

Those joyous hours of happiness

Still round my heart entwined.

 

Oft have I wandered through thy woods,

And listened to the song

Of wild birds' sweetest melody

The leafy trees among.

 

Oft have I climbed thy rugged steep,

And plucked the heather bell,

And bathed my heated fevered brow

Within the moss-grown well.

 

I have roamed beneath thy lofty elms

Alone, by the moon's pale beam,

And soothed my troubled spirit there,

Beside thy silvery stream.

 

Thy sylvan shades have sheltered me

From the mid-day summer sun,

And gladly have I sought thy glades

When labour's work was done.

 

I have trod thy valleys deep and lone,

And lingered by thy fountains,

'Till flitting shadows 'gan to sweep

Athwart thy lofty mountains.

 

And oft amid thy churchyard tombs

I pensively have strayed,

And thought of loved ones gone before,

And in that churchyard laid.

 

Close by the little "wicket gate,"

Beneath a syc'more tree,

The loved remains of those repose

Who still are dear to me.

 

The ruthless hand of Death bore all

My loved ones on its tide,

And 'neath thy grassy hillocks there

They slumber side by side.

 

Farewell ! farewell, thou quaint old town

Should I ne'er re-visit thee,

Fond memory still, with stronger links,

Will bind my heart to thee.