I'd a dream last night of my boyhood's days,
And the scenes where my youth was spent;
And I roamed the old woods where the squirrel plays,
Full of frolicsome merriment.
And I walked by the brook, and its silvery tone,
Seemed to soothe me again as of yore;
And I stood by the cottage with moss overgrown
And the woodbine that trailed round the door.
No change could I see in the garden plot,
The flowers bloomed brightly around,
And one little bed of forget-me-not
In its own little corner I found.
The sky had a home-look, the breeze seemed to sigh,
In the strain I remembered so well,
And the little brown sparrows looked cunning and shy,
As though anxious some story to tell.
But as quietness reigned and a loneliness fell,
O'er the place that had once been so gay;
Its sunlight had saddened since I bade farewell,
And left it for lands far away.
The door stood ajar and I sought for a face,
Of the dear ones I longed so to see;
But others I knew not were now in the place,
And their presence was painful to me.
A pang of remorse seemed to shoot through my heart,
As I left with a sorrowing tread,
From all the familiar objects to part;
For I knew that the loved ones were dead.
The home once my own, now knows me no more,
The treasures that bound me all gone,
And I woke with cheeks tear-stained, and heart sadly sore,
To find that a home I had none.