My Low And Humble Home
I left my low and humble home,
Far from my Father's fields to roam.
My peaceful cot no more had charms,
My only joy was War's alarms.
I panted for the field of fight,
I gaz'd upon the deathless light,
Which o'er the Hero's grave is shed,
The glorious memory of the dead.
Ambition show'd a distant star,
That shed its radiance bright and far,
And pointed to a path which led
O'er heaps of dying and of dead;
Onward I press'd with eager feet,
And War's dread thunder still would greet
My reckless ears. Where'er I trod,
I saw the green and verdant sod,
Turn red with blood of slaughter'd foes,
And Fury veil'd in smoke arose.
I gain'd the envied height; and there,
I sigh'd for that lone cottage, where
The early hours of life flew by,
On wings of youthful ecstasy.
Too late I found that Glory's ray,
Could never bring one happy day.
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Comments about this poem (My Low And Humble Home by Nathaniel Hawthorne )
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