POETRY
... 'TIS HOME WHEREER THE HEART IS. 'Tis home whore'er the heart is; Where'er its loved ones dwell, In cities or in cottages, Throng'd haunts or mossy dell; The heart's a rover ever, And thns on wave and wild, The maiden with her lover walks, The mother with her child. 'Tis bright whero'er the heart is; Its fairy spells can bring - . . Fresh fountains to the *ilderness, And to the deserts-spring. ...