The Old, Old Home!
Home of my youth, is it thus I behold thee, Could not the spoiler his ravage forbear? Tenantless walls, in your shadows enfold me, Still would I bide with happiness there. Home of my heart, 'twas these fancies that thronging, Tightened the chain of enchantment they wove; Touched by the charm with wild heartfilling longong, The emigrant turned to the land of his love. Haunting the dreams of my ocean - rocked pillow; Fresh as the brine of the breeze - broken foam, Heard when the morn - winds swept over the billow, Deep in my ears, rang that magic word "Home" - "The Old, Old Home" by L. H. B. /
|Format:||PRINTS & DRAWINGS|
|Published / Created:||
[Dublin] : [s.n.], 188-.
Supplement to the Summer Double Number of the "Irish Fireside".
Physical description: 1 print : chromolithograph ; 24.8 x 31.8 cm.
|Call Number||View in||Collection|
|Irish Fireside 188- (A)||
|Prints & Drawings|
Reproduction rights owned by National Library of Ireland.