MY LOW AND HUMBLE HOME

by: Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864)

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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