Fair City! that so long hast been my home!
When from thy quiet places I depart
By far-off hills and river banks to roam,
I bear thy name about upon my heart.
City of glorious towers! whene'er I feel
The world's rude coldness o'er my spirit steal,
Then dost thou rise to view; thine elmy groves
Vocal with hymns of praise, thine old grey halls,
Where the wan sun of autumn sweetest falls,
Yon hill-side wood the nightingale so loves,
Thy rivers twain, of gentle foot, that pass,
Fed from a hundred willow-girded wells,
Through the rich meadowlands of long green grass,
To the loud tunes of all thy convent-bells!