Again I visited . . .

                                     . . . Again I visitedThat corner of the earth where once I spentTwo unobtrusive years in lonely exile.Already since that time ten years have fled—And much in life has changed for me, and IMyself, obedient to the common rule,Have also changed—yet here the past againEmbraces me in all its vivid hue,And so it seems that just last eve I wanderedAmidst these groves.

                                     Here’s the abandoned hutWhere erstwhile I and my poor nanny dwelt.The dear old lady’s gone—the next room overNo longer do I hear her heavy steps,Nor does her prudent oversight still reign.

And here’s the wooded hill on which I oftenWould sit unmoving—and betimes would gazeUpon the lake, while sadly reminiscingOn other distant shores, and other waves . . .Between the golden grain-fields and green pasturesIts blue profusion spreads out far and wide;Across the broad, unfathomable watersThere sails a fisherman who drags behind himA ragged sweep-net. Nigh the sloping banksAre scattered villages—and just beyondA crooked windmill stands, with effort turningIts sails against the wind . . .

                                             And on the marginThat bounds my grandfather’s estate, that placeWhere the dirt road, deep-pitted by spring rains,Begins to rise uphill: right there three fir treesStand—one a little bit aloof, two othersNearby each other—here, when past these firsI used to ride on horseback in the moonlight,The rustle of their summits always hailed meWith a familiar murmur. Now alongThat selfsame road I traveled, and before meAgain I saw them. They are just the same,Their rustle too, familiar to my hearing—

But near their ancient mass of branching roots(Where once upon a time was empty, bare)Now a young grove has grown up all around,A family of green; the shrubs crowd inBeneath their canopy like children. ButAfar their gloomy comrade stands aloneLike a decrepit bachelor, and around himAll’s empty as before.

                                   Greetings, new tribe,Still young and undiscovered! I’ll not liveTo witness your magnificent full growth,When you will overtop these friends of mineAnd hide their bending agèd heads from sightOf passersby But may it be my grandsonShould one day hear your murmured welcome when,Returning from a friendly conversation,And brimming full of cheerful, pleasant thoughts,He might pass by you in the dark of nightAnd then remember me.

1835