Where lingers the son of the cloudy North !
Hath he forgotten the home of his birth ?
Careth he not that his sire hath grown gray
With watching and praying by night and by day ?
As soon shall a mother forget her child
As the wandering boy his islet wild,
And thoughts of the eyes that wake and weep
For him, hold his own weary lids from sleep.
Thou, thou dost keep him, O marvellous land
Of the sourceless river, the boundless sand !
Visions of Amroom — home yearnings are vain !
Fast, fast is he bound by the captive's chain.