Clear fount of light! my native land on high, <br />Bright with a glory that shall never fade! <br />Mansion of truth! without a veil or shade, <br />Thy holy quiet meets the spirit's eye. <br />There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence, <br />Gasping no longer for life's feeble breath; <br />But, sentinelled in heaven, its glorious presence <br />With pitying eye beholds, yet fears not, death. <br />Beloved country! banished from thy shore, <br />A stranger in this prison-house of clay, <br />The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for thee! <br />Heavenward the bright perfections I adore <br />Direct, and the sure promise cheers the way, <br />That, whither love aspires, there shall my dwelling be.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-native-land-from-the-spanish-of-francisco-de-aldana/
