22. Home WHERE'ER I roam in this fair English land, The vision of a Temple meets my eyes: Modest without; within, all-glorious rise Its love-encluster'd columns, and expand Their slender arms. Like olive-plants they stand, Each answ'ring each, in home's soft sympathies, Sisters and brothers. At the altar sighs Parental fondness, and with anxious hand Tenders its offering of young vows and prayers. The same, and not the same, go where I will, The vision beams! ten thousand shrines, all one. Dear fertile soil! what foreign culture bears Such fruit? And I through distant climes may run My weary round, yet miss thy likeness still. Oxford . November 16, 1832.