Diary of Frances Louisa Bussell 18 September - 20 October 1832

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which will at least call up a smile on three dear faces Mamma's Emily's and my Aunty dotes. 'Tis Land 'tis Land! a charmed sound To those who sail the seas, And every spot seems hallowed ground And sacred every breeze. 'Tis Land! 'tis Land! strained is each eye To view the distant shore And every heart and pulse beat high As land appears once more. What though no friend be here to greet The Wanderer welcome home To gaze on Land alone is sweet Though those we may not [roam?]. Mountains in awful grandeur rise Fair valleys rest between For [seemly?] 'neath those azure skies Those vales are fresh and green. 'Tis Land! 'tis Land! I see no more Yet Fancy here would trace [Page 43]