I'd A Dream Last Night Of My Boyhood'S Days, And The Scenes Where My Youth Was Spent; And I Roamed The Old Woods Where The Squirrel Plays, Full Of Frolicsome Merriment. And I Walked By The Brook, And Its Silvery Tone, Seemed To Soothe Me Again As Of Yore; And I Stood By The Cottage With Moss Overgrown And The Woodbine That Trailed Round The Door. No Change Could I See In The Garden Plot, The Flowers Bloomed Brightly Around, And One Little Bed Of Forget-Me-Not In Its Own Little Corner I Found. The Sky Had A Home-Look, The Breeze Seemed To Sigh, In The Strain I Remembered So Well, And The Little Brown Sparrows Looked Cunning And Shy, As Though Anxious Some Story To Tell. But As Quietness Reigned And A Loneliness Fell, O'Er The Place That Had Once Been So Gay; Its Sunlight Had Saddened Since I Bade Farewell, And Left It For Lands Far Away. The Door Stood Ajar And I Sought For A Face, Of The Dear Ones I Longed So To See; But Others I Knew Not Were Now In The Place, And Their Presence Was Painful To Me. A Pang Of Remorse Seemed To Shoot Through My Heart, As I Left With A Sorrowing Tread, From All The Familiar Objects To Part; For I Knew That The Loved Ones Were Dead. The Home Once My Own, Now Knows Me No More, The Treasures That Bound Me All Gone, And I Woke With Cheeks Tear-Stained, And Heart Sadly Sore, To Find That A Home I Had None.