The Traveller

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,

Or by the lazy Scheld or wandering Po;

Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor

Against the houseless stranger shuts the door;

Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies,

A weary waste expanding to the skies;

Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see,

My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee,

Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain

And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.