In their hands the hard-earned ransom,
To restore some exiles home.

I was freed: they broke the tidings
Gently to me: but indeed
Hour by hour sped on, I knew not
What the words meant--I was freed!
Better so, perhaps; while sorrow
(More akin to earthly things)
Only strains the sad heart's fibres--
Joy, bright stranger, breaks the strings.

Yet at last it rushed upon me,
And my heart beat full and fast;
What were now my years of waiting,
What was all the dreary past?
Nothing--to the impatient throbbing
I must bear across the sea:
Nothing--to the eternal hours
Still between my home and me!

How the voyage passed, I know not;
Strange it was once more to stand
With my countrymen around me,
And to clasp an English hand.
But, through all, my heart was dreaming
Of the first words I should hear,
In the gentle voice that echoed,
Fresh as ever, on my ear.