'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;

A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,

Which sought through the world is ne'er met with elsewhere.

An exile from home splendour dazzles in vain,

Oh give me my lowly thatched cottage again;

The birds singing gayly, that came at my call,

Give me them, and that peace of mind dearer than all.

J Howard Payne (1792-1852): Home, Sweet Home. (From the opera of "Clari, the Maid of Milan.")

There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,

The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill;

For his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing

To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill.

Thomas Campbell (1777-1844): The Exile of Erin.