Among his little ones he sits,
And welcomes all who come
With cheerful smile and hearty word-
For is it not his home?
There is another blessed home
Where pleasures never cease;
Where death and sorrow never come,
And all is joy and peace.
O may we make that heavenly home
Of all our hopes the sum;
Remembering, in our love for earth,
We are not yet at home!
I KNEW my father's chimney top,
Though nearer to my heart than eye,
And watched the blue smoke curling up,
Between me and the winter sky.
Wayworn I traced the homeward track,
My wayward youth had left with joy;
Unchanged in soul I wandered back-
A man in years—in heart a boy.
I thought upon its cheerful hearth,
And cheerful hearts' untainted glee,
And felt, of all I'd seen on earth,
This was the dearest spot to me.
Would I could send my spirit o'er the deep,
Would I could wing it like a bird to thee,
To commune with thy thoughts, to fill thy sleep
With these unwearying words of melody,
Brother, come home.
Come to the hearts that love thee, to the eyes
That beam in brightness, but to gladden thine;
Come where fond thoughts like holiest incense rise,
Where cherished memory rears her altar's shrine.
Come to the hearthstone of thy earlier days,
Come to the ark, like the o'erwearied dove,
Come with the sunlight of thy heart's warm rays,
Come to the fireside circle of thy love.
It is not home without thee; the lone seat
Is still unclaimed where thou wert wont to be;
every echo of returning feet,
In vain we list for what should herald thee.
We've nursed for thee the sunny birds of spring,
Watched every germ a full-blown floweret rear,
Saw o'er their bloom the chilly winter bring
Its icy garlands, and thou art not here.
Would I could send my spirit o'er the deep,
Would I could wing it like a bird to thee,
To commune with thy thoughts, to fill thy sleep
With these unwearying words of melody,
Brother, come home.
I HAVE ships that went to sea
More than fifty years ago,
None have yet come home to me,
But keep sailing to and fro.
I have seen them in my sleep
Plunging through the shoreless deep,
With tattered sails and battered hulls,
While around them screamed the gulls,
Flying low, flying low.
I have wondered why they stayed
From me sailing round the world,
I'm half-afraid
That their sails will ne'er be furle 1."
Great the treasures that they hold,
Silks, and plumes, and bars of gold,
While the spices which they bear
Fill with fragrance all the air,
As they sail, as they sail.
Every sailor in the port
Knows that I have ships at sea,
Of the waves and winds the sport,
And the sailors pity me.
Oft they come and with me walk,
Cheering me with hopeful talk,
Till I put my fears aside,
And contented watch the tide
Rise and fall, rise and fall.
I have waited on the piers,
Gazing for them down the bay,
Days and nights, for many years,
Till I turned heart-sick away.
But the pilots, when they land,
Stop and take me by the hand,
Saying, "You will live to see
Your proud vessels come from sea,
One and all, one and all."
So I never quite despair,
Nor let hope or courage fail,
And some day, when skies are fair,
Up the bay my ships will sail.
I can buy then all I need,
Prints to look at, books to read,
Horses, wines, and works of art,
Everything except a heart-
That is lost, that is lost.
Once, when I was pure and young,
Poorer, too, than I am now,
Ere a cloud was o'er me flung,
Or a wrinkle creased my brow,
There was one whose heart was mine,
But she's something now divine,
And, though come my ships from sea,
They can bring no heart to me,
Evermore, evermore.
THE INDIAN'S BRIDE.
WHY is that graceful female here
With yon red hunter of the deer?
Of gentle mien and shape, she seems
For civil halls designed,
Yet with the stately savage walks,
As she were of his kind.
Look on her leafy diadem,
Enriched with many a floral gem :
Those simple ornaments about
Her candid brow, disclose
The loitering springs last violet,
And summer's earliest rose;
But not a flower lies breathing there
Sweet as herself, or half so fair.
Exchanging lustre with the sun,
A part of day she strays,
A glancing, living, human smile
On Nature's face she plays.
Can none instruct me what are these
Companions of the lofty trees?
Intent to blend her with his lot,
Fate formed her all that he was not;
And, as by mere unlikeness, thoughts
Associate we see,
Their hearts, from very difference, caught
A perfect sympathy.
The household goddess here to be
Of that one dusky votary,
She left her pallid countrymen,
An earthling most divine,
And sought in this sequestered wood
A solitary shrine."
Behold them roaming hand in hand,
Like night and sleep, along the land;
Observe their movements: he for her
Restrains his active stride,
While she assumes a bolder gait
To ramble at his side;
Thus, even as the steps they frame,
Their souls fast alter to the same;
The one forsakes ferocity,
And momently grows mild;
The other tempers more and more
The artful with the wild.
She humanizes him, and he
Educates her to liberty.
Oh! say not they must soon be old,
Their limbs prove faint, their breasts feel cold!
Yet envy I that sylvan pair
More than my words express—
The simple beauty of their lot,
And seeming happiness.
They have not been reduced to share
The painful pleasures of despair;
Their sun declines not in the sky,
Nor are their wishes cast,
Like shadows of the afternoon,
Repining towards the past:
With nought to dread or to repent,
The present yields them full content.
In solitude there is no crime;
Their actions all are free,
And passion lends their way of life
The only dignity;
And how can they have any cares-
Whose interest contends with theirs?
The world, for all they know of it,
Is theirs; for them the stars are lit;
For them the earth beneath is green,
The heavens above are bright;
For them the moon doth wax and wane,
And decorate the night;
For them the branches of those trees
Wave music in the vernal breeze;
For them upon that dancing spray,
The free bird sits and sings,
And glittering insects flit about
Upon delighted wings;
For them that brook, the brakes among,
Murmurs its small and drowsy song;
For them the many-coloured clouds
Their shapes diversify,
And change at once, like smiles and frowns,
The expression of the sky.
For them, and by them, all is gay,
And fresh and beautiful as they:
The images their minds receive,
Their minds assimilate
To outward forms, imparting thus,
The glory of their state.
Could ought be painted otherwise
Than fair, seen through her starbright eyes?
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