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For words are weak and most to seek
When wanted fifty-fold,
And then, if silence will not speak,
Or trembling lip and changing cheek,
There's nothing told.
But could she have reveal'd to him
Who question'd thus, the vision bright
That ere his words were said grew dim
And vanish'd from her sight,
Easy the answer were to know,
And plain to understand,
That mind and memory both must fail,
And life itself must slacken sail,
And thought its functions must forego,
And fancy lose its latest glow,
Or ere that land
Could pictured be less bright and fair
To her whose home and heart are there!
That land the loveliest that eye can see
The stranger ne'er forgets, then how should she!
Country and Home. THERE is a land, of every land the pride, Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside ; Where brighter suns dispense serener light, And milder moons emparadise the night; A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth, Time-tutor'd age, and love-exalted youth: The wandering mariner, whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air: In every clime the magnet of his soul, Touch'd by remembrance, trembles to that pole ; For in this land of heaven's peculiar grate, The heritage of nature's noblest race, There is a spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest, Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, While in his soften'd looks benignly blend The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend;
Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life !
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie;.
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.
Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found ?
Art thou a man 1-a patriot 1-look around ;
Oh, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy home!
The Happiest Spot.
But where to find that happiest spot below,
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?
The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone,
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own;
Extols the treasure of his stormy seas,
And his long nights of revelry and ease :
The naked negro, panting at the line,
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine,
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave,
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave.
Such is the patriot's boast where'er we roam,
His first best country ever is at home.
A Country's best Defence.
Crythes. Dost intend
To banish the firm troops before whose valour
Barbarian millions shrink appallid, and leave
Our city naked to the first assault
Of reckless foes !
Ion. No, Crythes !-in ourselves,
In our own honest hearts and chainless hands,
Will be our safeguard :—while we seek no use
Of arms we would not have our children blend
With their first innocent wishes; while the love
Of country and of justice shall be one
To their young reason ; while their sinews grow
Firm 'midst the gladness of heroic sports :
We shall not ask to guard our country's peace,
One selfish passion, or one venal sword. TALFOURD.
How beautiful is genius when combined
With holiness! Oh, how divinely sweet
The tones of earthly harp, whose chords are touch'd
By the soft hand of Piety, and hung
Upon Religion's shrine, there vibrating
With solemn music in the ear of God.
THE primal duties shine aloft like stars;
The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless,
Are scatter'd at the feet of Man-like flowers.
Intimations of Immortality, from Recollections of
THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore ;
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The Rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the Rose;
The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
No more shall grief of mine the seasons wrong ;
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,