And sweet it is, in summer bower,

Sincere, affectionate and gay,
One's own dear children feasting round,
To celebrate one's marriage-day.

But what is all, to his delight,

Who having long been doomed to roam, Throws off the bundle from his back, Before the door of his own home?

Home-sickness is a wasting pang;

This feel I hourly more and more: There's healing only in thy wings,

Thou breeze that play'st on Albion's shore!

ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION.

you

ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,

The linnet and thrush say, "I love and

I love!"

In the winter they're silent-the wind is so strong; What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song. But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm

weather,

And singing, and loving-all come back together.
But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he—
"I love my Love, and my Love loves me!"

THE VISIONARY HOPE.

AD lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly kneeling,

He fain would frame a prayer within his

breast,

Would fain intreat for some sweet breath of healing, That his sick body might have ease and rest;

He strove in vain! the dull sighs from his chest Against his will the stifling load revealing. Though Nature forced; though like some captive

guest,

Some royal prisoner at his conqueror's feast,
An alien's restless mood but half concealing,
The sternness on his gentle brow confessed
Sickness within and miserable feeling:

Though obscure pangs made curses of his dreams,
And dreaded sleep, each night repelled in vain,
Each night was scattered by its own loud screams:
Yet never could his heart command, though fain,
One deep full wish to be no more in pain.

That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast, Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood, Though changed in nature, wander where he wouldFor Love's despair is but Hope's pining ghost! For this one hope he makes his hourly moan, He wishes and can wish for this alone! Pierced, as with light from Heaven, before its gleams (So the love-stricken visionary deems)

N

Disease would vanish, like a summer-shower,
Whose dews fling sunshine from the noontide bower!
Or let it stay! yet this one Hope should give
Such strength that he would bless his pains and live.

THE HAPPY HUSBAND.

A FRAGMENT.

FT, oft methinks, the while with Thee
I breathe, as from my heart, thy dear
And dedicated name, I hear

A promise and a mystery,

A pledge of more than passing life,
Yea, in that very name of Wife!

A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep!
A feeling that upbraids the heart
With happiness beyond desert,
That gladdens half requests to weep!
Nor bless I not the keener sense
And unalarming turbulence

Of transient joys, that ask no sting
From jealous fears, or coy denying;
But born beneath Love's brooding wing,

And into tenderness soon dying,
Wheel out their giddy moment, then
Resign the soul to love again.

A more precipitated vein

Of rotes, that eddy in the flow

Of smoothest song, they come, they go,
And leave their sweeter understrain
Its own sweet self-a love of Thee
That seems, yet cannot greater be!

RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE.

I.

OW warm this woodland wild recess ! Love surely hath been breathing here; And this sweet bed of heath, my dear! Swells up, then sinks with faint caress, As if to have you yet more near.

II.

Eight springs have flown, since last I lay
On seaward Quantock's heathy hills,
Where quiet sounds from hidden rills
Float here and there, like things astray,
And high o'er head the sky-lark shrills.

III.

No voice as yet had made the air

Be music with your name: yet why
That asking look? That yearning sigh?
That sense of promise everywhere?
Beloved! flew your spirit by?

IV.

As when a mother doth explore

The rose-mark on her long lost child,

I met, I loved you, maiden mild!

As whom I long had loved before-
So deeply had I been beguiled.

V.

You stood before me like a thought,

A dream remembered in a dream.
But when those meek eyes first did seem
To tell me, Love within you wrought-
O Greta, dear domestic stream!

VI.

Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep,
Has not Love's whisper evermore,
Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar?
Sole voice, when other voices sleep,
Dear under-song in clamour's hour.

ON RE-VISITING THE SEA-SHORE AFTER

LONG ABSENCE,

UNDER STRONG MEDICAL RECOMMENDATION NOT

TO BATHE.

OD be with thee, gladsome Ocean!
How gladly greet I thee once more!
Ships and waves, and ceaseless motion.
And men rejoicing on thy shore.

Dissuading spake the mild physician,
"Those briny waves for thee are death!"

But my soul fulfilled her mission,

And lo! I breathe untroubled breath!