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THE HOME OF LOVE.

Thou movest in visions, Lovel Around thy way E'en through this world's rough path and changeful day

For ever floats a gleam,-
Not from the realms of moonlight or the morn,
But thine own soul's illumined chambers born,-

The colouring of a dream!

Love, shall I read thy dream ?-oh! is it not
All of some sheltering wood-embosom'd spot-

A bower for thee and thine ?
Yes ! lone and lowly is that home; yet there
Something of heaven in the transparent air

Makes every flower divine.

Something that mellows and that glorifies
Breathes o'er it ever from the tender skies,

As o'er some blessed isle ;
E'en like the soft and spiritual glow
Kindling rich woods whereon th' ethereal bow

Sleeps lovingly awhile.

The very whispers of the wind have there
A flute-like harmony, that seems to bear

Greeting from some bright shore, Where none have said Farewell ! — where no decay Lends the faint crimson to the dying day ;

Where the storm's might is o'er.

And there thou dreamest of Elysian rest,
In the deep sanctuary of one true breast

Hidden from earthly ill :
There wouldst thou watch the homeward step whose

sound Wakening all Nature to sweet echoes round,

Thine inmost soul can thrill.

There by the hearth should many a glorious page,
From mind to mind th' immortal heritage,

For thee its treasures pour ;
Or music's voice at vesper hours be heard,
Or dearer interchange of playful word,

Affection's household lore.

And the rich unison of mingled prayer,
The melody of hearts in heavenly air,

Thence duly should arise ;
Lifting th' eternal hope, th' adoring breath,
Of spirits, not to be disjoin'd by death,

Up to the starry skies.

There dost thou well believe, no storm should come
To mar the stillness of that angel home ;-

There should thy slumbers be
Weigh'd down with honey-dew, serenely blest,
Like theirs who first in Eden's grove took rest

Under some balmy tree.

Love ! Love! thou passionate in joy and woe ! And canst thou hope for cloudless peace below —

Here, where bright things must die? Oh! thou, that, wildly worshipping, dost shed On the frail altar of a mortal head

Gifts of infinity!

Thou must be still a trembler, fearful Love !
Danger seems gathering from beneath, above,

Still round thy precious things;
Thy stately pine-tree, or thy gracious rose,
In their sweet shade can yield thee no repose,

Here, where the blight hath wings.

And, as a flower with some fine sense imbued,
To shrink before the wind's vicissitude,

So in thy prescient breast
Are lyre-strings quivering with prophetic thrill
To the low footstep of each coming ill ;

-Oh! canst thou dream of rest ?

G

Bear up thy dream ! thou mighty and thou weak !
Heart strong as death, yet as a reed to break;

As a flame, tempest-sway'd !
He that sits calm on high is yet the source
Whence thy soul's current hath its troubled course,

He that great deep hath made !

Will He not pity ? He, whose searching eye
Reads all the secrets of thine agony ? -

Oh! pray to be forgiven
Thy fond idolatry, thy blind excess,
And seek with Him that bower of blessedness :
Love! thy sole home is heaven !

HEMANS.

LOVE.

A mystery thou art, thou mighty one !
We speak thy name in beauty, yet we shun
To own thee, Love, a guest; the poet's songs
Are sweetest when their voice to thee belongs,
And hope, sweet opiate, tenderness, delight,
Are terms which are thy own peculiar right;
Yet all deny their master ; — who will own
His breast thy footstool, and his heart thy throne ?

Landon.

Wake, oh, wake !- the morning star
Hath ceased to grace his glittering car :
Slowly the redd’ning clouds unfold,
And frequent streaks of living gold
Announce the lord of day.
The light breeze wafts perfume on high,
Less sweet alone than thy sweet sigh !-
The flower with fresher tints is glowing,
The fount with clearer crystal flowing.
Oh come ! oh come !
Hours like this a charm impart
That wins the eye but not the heart,
While Love is still away!

Wake, oh, wake !- through ev'ry grove
Is heard the matin lay of love ;

-And shall a dearer love be vain
To bid thee burst dull slumber's chain,
And spurn at slow delay ?
Though morning glow with tints divine
I'd change her brightest blush for thine,
And deem thine eye from sleep awaking,
Outshone the sun through darkness breaking.
Oh come ! oh come!
Hours like this are quickly fled,
But thy fond smile a joy can shed
Which melts not thus away!

T. DALE.

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