THE HOME OF LOVE. Thou movest in visions, Love! 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, Love, shall I read thy dream?-oh! is it not Yes! lone and lowly is that home; yet there Something that mellows and that glorifies E'en like the soft and spiritual glow Kindling rich woods whereon th' ethereal bow The very whispers of the wind have there Greeting from some bright shore, Where none have said Farewell!—where no decay And there thou dreamest of Elysian rest, There wouldst thou watch the homeward step whose sound Wakening all Nature to sweet echoes round, 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, Lifting th' eternal hope, th' adoring breath, There dost thou well believe, no storm should come Weigh'd down with honey-dew, serenely blest, Love! Love! thou passionate in joy and woe! Oh! thou, that, wildly worshipping, dost shed Gifts of infinity! Thou must be still a trembler, fearful Love! Thy stately pine-tree, or thy gracious rose, And, as a flower with some fine sense imbued, So in thy prescient breast Are lyre-strings quivering with prophetic thrill -Oh! canst thou dream of rest? G Bear up thy dream! thou mighty and thou weak! He that sits calm on high is yet the source Will He not pity? He, whose searching eye 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! His breast thy footstool, and his heart thy throne ? Wake, oh, wake!- the morning star The light breeze wafts perfume on high, Hours like this a charm impart That wins the eye but not the heart, Wake, oh, wake!-through ev'ry grove To bid thee burst dull slumber's chain, Though morning glow with tints divine Hours like this are quickly fled, But thy fond smile a joy can shed T. DALE. |