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Sweet Stome !
Mid peasures and palaces shough . may
place like home! A charm from the
to hallow as there which, seek through the world, is ne er met with elsewhere!
home, - sweet, sweet home! There's no place like home! there's no place bhe home!
To bind thy heart, if it should choose to go ;- Soft and tender as her soul ;
Love's dewy light doth drown her,
And the braided locks that crown her My placid ghost, I trust, will walk serene
Than autumn's trees are browner,
Through the forests in the evening, when cathe-
dral turrets toll,
And the purple sun advanceth to its goal.
Her cottage was a dwelling
All regal homes excelling,
But, ah! beyond the telling
Was the beauty round it spread, It would not make me sleep more peacefully
The wave and sunshine playing, That thou wert wasting all thy life in woe
Like sisters each arraying,
Far down the sea-plants swaying
Upon their coral-bed,
And languid as the tresses on a sleeping maiden's Carve not upon a stone when I am dead
head, The praises which remorseful mourners give When the summer breeze is dead. To women's graves,
- a tardy recompense, But speak them while I live.
Need we say that Maurice loved her,
And that no blush reproved her, Heap not the heavy marble on my head
When her throbbing bosom moved her
And, O blessed moon, by thy light,
When the twinkling stars on high light
The wanderer o'er the wave, Thou wilt meet many fairer and more gay His steps unconscious led him where Glengariff's Than I ; but, trust me, thou canst never find
waters lave One who will love and serve thee night and day Each mossy bank and cave. With a more single mind.
The sun his gold is flinging, Forget me when I die! The violets
The happy birds are singing, Above my rest will blossom just as blue,
And bells are gayly ringing
Along Glengariff's sea ;
And crowds in many a galley
Of the maiden of the valley
And the youth of Céim-an-eich ;
Old eyes with joy are weeping, as all ask on
A blessing, gentle Alice, upon thee.
She so loved Glengariff's water
NUPTIALS OF ADAM AND EVE.
MINE eyes he closed, but open left the cell
Of fancy, my internal sight, by which And her lips like lusmore blossoms which the Abstract, as in a trance, methought I saw, fairies intertwine,
Though sleeping, where I lay, and saw the shape And her heart a golden mine.
Still glorious before whom awake I stood ;
Who, stooping, opened my left side, and took She was gentler and shyer
From thence a rib, with cordial spirits warm, Than the light fawn which stood by her, And life-blood streaming fresh ; wide was the And her eyes emit a fire
FROM "ALICE AND UNA."
DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY.
On she came,
TO A LADY BEFORE MARRIAGE.
But suddenly with flesh filled up and healed :
HERE have I found at last a home of peace Manlike, but different sex, so lovely fair,
To hide me from the world ; far from its noise, That what seemed fair in all the world seemed To feed that spirit, which, though sprung from
And linked to human beings by the bond
Of earthly love, hath yet a loftier aim
Than perishable joy, and through the calm And into all things from her air inspired
That sleeps amid the mountain solitude,
Can hear the billows of eternity,
And hear delighted.
There are thoughts Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure :
That slumber in the soul, like sweetest sounds When out of hope, behold her, not far off,
Amid the harp's loosestrings, till airs from Heaven Such as I saw her in my dream, adorned
On earth, at dewy nightfall, visitant, With what all earth or Heaven could bestow
Awake the sleeping melody! Such thoughts, To make her amiable.
My gentle Mary, I have owed to thee. Led by her heavenly Maker, though unseen,
And if thy voice e'er melt into my soul
With a dear home-toned whisper, And guided by his voice, nor uninformed
if thy face Of nuptial sanctity and marriage rites :
E’er brighten in the unsteady gleams of light Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye,
From our own cottage-hearth, O Mary! then In every gesture dignity and love.
My overpowered spirit shall recline I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud :
Upon thy inmost heart, till it become, "This turn hath made amends ; thou hast Thou sinless seraph, almost worthy thee !
JOHN WILSON. fulfilled Thy words, Creator bounteous and benign, Giver of all things fair, but fairest this Of all thy gifts, nor enviest. I now see Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, myself Before me; Woman is her name, of man
0, FORMED by Nature, and refined by Art, Extracted : for this cause he shall forego
With charms to win, and sense to fix the heart ! Father and mother, and to his wife adhere ; By thousands sought, Clotilda, canst thou free And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one Thy crowd of captives and descend to me, soul.”
Content in shades obscure to waste thy life, She heard me thus, and though divinely | A hidden beauty and a country wife ? brought,
0, listen while thy summers are my theme ! Yet innocence and virgin modesty,
Ah ! soothe thy partner in his waking dream ! Her virtue and the conscience of her worth, In some small hamlet on the lonely plain, That would be wooed, and not unsought be won, Where Thames through meadows rolls his mazy Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retired,
train, The more desirable ; or, to say all,
Or where high Windsor, thick with greens arNature herself, though pure of sinful thought, rayed, Wrought in her so, that, seeing me, she turned : Waves his old oaks, and spreads his ample shade, I followed her; she what was honor knew, Fancy has figured out our calm retreat ; And with obsequious majesty approved
Already round the visionary seat My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower Our limes begin to shoot, our flowers to spring, I led her blushing like the morn : all Heaven, The brooks to murmur, and the birds to sing. And happy constellations on that hour
Where dost thou lie, thou thinly peopled green, Shed their selectest influence; the earth
Thou nameless lawn, and village yet unseen, Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill;
Where sons, contented with their native ground, Joyous the birds ; fresh gales and gentle airs
Ne'er traveled farther than ten furlongs round, Whispered it to the woods, and from their wings And the tanned peasant and his ruddy bride Flung rose, flung odors from the spicy shrub, Were born together, and together died, Disporting, till the amorous bird of night Where early larks best tell the morning light, Sung spousal, and bid haste the evening star And only Philomel disturbs the night? On his hill-top, to light the bridal lamp. Midst gardens here my humble pile shall rise,
With sweets surrounded of ten thousand dyes ;
All savage where th' embroidered gardens end, My love is now awake out of her dream,
beams prove, A rilī shall warble 'cross the gloomy grove, More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear. A little rill, o'er pebbly beds conveyed,
Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight, Gush down the steep, and glitter through the Help quickly her to dight; glade.
But first come, ye fair Hours, which were begot, What cheering scents these bordering banks In Jove's sweet paradise, of Day and Night; exhale !
Which do the seasons of the year allot, How loud that heifer lows from yonder vale ! And all, that ever in this world is fair, That thrush how shrill ! his note so clear, so high, Do make and still repair; He drowns each feathered minstrel of the sky. And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian Queen, Here let me trace beneath the purpled morn The which do still adorn her beauties' pride, The deep-mouthed beagle and the sprightly horn, Help to adorn my beautifulest bride : Or lure the trout with well-dissembled flies, And, as ye her array, still throw between Or fetch the fluttering partridge from the skies. Some graces to be seen ; Nor shall thy hand disdain to crop the vine, And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing, The downy peach or flavored nectarine ;
The whiles the woods shall answer, and your Or rob the beehive of its golden hoard,
Fair Sun! show forth thy favorable ray,
Or sing the thing that might thy mind delight,
Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing, WAKE now, my love, awake ; for it is time;
That all the woods shall answer, and their echo The rosy Morn long since left Tithon's bed,
ring. All ready to her silver coach to climb; And Phæbus 'gins to show his glorious head. Hark! now the cheerful birds do chant their lays, Lo! where she comes along with portly pace,
Like Phæbe, from her chamber of the east, And carol of Love's praise. The merry lark her matins sings aloft ;
Arising forth to run her mighty race, The thrush replies ; the mavis descant plays ;
Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. The ouzel shrills ; the ruddock warbles soft ;
So well it her beseems, that ye would ween So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,
Some angel she had been. To this day's merriment.
Her long loose yellow locks, like golden wire, Ah! my dear love, why do you sleep thus long, Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween, When meeter were that you should now awake,
Do like a golden mantle her attire ; T await the coming of your joyous make,
And, being crowned with a garland green, And hearken to the birds' love-learned song,
Seem like some maiden queen. The dewy leaves among !
Her modest eyes, abashed to behold For they of joy and pleasance to you sing,
So many gazers as on her do stare, That all the woods them answer, and their echo Upon the lowly ground affixed are;
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, ring
But blush to hear her praises sung so loud,