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THE SPELLS OF HOME.

There blend the ties that strengthen

Our hearts in hours of grief,
The silver links that lengthen
Joy's visits when most brief,

BERNARD BARTON.

By the soft green light in the woody glade,
On the banks of moss where thy childhood play'd;
By the household tree through which thine eye
First look'd in love to the summer-sky;
By the dewy gleam, by the very breath
Of the primrose tufts in the grass beneath,
Upon thy heart there is laid a spell,
Holy and precious—oh! guard it well !

By the sleepy ripple of the stream,
Which hath lull'd thee into many a dream;
By the shiver of the ivy-leaves
To the wind of morn at thy casement-eaves,
By the bees' deep murmur in the limes,
By the music of the Sabbath-chimes,
By every sound of thy native shade,
Stronger and dearer the spell is made.

By the gathering round the winter hearth,
When twilight call'd unto household mirth ;
By the fairy tale or the legend old
In that ring of happy faces told ;
By the quiet hour when hearts unite
In the parting prayer and the kind “Good-night ;"
By the smiling eye and the loving tone,
Over thy life has the spell been thrown.

And bless that gift !—it hath gentle might,
A guardian power and a guiding light.

It hath led the freeman forth to stand
In the mountain-battles of his land ;
It hath brought the wanderer o'er the seas
To die on the hills of his own fresh breeze;
And back to the gates of his father's hall,
It hath led the weeping prodigal.

Yes! when thy heart in its pride would stray
From the pure first loves of its youth away ;
When the sullying breath of the world would come
O’er the flowers it brought from its childhood's home;
Think thou again of the woody glade,
And the sound by the rustling ivy made,
Think of the tree at thy father's door,
And the kindly spell shall have power once more!

ROMAN GIRL'S SONG.

Roma, Roma, Roma!
Non è più come era prima.

Rome, Rome! thou art no more

As thou hast been!
On thy seven hills of yore

Thou sat'st a queen.

Thou hadst thy triumphs then

Purpling the street, Leaders and sceptred men

Bow'd at thy feet.

They that thy mantle wore,

As gods were seenRome, Rome! thou art no more

As thou hast been !

Rome! thine imperial brow

Never shall rise : What hast thou left thee now ?

Thou hast thy skies !

Blue, deeply blue, they are,

Gloriously bright! Veiling thy wastes afar

With color'd light.

Thou hast the sunset's glow,

Rome, for thy dower, Flushing tall cypress-bough,

Temple and tower!

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