The forests heard it, the mountains rang, Didst thou meet not a mourner for all the slain ? Gallant and true were the hearts that fell- And bowing the beauty of woman's head: Didst thou hear, 'midst the songs, not one tender moan, For the many brave to their slumbers gone? I saw not the face of a weeper there Too strong, perchance, was the bright lamp's glare! I heard not a wail 'midst the joyous crowd The music of victory was all too loud! Mighty it roll'd on the winds afar, Shaking the streets like a conqueror's car; Turn then away from life's pageants, turn, But lift the proud mantle which hides from thy view So must thy spirit be taught to feel! 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 dewy gleam, by the very breath Holy and precious-oh! guard it well! By the sleepy ripple of the stream, Which hath lull'd thee into many a dream; To the wind of morn at thy casement-eaves, By the gathering round the winter hearth, 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, It hath led the freeman forth to stand In the mountain-battles of his land; It hath brought the wanderer o'er the seas Yes! when thy heart in its pride would stray When the sullying breath of the world would come 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! |