From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain; Away from the dwellings of care-worn men, The summer is hastening, on soft winds borne, Ye are marked by care, ye are mine no more. I go where the loved who have left you dwell, And the flowers are not Death's-fare ye well, farewell! THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. They grew in beauty, side by side, The same fond mother bent at night One, 'midst the forests of the west, The Indian knows his place of rest, The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one, He was the loved of all, yet none One sleeps where southern vines are dressed He wrapt his colors round his breast, On a blood red field in Spain. And one-o'er her myrtle showers And parted thus they rest, who played They that with smiles lit up the hall, Alas! for love, if thou wert all, And naught beyond, on earth! THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. What hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells, We ask not such from thee. Yet more, the depths have more! What wealth untold, Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, Won from ten thousand royal argosies. Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main! Earth claims not these again! Yet more, the depths have more! Thy waves have rolled Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry! Yet more! the billows and the depths have more! Give back the lost and lovely! Those for whom To thee the love of woman hath gone down; O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown! Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the dead! Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee!— Restore the dead, thou Sea! THE STRANGER'S HEART. The stranger's heart! oh! wound it not! A yearning anguish is its lot; In the green shadow of thy tree, The stranger finds no rest with thee. Thou think'st the vine's low rustling leaves Thou think'st thy children's laughing play Then are the stranger's thoughts oppressed- Thou think'st it sweet, when friend with friend Thy hearth, thy home, thy vintage land- THE BRIDE'S FAREWELL. Why do I weep?-To leave the vine A thousand thoughts of all things dear, I leave my sunny childhood here; I leave thee, sister! We have played Where the silvery green of the olive shade Hung dim o'er fount and bower. Yes, thou and I, by stream, by shore, In song, in prayer, in sleep, Have been, as we may be no more; Kind sister, let me weep! I leave thee, father! Eve's bright moon With the gathered grapes, and the lyre in tune, Thy homeward step to greet. Thou, in whose voice, to bless thy child Lay tones of love so deep, Whose eye o'er all my youth hath smiled; Mother! I leave thee! On thy breast, Pouring out joy and woe, I have found that holy place of rest Lips, that have lulled me with your strain, THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS. The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came- Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amid the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free. The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam, There were men with hoary hair Why had they come to wither there, There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth; There was manhood's brow, serenely high, What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine ! Aye, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found, Freedom to worship God! THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. The stately Homes of England, O'er all the pleasant land. The deer across their green-sward bound, And the swan glides past them with the sound The merry Homes of England! Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light! There woman's voice flows forth in song, Or lips move tunefully along The blessed Homes of England! Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath hours! All other sounds, in that still time, The Cottage Homes of England! They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, Through glowing orchards forth they peep, And fearless there the lowly sleep, |