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COME to my heart of hearts, thou radiant face!
Blossoms thy cheek with its exotic rareness,
Come, laughing maid, yet in thy laughter calm, Be this thy home,
Fair cherub, come!
Solace my days with thy luxurious balm, And hover o'er my nightly couch, sweet dove, So shall I live in joy, by living in thy love!
WHITE Devil! turn from me thy lowering eye,
But I will merrily mock at thee the while:
On a fair hill of name, and power, and purse, Too high for any shaft of thine to hit,
Beyond the petty reaching of thy curse,
Too long they wait thy goodly company:
THE HAPPY HOME.
NAME for comfort, refuge, hope, and peace,
And unfledged loves and graces have their nest: How brightly here the various virtues shine,
And nothing said or done is seen amiss; While sweet affections every heart entwine,
And differing tastes and talents all unite, Like hues prismatic blending into white, In charity to man, and love divine:
Thou little kingdom of serene delight, Heaven's nursery and foretaste! O what bliss Where earth to wearied men can give a home like this.
THE WRETCHED HOME.
SCENE of disunion, bickering, and strife,
What curse has made thy native blessings die? Why do these broils embitter daily life,
And cold self-interest form the strongest tie?
And weaken nature's bonds to ropes of sand
What secret demon has such discord fanned? What ill committed stirs this penal war, Or what omitted good? Alas! that such things are.
How fair and facile seems that upland road,
We strive together, in glad hope to greet,
All that in life we once have loved so well, So that we loved be worthy: her bright wings, My willing spirit plumes, and upward springs Rejoicing, over crag, and fen, and fell, And down, or up, the cliff's precipitous face, To run or fly her buoyant happy race!
THIS body,-O the body of this death!
Down flowery lanes, with pain and peril fraught, Conscious of what he doth, and what he ought. Alas, - but wherefore? scarce my plaintive breath Wafts its faint question to the listening sky, When thus in answer some kind spirit saith;
"Man, thou art mean, altho' thine aim be high; All matter hath one law, concentring strong
To some attractive point, and thy world's core Is the foul seat of hell, and pain, and wrong:
Yet courage, man! the strife shall soon be o'er, And that poor leprous husk, sore travailing long, Shall yet cast off its death in second birth, And flame anew a heavenly centred earth!"
HEAPS upon heaps, - hillocks of yellow gold,
Swell the full pomp of my triumphant state With all that makes a mortal glad and great; - Ah no, not glad: within my secret heart
The dreadful knowledge, like a death-worm lurks, That all this dream of life must soon depart; And the hot curse of talents misapplied Blisters my conscience with its burning smart, So that I long to fling my wealth aside: For my poor soul, when its rich mate hath died, Must lie with Dives, spoiled of all its pride.
THE sun is bright and glad, but not for me,
Save from the fear that I may starve to-morrow; And eagerly I seek uncertain toil,
Leaving my sinews in the thankless furrow,
Torture my soul; worse than a blank is life
A GLORIOUS VIsion; as I walked at noon,
In a bright dome of wondrous width I found me,
Shed on my soul, in strong enchantment bound me; And so I looked and looked with dazzled gaze,
Until my spirit drank in so much light That I grew like the sons of that glad place,
Transparent, lovely, pure, serene, and bright: Then did they call me brother; and there grew
Swift from my sides broad pinions gold and white, And with that happy flock a brilliant thing I flew!
A TERRIBLE dream: I lay at dead of night
Tortured by some vague fear; it seemed at first Like a small ink-spot on the ceiling white, To a black bubble swelling in my sight,
And then it grew to a balloon, and burst; Then was I drowned, as with an ebon stream,
And those dark waves quenched all mine inward light, That in my saturated mind no gleam
Remained of beauty, peace, or love, or right: I was a spirit of darkness! - yet I knew
I could not thus be left; it was but a dream; Still felt I full of horror; for a crew
Of shadowy ITs hemmed in my harried mind, And all my dread was waking mad and blind.