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In every cottage-porch with garlands green, Stand still to gaze, and, gazing, bless the scene; While, her dark eyes declining, by his side Moves in her virgin-veil the gentle bride.
And once, alas! nor in a distant hour, Another voice shall come from yonder tower; Where in dim chambers long black weeds are seen; And weepings heard where only joy has been; When by his children borne, and from the door Slowly departing, to return no more, He rests in holy earth with those that went before.
And such is human life; so gliding on, It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone! Yet is the tale, brief though it be, as strange, As full, methinks, of wild and wondrous change, As any that the wandering tribes require, Stretch'd in the desert round their evening fire; As any song of old in hall or bower To minstrel harps at midnight's witching hour!
TO THE MEMORY OF A FAVOURITE DOG.
Poor dog! and art thou dead ? even as a dream
Yes! all thy services have found an end,
No more, when tir'd and languid, shalt thou bless
Yet can I e'er forget, how, night and day,
me, by my couch you lay, Unwearied, uncomplaining; and how kind, When first I rose, you lick'd my hand and whin'd; Look’d in my pale face with delighted eye, And wagg’d thy tail to say, Thou must not die !And all the houshold lov’d thee,-thou to them Wert as a love-link, a domestic gem : In thee bound up was many a cherish'd thought, And home-sensations by thy sight were brought: Where'er 'twas ours to rest, 'twas ours to roam, Thy presence was a spell, that spake of home A nook of calm, amid a world of strife A sheltering haven from the storms of life.
Now thou art dead-in health, upon thee came Unnerving palsy, and relax'd thy frame: Day after day we hop'd to see thee rise, But read thou couldst not in thy helpless cries;
Yet, when we patted thee, 'twas sore to brook
power; And such distressful thoughts thy misery bred, That we were glad at last to know thee dead !
Farewell, brute pattern of an honest heart; And if for thee a tear unwonted start, 'Tis all I can repay thee for a love That neither time could chill, nor dangers move; For guardianship through midnights dark and drear, For thou wert watchful, and devoid of fear; And hours of kind companionship, which would, But for thy presence, have been solitude. Whether we roam'd unseen ʼmid summer leaves; Or 'mid the autumn's ripe and redden'd sheaves; Or ʼmid the frost-bound moorlands, when the day Gleam'd from the low south with enfeebled ray, And thou wouldst chase the crow, and scare the lark, And toss aloft the feathery snows, and bark. Stillid the warm heart, whose truth disdain'd to
move, And clos'd the eyes that ever beam'd with love; Now thou art laid beneath the garden trees Where thou hast lain to snuff the summer breeze ;
Wildflowers shall shoot above thy grassy bed,
Farewell, poor dog! a heartfelt last farewell!
The stately Homes of England,
How beautiful they stand!
O’er all the pleasant land !
Through shade and sunny gleam;
Of some rejoicing stream.
Around their hearths by night
Meet in the ruddy light!
Or childhood's tale is told ;
Some glorious page of old.
The blessed Homes of England !
How softly on their bowers
That breathes from Sabbath-hours !
Floats through their woods at morn;
Of breeze and leaf are born.
By thousands, on her plains,
And round the hamlet-fanes.
Each from its nook of leaves,
As the bird beneath their eaves.
Long, long, in hut and hall,
To guard each hallow'd wall!
for ever be the groves,
Its Country and its God ! Mrs. Hemans,
AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
Dear Joseph-five and twenty years ago