ON TAKING LEAVE OF B YES, the sigh will escape one, the tear of regret, At resigning the dwelling where oft we have met, The eye of the stranger shall wander around, His feet through each chamber shall roam, Nor heed the mute records that tapestry round To our fancy, the walls of that home Thy home, ere the cares and the joys of another In hope's far perspective appear'd! Long clings the fond heart to the home of a mother, The haunt to a lover endear'd. Oh, had not that lover continued the same, And had not thy husband's affection a claim To compensate for all she resign'd,— Then, then, could he pardon these tears of regret, Which now unforbidden shall fall? They would seem to reproach me that e'er we had met; They would seem that adieu to recall. Or were there, Eliza, ensepultured here, Had some beloved inmate here languish'd her last, And were we now taking our leave Of the few fading tokens that spake of the past, Oh, bitterly then might we grieve. But now, not a spectre shall linger around, O'er its desolate walks to complain : And Change may her ploughshare drive over the ground, Where no seeds undevelop'd remain. Then bestow not a sigh more on fond retrospection! To the far dearer home of a husband's affection, That is home, whether beech-woods in loveliness shade it, And tempt us at evening to roam, Or the smoke and the din of the city invade it, Where centres the heart, that is home. Oh! the time will arrive when each place we have known Shall resound with our footsteps no more. A stranger shall call our last dwelling his own, Regardless who dwelt there before. And there is a home where the heart shall recover Whate'er upon earth might not last. What a meeting for Parent, and Sister, and Lover, When all parting, all fears shall be past! 1816. BIRTHDAY VERSES. WITH thee, amid the wild recesses Whence dreams of Fancy date their birth, Where Nature's hand profusely dresses Her green and flowery earth; With thee, along the rushy mazes Our wood-hung streamlet wanders through, Where king-cups weave with gold-eyed daisies The waters' living clew ;— With thee I've shared the deepest pleasures That Love o'er souls refined can pour, And gazed on all the richest treasures Of earth's romantic store. With thee! O words of sense emphatic! Spring-buds, and autumn-fall, And summer prime-hours most ecstatic, Without thee, what were all? For I have trod the mossy border Of woods that guard that haunted stream, And watch'd all seasons in their order Ruled by the changing beam. The early wreaths that blow fantastic, Fix on the wintry scene: These, fraught with secret inspiration, Have held me in communion deep, |