"Oh! If the soul immortal be,
Is not its love immortal too?"
SEE'ST thou my home?-'tis where yon woods are waving, In their dark richness, to the summer air;
Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving, Leads down the hill a vein of light,-'tis there!
'Midst those green wilds how many a fount lies gleaming,
Fringed with the violet, colour'd with the skies!
My boyhood's haunt, through days of summer dreaming,
Under young leaves that shook with melodies.
My home! the spirit of its love is breathing
In every wind that plays across my track;
From its white walls the very tendrils, wreathing,
Seem with soft links to draw the wanderer back.
There am I loved-there prayed for; there my mother
Sits by the hearth with meekly thoughtful eye;
There my young sisters watch to greet their brother-
Soon their glad footsteps down the path will fly.
There, in sweet strains of kindred music blending,
All the home-voices meet at day's decline;
One are those tones, as from one heart ascending,-
There laughs my home! Sad stranger! where is thine?
Ask'st thou of mine?-In solemn peace 'tis lying,
Far o'er the deserts and the tombs away;
'Tis where I, too, am loved with love undying,
And fond hearts wait my step.-But where are they?
Ask where the earth's departed have their dwelling;
Ask of the clouds, the stars, the trackless air;
I know it not, yet trust the whisper, telling
My lonely heart that love unchanged is there.
And what is home, and where, but with the loving?
Happy thou art, that so canst gaze on thine!
My spirit feels but, in its weary roving,
That with the dead, where'er they be, is mine.
Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother!
Bear in fresh gladness to the household scene!
For me, too, watch the sister and the mother,
I well believe-but dark seas roll between.
"I HEAR thee speak of the better land:
Thou call'st its children a happy band;
Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore?
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more?
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle boughs?"
"Not there, not there, my child!"
"Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies?
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds on their starry wings
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?"
"Not there, not there, my child!"
"Is it far away, in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold?-
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand?-
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?"
-"Not there, not there, my child!"
Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy;
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair-
Sorrow and Death may not enter there:
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,
It is there, it is there, my child!"
London: Printed by Jas. Truscott & Son, Suffolk Lane, City.
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