Mighty it roll'd on the winds afar, Shaking the streets like a conqueror's car; Thro' torches and streamers its flood swept by- Turn then away from life's pageants, turn, Dazzling the eyes till they see not wo. But lift the proud mantle which hides from thy view The things thou shouldst gaze on, the sad and true ; Nor fear to survey what its folds conceal So must thy spirit be taught to feel! THE SPELLS OF HOME. There blend the ties that strengthen Our hearts in hours of grief, The silver links that lengthen Joy's visits when most brief. BERNARD BARTON. By the soft green light in the woody glade, On the banks of moss where thy childhood play'd; By the household tree thro' which thine eye By the dewy gleam, by the very breath Of the primrose tufts in the grass beneath, Holy and precious-oh! guard it well! By the sleepy ripple of the stream, Which hath lull'd thee into many a dream; By the shiver of the ivy-leaves To the wind of morn at thy casement-eaves, By the gathering round the winter hearth, In that ring of happy faces told; By the quiet hour when hearts unite In the parting prayer and the kind "Good-night;" By the smiling eye and the loving tone, Over thy life has the spell been thrown. And bless that gift!-it hath gentle might, It hath led the freeman forth to stand In the mountain-battles of his land; It' hath brought the wanderer o'er the seas To die on the hills of his own fresh breeze; Yes! when thy heart in its pride would stray When the sullying breath of the world would come O'er the flowers it brought from its childhood's home; Think thou again of the woody glade, And the sound by the rustling ivy made, Think of the tree at thy father's door, And the kindly spell shall have power once more! |