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Where far away the jasmines dwell,
And where the myrrh-trees weep ! Bless'd, on the sounding surge and foam, Are tidings of the citron's home!
The sailor at the helm they meet,
And hope his bosom stirs, Upspringing, ʼmidst the waves to greet
The fair earth's messengers, That woo him, from the mournful main, Back to her glorious bowers again.
They woo him, whispering lovely tales
Of many a flowering glade,
Of golden-fruited shade ;
And oh ! ye masters of the lay!
Come not e'en thus your songs, That meet us on life's weary way
Amidst her toiling throngs? Yes! o'er the spirit thus they bear A current of celestial air !
Their power is from the brighter clime
That in our birth hath part,
Sears not within the heart;
They call us with a voice divine
Back to our early love,
Whence far and soon we rove :
* Written immediately after reading the “Remarks on the Character and Writings of Milton," in the Christian Examiner.
TO ONE OF THE AUTHOR'S CHILDREN
ON HIS BIRTHDAY, 27 AUGUST, 1825.
Thou wak’st from happy sleep to play
With bounding heart, my boy! Before thee lies a long bright day
Of summer and of joy.
Thou hast no heavy thought or dream
To cloud thy fearless eye ;Long be it thus—life's early stream
Should still reflect the sky.
Yet ere the cares of life lie dim
On thy young spirit's wings, Now in thy morn forget not Him
From whom each pure thought springs !
So in the onward vale of tears,
Where'er thy path may be,
He will remember thee.
TO A YOUNGER CHILD
ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 17 SEPTEMBER,
WHERE sucks the bee now ?-Summer is flying,
For love bids it welcome, the love which hath smild
AN HOUR OF ROMANCE.
THERE were thick leaves above me and around,
* The Talisman—Tales of the Crusaders.