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From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain;
They are sweeping on to the silvery main,
They are flashing down from the mountain brows,
They are flinging spray on the forest boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves.
Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come!
Where the violets lie may now be your home.
Ye of the rose-cheek and dew-bright eye,
And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly;
With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay,
Come forth to the sunshine-I may not stay.

Away from the dwellings of care-worn men,
The waters are sparkling in wood and glen;
Away from the chamber and dusky hearth,
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth;
Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains,
And youth is abroad in my green domains.

The summer is hastening, on soft winds borne,
Ye may press the grape, ye may bind the corn;
For me, I depart to a brighter shore-

Ye are marked by care, ye are mine no more.
I go where the loved who have left you dwell,

And the flowers are not Death's-fare ye well, farewell!

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

They grew in beauty, side by side,
They filled one home with glee;
Their graves are severed, far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.

The same fond mother bent at night
O'er each fair sleeping brow;
She had each folded flower in sight-
Where are those dreamers now?

One, 'midst the forests of the west,
By a dark stream is laid-

The Indian knows his place of rest,
Far in the cedar shade.

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one,
He lies where pearls lie deep;

He was the loved of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are dressed
Above the noble slain :

He wrapt his colors round his breast,

On a blood red field in Spain.

And one-o'er her myrtle showers
Its leaves, by soft winds fanned;
She faded 'midst Italian flowers-
The last of that bright band.

And parted thus they rest, who played
Beneath the same green tree;
Whose voices mingled as they prayed
Around one parent knee!

They that with smiles lit up the hall,

And cheered with song the hearth

Alas! for love, if thou wert all,

And naught beyond, on earth!

THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP.

What hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells,
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main?
Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow colored shells,
Bright things which gleam unrecked of and in vain.
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!

We ask not such from thee.

Yet more, the depths have more! What wealth untold, Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,

Won from ten thousand royal argosies.

Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main!

Earth claims not these again!

Yet more, the depths have more! Thy waves have rolled Above the cities of a world gone by!

Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,

Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry!
Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornful play,
Man yields them to decay!

Yet more! the billows and the depths have more!
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters roar-
The battle thunders will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
Give back the true and brave!

Give back the lost and lovely! Those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long;
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,
And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song!
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown-
But all is not thine own!

To thee the love of woman hath gone down;
Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,

O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown! Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the dead! Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee!Restore the dead, thou Sea!

THE STRANGER'S HEART.

The stranger's heart! oh! wound it not!

A yearning anguish is its lot;

In the green shadow of thy tree,

The stranger finds no rest with thee.

Thou think'st the vine's low rustling leaves
Glad music round thy household eaves;
To him that sound hath sorrow's tone-
The stranger's heart is with his own.
Thou think'st thy children's laughing play
A lovely sight at fall of day;-

Then are the stranger's thoughts oppressed-
His mother's voice comes o'er his breast.

Thou think'st it sweet, when friend with friend
Beneath one roof in prayer may blend;
Then doth the stranger's eye grow dim-
Far, far, are those who prayed with him.

Thy hearth, thy home, thy vintage land-
The voices of thy kindred band-

Oh! 'midst them all, when blest thou art,
Deal gently with the stranger's heart.

THE BRIDE'S FAREWELL.

Why do I weep?-To leave the vine
Whose clusters o'er me bend;

The myrtle, yet, oh! call it mine!
The flowers I loved to tend.

A thousand thoughts of all things dear,
Like shadows o'er me sweep;

I leave my sunny childhood here;
Oh therefore let me weep!

I leave thee, sister! We have played
Through many a joyous hour,

Where the silvery green of the olive shade

Hung dim o'er fount and bower.

Yes, thou and I, by stream, by shore,

In song, in prayer, in sleep,

Have been, as we may be no more;

Kind sister, let me weep!

I leave thee, father! Eve's bright moon
Must now light other feet,

With the gathered grapes, and the lyre in tune, Thy homeward step to greet.

Thou, in whose voice, to bless thy child

Lay tones of love so deep,

Whose eye o'er all my youth hath smiled;
I leave thee! let me weep!

Mother! I leave thee! On thy breast,
Pouring out joy and woe,

I have found that holy place of rest
Still changeless-yet I go!

Lips, that have lulled me with your strain,
Eyes, that have watched my sleep,
Will earth give love like yours again?
"Sweet mother! let me weep!

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS.

The breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark

The hills and waters o'er,

When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the true-hearted, came-
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame:

Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear;

They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amid the storm they sang,

And the stars heard and the sea;

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang

To the anthem of the free.

The ocean eagle soared

From his nest by the white wave's foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roared;
This was their welcome home.

There were men with hoary hair
Amid that pilgrim band;

Why had they come to wither there,

Away from their childhood's land?

1830-1837.]

HEMANS.

There woman's fearless eye,

Lit by her deep love's truth;

There was manhood's brow, serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?

Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Aye, call

holy ground,

The soil where first they trod!

They have left unstained what there they found,
Freedom to worship God!

THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.

The stately Homes of England,
How beautiful they stand!
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,

O'er all the pleasant land.

The deer across their green-sward bound,
Through shade and sunny gleam,

And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.

The merry Homes of England!

Around their hearths by night,

What gladsome looks of household love

Meet in the ruddy light!

There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood's tale is told,

Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.

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The blessed Homes of England!
How softly on their bowers

Is laid the holy quietness

That breathes from Sabbath hours!
Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime
Floats through their woods at morn;

All other sounds, in that still time,
Of breeze and leaf are born.

The Cottage Homes of England!
By thousands on her plains,
They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks,
And round the hamlet fanes.

Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves,
And fearless there the lowly sleep,
As the bird beneath their eaves.

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