from Blackwood's Magazine.
Alas ! the kind, the playful, and the gay,
They who have gladden'd their domestic board,
And cheer'd the winter hearth - do they return.
Come home ! - there is a sorrowing breath
In music since ye went;
And the early flower-scents wander by,
With mournful memories blent:
The sounds of every household voice
Are grown more sad and deep,
And the sweet word - ' Brother ' - wakes a wish
To turn aside and weep.
O ye beloved, come home ! - the hour
Of many a greeting tone,
The time of hearth-light and of song
Returns - and ye are gone !
And darkly, heavily it falls
On the forsaken room,
Burdening the heart with tenderness,
That deepens midst the gloom.
Where finds it ' you ' our wandering ones ?
With your boyhood's glee
Untamed, beneath the desert's palm,
Or on the lone mid-sea ?
'Mid stormy hills of battles old,
Or where dark rivers foam ?
Oh ! Life is dim where ye are not -
Back, ye beloved ! come home !
Come with the leaves and winds of spring,
And swift birds o'er the main !
Our love is grown too sorrowful,
Bring us its youth again !
Bring the glad tones to music back -
--Still, still your home is fair;
The spirit of your sunny life
Alone is wanting there !
THE TWO HOMES.
Oh ! if the soul immortal be,
Is not it's love immortal too ?
Seest thou my home ? - 'Tis where yon woods are waving
In their dark richness, to the sunny air;
Where yon yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laying,
Leads down the hills a vein of light - 'tis there !
Midst these green haunts how many a spring 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 ! - my 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 pray'd 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 start, the trackless air ! -
I know not - yet I 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 can'st 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 will believe - but dark seas roll between.
HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
"Too much JAW about Emancipation has given his Grace the TOOTHACHE."
Novel discovery, and Soveriegn, remedy of that painful complaint, callked Tic-Douloureux, by Dr. Hume.
The Duke his comrade Hume, called in
And shook his skilful paw;
Then cried, "For years I have not been,
With such a painful jaw."
"I wonder not," the Doctor said,
"Your mouth is full of pain;
You never spake so much before,
And never will again.
"Yet should there be a curious tooth,
Decayed and prone to ache,
I would advise your Grace, in sooth,
The ' Newgate Drop ' to take.
_______________ ' Age '