COME HOME. THE FOUNTAIN OF OBLIVION.

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Telling of answers, in some far-off sphere,

To the deep souls that find no echo here.

...........

COME HOME"!

COME horne!-there is a sorrowing breath
In music since ye went,

And the early flower-scents wander by,
With mournful memories blent.
The tones in 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, ye wandering ones?
With all your boyhood's glee
Untamed, beneath the desert's palm,
Or on the lone mid-sea?
By 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 FOUNTAIN OF OBLIVION.

"Implora pace!"*

ONE draught, kind fairy! from that fountain deep,
To lay the phantoms of a haunted breast,

* Quoted from a letter of Lord Byron's. He describes the impres sion produced upon him by some tombs at Bologna, bearing this simple inscription, and adds, "When I die, I could wish that some friend would see these words, and no other, placed above my grave,-Implora pace.

And lone affections, which are griefs, to steep
In the cool honey-dews of dreamless rest;
And from the soul the lightning-marks to lave-
One draught of that sweet wave!

Yet, mortal, pause!-within thy mind is laid
Wealth, gather'd long and slowly; thoughts divine
Heap that full treasure-house; and thou hast made
The gems of many a spirit's ocean thine ;-
Shall the dark waters to oblivion bear

A pyramid so fair?

Pour from the fount! and let the draught efface
All the vain lore by memory's pride amass'd,
So it but sweep along the torrent's trace,
And fill the hollow channels of the past;
And from the bosom's inmost folded leaf,

Rase the one master-grief!

Yet pause once more!-all, all thy soul hath known,
Loved, felt, rejoiced in, from its grasp must fade!
Is there no voice whose kind awakening tone
A sense of spring-time in thy heart hath made?
No eye whose glance thy daydreams would recall?
-Think-would'st thou part with all?

Fill with forgetfulness!-there are, there are
Voices whose music I have loved too well;
Eyes of deep gentleness-but they are far-
Never! oh-never, in my home to dwell!
Take their soft looks from off my yearning soul-
Fill high th' oblivious bowl!

Yet pause again!-with memory wilt thou cast
The undying hope away, of memory born?
Hope of reunion, heart to heart at last,

No restless doubt between, no rankling thorn?
Would'st thou erase all records of delight

That make such visions bright?

Fill with forgetfulness, fill high!-yet stay

"Tis from the past we shadow forth the land
Where smiles, long lost, again shall light our way,
And the soul's friends be wreath'd in one bright band
-Pour the sweet waters back on their own rill,
I must remember still.

For their sake, for the dead-whose image nought
May dim within the temple of my breast-

For their love's sake, which now no earthly thought
May shake or trouble with its own unrest,
Though the past haunt me as a spirit-yet

I ask not to forget.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

237

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

THE BRIDAL DAY.

On & monument in a Venetian church is an epitaph, recording that the remains beneath are those of a noble lady, who expired suddenly while standing as a bride at the altar.

“We bear her home! we bear her home!

Over the murmuring salt sea's foam:

One who has fled from the war of life,

From sorrow, pain, and the fever strife."--Barry Cornwal

BRIDE! upon thy marriage-day

When thy gems in rich array

Made the glistening mirror seem

As a star-reflecting stream;

When the clustering pearls lay fair
'Midst thy braids of sunny hair,
And the white veil o'er thee streaming,
Like a silvery halo gleaming,
Mellow'd all that pomp and light
Into something meekly bright;
Did the fluttering of thy breath
Speak of joy or woe beneath?
And the hue that went and came
O'er thy cheek, like wavering flame,
Flow'd that crimson from the unrest,
Or the gladness of thy breast?

-Who shall tell us? from thy bower.
Brightly didst thou pass that hour;
With the many-glancing oar,
And the cheer along the shore,
And the wealth of summer flowers
On thy fair head cast in showers,
And the breath of song and flute,
And the clarion's glad salute,
Swiftly o'er the Adrian tide

Wert thou borne in pomp, young bride
Mirth and music, sun and sky,
Welcome thee triumphantly!

Yet, perchance, a chastening thought,
In some deeper spirit wrought,
Whispering, as untold it blent
With the sounds of merriment,
"From the home of childhood's glee,
From the days of laughter free,
From the love of many years,
Thou art gone to cares and fears;
To another path and guide,
To a bosom yet untried!

Bright one! oh! there well may be
Trembling 'midst our joy for thee."