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Home Sweet Home!
Mid peasures and palacer shough Be it ever so hamble,
no place like home! a charm from the sky
to hallow as there
the world, is neler met with elsewhere!
Sohn Stoward Payne
Fair Nature's book together read,
The hills we climbed, the river seen
Where'er I look, where'er I stray,
O’er lapse of time and change of scene,
COME then, my friend! my genius! come along;
Thou lack'st not Friendship's spellword, nor
With these good gifts of God is cast
If, then, a fervent wish for thee
The sighing of a shaken reed,
A GENEROUS friendship no cold medium knows,
Beyond the flight of time,
Beyond this vale of death, There surely is some blesséd clime
Where life is not a breath, Nor life's affections transient fire, Whose sparks fly upward to expire.
There is a world above,
Where parting is unknown ; A whole eternity of love,
Formed for the good alone ; And faith beholds the dying here Translated to that happier sphere.
The half-seen memories of childish days,
Thus star by star declines,
Till all are passed away,
To pure and perfect day ;
AUBREY DE VERE.
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.
[Died in New York, September, 1820.)
GREEN be the turf above thee,
Friend of my better days ! None knew thee but to love thee,
Nor named thee but to praise.
Tears fell, when thou wert dying,
From eyes unused to weep, And long, where thou art lying,
Will tears the cold turf steep.
Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man
HOR. O my dear lord -
Nay, do not think I flatter :
be flattered ? No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou
hear? Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, And could of men distinguish, her election Hath sealed thee for herself ; for thou hast been As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing, – A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards Hast ta'en with equal thanks; and blessed are
those Whose blood and judgmentare so wellco-mingled, That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger To sound what stop she please : Give me that
When hearts, whose truth was proven,
Like thine, are laid in earth, There should a wreath be woven
To tell the world their worth ;
And I, who woke each morrow
To clasp thy hand in mine, Who shared thy joy and sorrow,
Whose weal and woe were thine,
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
It should be mine to braid it
Around thy faded brow,
“My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred,
Which in those days I heard.
"Thus fares it still in our decay :
And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away
Than what it leaves behind.
“The blackbird amid leafy trees,
The lark above the hill, Let loose their carols when they please,
Are quiet when they will.
(Aufidius the Volscian to Caius Marcius Coriolanus.] AUF.
O Marcius, Marcius ! Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my
heart A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter Should from yond' cloud speak divine things, and
say, “ 'T is true,"I'd not believe them more than thee, All-noble Marcius. — Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where-against My grainéd ash an hundred times hath broke, And scared the moon with splinters ! Here I clip The anvil of my sword ; and do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love, As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valor. Know thou first, I loved the maid I married ; never man Sighed truer breath ; but that I see thee here,
"With Nature never do they wage
A foolish strife ; they see A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free: