Captive, in whose narrow narrow cell Lift the heart, and bend the knee! Warrior, that from battle won Heaven's first star alike ye see— Lift the heart, and bend the knee ! Mrs. Hemans. THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. The stately homes of England! O'er all the pleasant land! The deer across their greensward bound And the swan glides past them with the sound L The merry homes of England! What gladsome looks of household love There woman's voice flows forth in song, Or lips move tunefully along The blessed homes of England! 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! And fearless there the lowly sleep, 1 Churches. The free, fair homes of England! May hearts of native proof be reared Where first the child's glad spirit loves Mrs. Hemans. THE FIRST GRIEF. "O, call my brother back to me; I cannot play alone; The summer comes with flowers and beeWhere is my brother gone? "The butterfly is glancing bright Across the sunbeam's track: "The flowers run wild-the flowers we sowed Around our garden-tree; Our vine is drooping with its load; O, call him back to me! "He would not hear my voice, fair child, He may not come to thee; The face that once like spring-time smiled On earth no more thou'lt see. "A rose's brief bright life of joy, "And has he left the birds and flowers ? And must I call in vain ? And through the long, long summer hours, Will he not come again? "And by the brook, and in the glade, Mrs. Hemans. THE BETTER LAND. "I hear thee speak of the better land: Thou call'st its children a happy band; Mother! O where is that radiant shore? Shall we not seek it, and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies dance through the myrtleboughs?" "Not there-not there, my child!" "Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies? Or midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?" "Not there-not there, my child!" "Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold?— |