YOUR wedding-ring wears thin, dear wife; ah, Though cares we 've known, with hopeful hearts summers not a few, the worst we 've struggled through ; Since I put it on your finger first, have passed Blessed be his name for all his love since this o'er me and you; old ring was new! HIS SISTER, AUGUSTA LEIGH. My sister! my sweet sister! if a name No tears, but tenderness to answer mine: The first were nothing, had I still the last, And mine is not the wish to make them less. A strange doom is thy father's son's, and past Recalling, as it lies beyond redress; Reversed for him our grandsire's fate of yore, He had no rest at sea, nor I on shore. If my inheritance of storms hath been I have sustained my share of worldly shocks, The fault was mine; nor do I seek to screen My errors with defensive paradox; I have been cunning in mine overthrow, Mine were my faults, and mine be their reward. Kingdoms and empires in my little day I have outlived, and yet I am not old; And when I look on this, the petty spray Of my own years of trouble, which have rolled Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away: Something I know not what — does still uphold A spirit of slight patience ;- not in vain, Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain. Perhaps the workings of defiance stir Perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air, And with light armor we may learn to bear,) Have taught me a strange quiet, which was not The chief companion of a calmer lot. I feel almost at times as I have felt In happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brooks, Which do remember me of where I dwelt My heart with recognition of their looks; Here are the Alpine landscapes which create But something worthier do such scenes inspire. Here to be lonely is not desolate, For much I view which I could most desire, And, above all, a lake I can behold Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old. O that thou wert but with me! - but I grow Has lost its praise in this but one regret ; There may be others which I less may show ; I am not of the plaintive mood, and yet I feel an ebb in my philosophy, And the tide rising in my altered eye. I did remind thee of our own dear Lake, The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore; are Resigned forever, or divided far. The world is all before me; I but ask Of Nature that with which she will comply, It is but in her summer's sun to bask, To mingle with the quiet of her sky, And never gaze on it with apathy. I can reduce all feelings but this one; And that I would not; for at length I see Such scenes as those wherein my life begun. The earliest, -even the only paths for me, Had I but sooner learnt the crowd to shun, I had been better than I now can be; And for the remnant which may be to come, I am content; and for the past I feel Not thankless, for within the crowded sum Of struggles, happiness at times would steal, And for the present, I would not benumb My feelings farther. - Nor shall I conceal For thee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart FROM THE OPERA OF "CLARI, THE MAID OF MILAN." MID pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble there's no place like home! The passions which have torn me would have A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home! home! sweet, sweet home! |