THE FOREST SANCTUARY. I. THE Voices of my home!-I hear them still! They have been with me through the dreamy night The blessed household voices, wont to fill My heart's clear depths with unalloy'd delight! I hear them still, unchang'd :—though some from earth Are music parted, and the tones of mirth Wild, silvery tones, that rang through days more bright! Singing of boyhood back-the voices of my home! II. They call me through this hush of woods, reposing grey stillness of the summer morn, In the They wander by when heavy flowers are closing, On the parch'd traveller in his hour of thirst, E'en thus they haunt me with sweet sounds, till worn By quenchless longings, to my soul I say Oh! for the dove's swift wings, that I might flee away, III. And find mine ark !—yet whither ?—I must bear A yearning heart within me to the grave. I am of those o'er whom a breath of air Just darkening in its course the lake's bright wave, And sighing through the feathery canes -hath power To call up shadows, in the silent hour, From the dim past, as from a wizard's cave !— So must it be !-These skies above me spread, Are they my own soft skies?-Ye rest not here, my dead! IV. Ye far amidst the southern flowers lie sleeping, Not thy low ripplings, glassy water, playing Through my own chesnut groves, which fill mine ear; And for their birth-place moan, as moans the ocean-shell 2. V. Peace! I will dash these fond regrets to earth, Ev'n as an eagle shakes the cumbering rain From his strong pinion. Thou that gav'st me birth, A blighted name, dark thoughts, wrath, woe-thy gifts are these. VI. A blighted name!—I hear the winds of morn- Lend it no tone: His wide savannahs laving, It is not murmur'd by the joyous river! What part hath mortal name, where God alone Speaks to the mighty waste, and through its heart is known? VII. Is it not much that I may worship Him, With nought my spirit's breathings to control, And feel His presence in the vast, and dim, And whispery woods, where dying thunders roll From the far cataracts?-Shall I not rejoice That I have learn'd at last to know His voice From man's?—I will rejoice!—my soaring soul Now hath redeem'd her birth-right of the day, And won, through clouds, to Him, her own unfetter'd way! VIII. And thou, my boy! that silent at my knee And circle thy glad soul with free and healthful air? IX. Why should I weep on thy bright head, my boy? As mine hath done; nor bear what I have borne, Casting in falsehood's mould th' indignant brow of scorn. |