NEW ENGLAND.

O, TELL me not 't is Fancy's voice
That whispers in my ear;
For I know 't is Nature's holy tone

That breathes in silence here.

From the silence of my bosom

It bids me cease to roam,

And to seek once more the rock-girt shore, And the green fields of my home.

Why do I love that rocky land,

And that inclement sky?

I know alone I love it,

But ask, and care, not why.

As round my friends my feelings twine,
So round my native shore;

God placed the instinct in my heart,
And I seek to know no more.

Then howl, ye thunder-tempests,
For ye lull my soul to sleep;
And in dreams I hear the ocean-wind,
And the surges of the deep.

1835.

Again the clouds of winter

Sweep o'er the summer sky,

And the ground rings hard beneath my tread,
And the snow comes drifting by.

My fathers' bones, New England,
Sleep in thy hallowed ground;
My living kin, New England,

In thy shady paths are found;
And though my body dwelleth here,
And my weary feet here roam,
My spirit and my hopes are still
In thee, my own loved home.

VOL. I.

TO A LADY,

WHO WONDERED WHY SHE WAS LOVED.

It is not learning's borrowed gleam,
It is not beauty's holier light,
It is not wealth, that makes thee seem
So lovely in our sight.

The worth may leave Potosi's ore,
Golconda's diamond lose its sheen,
But thine is the exhaustless store
Of innocence serene.

The beauty of the eye must fade,
The beauty of the cheek decay,
But from thy spirit, guileless maid,
No charm shall pass away.

The learning of the gifted mind,
Its gathered wisdom, may depart,

But in thy ignorance I find

The wisdom of the heart.

And this nor earthly change or ill,
Nor time, nor malady, can blight;

And this it is that makes thee still
So lovely in our sight.

28

SONG.

O, MERRY, merry be the day,
And bright the star of even;
For 't is our duty to be gay,
And tread in holy joy our way;

Grief never came from Heaven,
My love,

It never came from Heaven.

Then let us not, though woes betide,
Complain of Fortune's spite, love;
As rock-encircled trees combine,
And nearer grow, and closer twine,
So let our hearts unite,

My love,

So let our hearts unite.

Though poortith grim should smile on me,
It shall not make me wince, love;
Your ruddy cheek and laughing e'e, -

They are a store of wealth to me

That might content a prince,

My love,

That might content a prince.