University of Virginia Library

There is the spot! My memory has a spell
Which clothes it with ten thousand charms, unseen
By other eyes, by other hearts unfelt.
The low, white house, whose far-retreating roof
Turned two front stories into one behind;
The green-capped picket-fence; the gay front yard,
Skirted with rose and lilach; here the plat
Of grass, divided by the gravelled walk,
And shaded by the spreading apple-tree;
There, the neat garden, more for use than show,
Bordered with box, with gaudy holly-hocks gay,
And crowded with th' unsightly forms of things
The palate loves, the tasteful eye disdains.
Beyond, the orchard flung its fruitful arms,
And stretched its thirsty roots along the bank
Of that fair pond, which lies 'mid gentle slopes
And fertile meadows, like a lovely babe
Upon its mother's bosom,—now at rest
In tranquil beauty; now all smiles and charms,
Now, in capricious passion, wild and fierce.
Lake of my youth! I love thy flowery shores—
Thy buoyant waters more—for they have tossed
My wayward skiff through many a playful hour,
When dancing ripples sparkled to the sun—
And murmured round my moonlight bark, that seemed
A floating paradise of youth and love—
And lent their marble surface to my flight,
When my steeled foot would emulate the winds,
Or when, descending from the headlong steep,
Breathless I dashed through drifting snow, that flew
Like dust about my path, and furious plunged
Across the solid flood. O, those were days
Whose memory warms the blood, and makes instinct
With life and soul the whole surrounding scene.
Nought meets the eye but wakens in my heart
Old thoughts that make it throb. The very earth
Possesses conscious life, and every tree
Tells its own tale, and asks a smile or tear.
There stands the ancient elm, whose giant growth
My boyish eyes admired, and on whose boughs,
Adventurous, I would rock myself, and swing
Above the carriage path, and shout to catch
Th' applauding eye of passengers below.
It shadows with its venerable arms
The simple dwelling where I had my birth.
How dear is every room beneath that roof!
There we assembled at the cheerful meal,
And asked Heaven's blessing on a band of love.
There the gay circle, on a winter's eve,
Gathered about the lavish blaze, and pressed
Within the chimney's ample range, to catch
The tales of wonder childhood loves to hear,
And age delights to tell. There stood my bed;
There I lay waiting for a mother's kiss,
And soft good night; then, breathless, sought to catch
Her last faint footstep as she slow retired;
Then drew the blanket o'er my face, and slept.
Time, in its lengthened flight, has wrought such change,
That hardly could I recognize those walls;
But that sweet evening kiss, I feel it now;
I hear that soft good-night, that parting step
Still faintly fall upon my waiting ear.
The past comes thick around me—faded shapes,
But beautiful, of all that once have been,
And are no more. I sit beside the hearth,
And weep at scenes that once were only joy.

O, what is tender like a mother's love?
And what can pay its loss? To her I looked
To cheer and guide me in the fearful way
That leads through toil and peril into life;
And trusted then, when strength and wealth were mine,
To rock the cradle of her fading age,
As she had soothed the infancy of mine.
But Heaven refused the boon. There is a grief
Severe with double anguish; when the heart
Sinks burdened with a present woe, and waits
For darker evils hastening in its train.
Such grief was ours. . . . . .

What darkness followed then!
It settled down upon the present scene
In thick dismay, and on the future cast
An ominous shade, involving earth, and life,
And hope. The sacred light of home was dimmed.
The tender smile, the voice of patient love,
The anxious counsel, the directing eye,
Cheered the sad pathway of my youth no more.
The shadow settled on my heart. The world
Had other lights, but none to fill that void;
And friends, but none that wore a mother's heart.