University of Virginia Library

Oh! those were happy days of meeting, when,
After all his wand'rings, to his home again
He safely was return'd;—that home how blest,
How dear, how long desired, how sweet its rest!
That, in his sojourn o'er the western tide,
Had charms for him beyond all homes beside.
Oh! in his pleasures, how he long'd to share
His untold transports with its inmates there!
And in his painful wand'rings and his woe,
Ah fool! he thought, its pleasures to forego!
Then seem'd it to his bosom like the star
Foretelling gladness, though beheld afar;
And then, what rapture to his soul was brought,
What future bliss was imaged to his thought;
How beautiful the vision!—Oh! but when
He came indeed unto his home again,
He thought he must have wrong'd it, for it bore
A thousand charms he scarce had felt before.
And there was she so long beloved; and they,
His lovely, smiling children; what was play
To that long-promised kiss that each had shared?
And he, fond, happy father! who compared
Each dear improving feature, bless'd and praised,
And felt his heart grow warmer as he gazed;
Drew to his breast his first-born, and his son,
And kiss'd that loveliest, playful, favourite one:
Then must the cherub babe his notice claim,
Charming his ear with his loved, half-lisp'd name.

Oh! she, who now was gladness, saw this day
In anxious watching slowly wear away.
That morn, before her custom'd hour she rose,
In fond expectance longing for its close;
For well she knew, before that day was done,
She should embrace her long-lost, wand'ring one.
And she was busy, anxious there to place
All bright and beautiful, that night to grace:
His costly vase, so long her secret care,
Was placed where it was wont when he was there.
Those marble busts, and that bright velvet braid
He loved for her own painting, were display'd;
And all the marks of expectation wore,
For when came such a welcome guest before?
And she was dress'd, with more than common care,
In the white robe he loved her best to wear,
And that rich wreath of roses in her hair.

'Twas almost noon: and now she wish'd it done,
That she might hail the promised hour begun.
The promised hour is come—she takes her stand
Where she may best the road he comes command;
Yet comes he not:—how anxiously they wait,
She at the window, he before the gate,
To announce his father's coming!—O'er the hill
She watch'd the evening gathering—it was chill,
And gloomily the night-wind blew: she turn'd
To that awaiting hearth, and gaily burn'd
The fire, that seem'd reviving;—in her eye
Trembled the starting tear;—could it be dry,
When all her buoyant confidence seem'd fled,
And even hope hung on so fine a thread
As that a breath might break it; and it seem'd
As if his coming was a heaven she'd dream'd?
And then her heart beat loud, and she had grief,
That even sad certainty had been relief.
Her love felt then so centred and so strong,
How could she bear his absence—and so long?
She starts—she hears a step—it seem'd at home;
And yet no voice announced the wanderer come.
Nor is he come: there was no step—all then
Seem'd wrapp'd in its expectancy again.
Her anxious forehead on her hand was laid
In seeming patience, for her heart obey'd
The sickening weight of hope too long delay'd.
Sudden, glad bursts of many voices rise!
She hears a hurrying in the hall—she flies.
Oh, he is come indeed!—most loved of men!
She hears, nor is deceived, his well known voice again!
Oh! what a meeting theirs! his eyes how bright,
Her heart how full, and trembling with delight!
Fain would she speak—but how can words express
Her soul's full, hurrying rush of tenderness?
It seem'd a burst her heart could scarce contain,
And almost was that load of pleasure pain.

The whelming ecstasy of meeting o'er,
The promise pledged, that he would roam no more,
She knew no ling'ring wish ungratified,
He there the vacuum of her home supplied:
The same in kindness still, no love forgot,
In all his long, long wand'rings alter'd not.
And he who in that happy group again
Shone like the sun of gladness, knew he, when
In his far foreign sojourn, ought of bliss
Whose magic of delight could equal this?
No, there was then a something in his breast
That panted for the heaven he now possess'd!