Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/132

                              'Tis there, behind the trees,
That well-known roof: and from the open door
What a glad rush! The son, who fain would take
His mother in his arms, as if her foot
Was all too good for earth; and at his side
The beautiful daughter, with her raven hair
So smoothly folded o'er her classic brow;
The infant, crowing in its nurse's arms;
The bold boy, in his gladness springing up
Even to his father's shoulder; lisping tongues,
And little dancing feet, and outstretch'd hands
Grasping the parents' skirts: it was a group
That artist's pencil never yet hath sketch'd
In all its plenitude.
                                  And when I saw
The brightness of the tear of joy, I felt
How poor the pomp of princes, and the dross
Of beaten gold, compared with that dear wealth—
Home, and its gratulations, and the ties
Which Heaven hath twisted round congenial souls,
To draw them to itself.