RETURN OF THE PARENTS.
Obey'd the rein. And, as the mother spake Somewhat in murmurs of her youngest boy, There came a flood of beauty o'er her brow, For holy love hath beauty, which gvey time Could never steal.
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, compar'd with that dear wealth, Home, and its gratulations, and the ties Which Heaven hath twisted round congenial souls, To draw them to itself.
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