Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Return of the Parents
RETURN OF THE PARENTS.
Long had they sped
O'er distant hill and valley, noting much
God's goodness in the riches of the land,
The summer fruitage, and the harvest hoard,
The reaper, wrestling with the bearded wheat,
And the proud torrent's glory, when it shakes
The everlasting rock, nor yet forgets
To sprinkle greenness on the lowliest flower,
All trembling at its base. Much, too, they spake
Of pleasure 'neath the hospitable roof
Of sever'd kindred; how the quicken'd heart
Wins, from such meetings, power to wipe away
The dust of household care, which sometimes hangs
In clouds o'er the clear spirit.
But anon
The eloquent lip grew silent, for they drew
Near that bless'd spot which throws all other lights
Into strong shadow—home!
At that dear thought
The bosom's pulse beat wildly, and the wheels
Were all too slow, though scarce the eager steeds
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 gray 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, compared with that dear wealth—
Home, and its gratulations, and the ties
Which Heaven hath twisted round congenial souls,
To draw them to itself.