CONTENTS.

(The titles of pieces in verse are printed in italics).

My Own Firesi.de.

Let others seek for empty joys,
At bâll or conçert, rout or play;
Whilst far from Fashion's îdle noise,
Her gilded domes and trappings gay,

I while the wintry eve away',

'Twixt lute and bóok the hours divide, And marvel how I e'er could stray

From thee my own fireside!

My own fireside! These simple words
Can bid the sweetest dreams arise;
Awaken feeling's tenderest chords,

And fill with tears of joy mine eŷes.
What is thère my wild heart can prize,
That doth not in thy sphere abi.de;
Haunt of my home-bred sympathies,
My own
my own firesi-de!

A gentle form is near me now;

A small white hand is clasped in mine; I gaze upon her plăcid brow,

And ask, what joys can equal thine:
A babe, whose beauty 's half divine,
In sleep his mother's eyes dòth hide,
Where may lòve seek a fitter shrine,
Than thou my own fireside!

What care I for the sullen wâr

Of winds without, that răvage earth; It dòth but bid me prize the more

The shelter of thy hallowed hearth; Tó thôughts of quiet bliss give birth; Then let the churlish tempest chide, It cannot check the blameless mirth That glads my own fireside!

My refuge ĕver from the storm

Of this world's passion, strife, and care;
Though thunder-clouds the skies deform,
Their fury cannot reach me there;
Thêre all is cheerfúl, calm, and fair;
Wrâth, envy, măliçe, strife, or pride,
Hath never made its hated lair,

By thee my own fireside!

Thy precincts are a charmed ring,

Whêre no harsh feeling dares intrū·de;
Whêre life's vexations lose their sting; -
Where even grief is half subdue-d;
And Peace, the halçy,on, lòves tó brood;
Then let the world's proud fool deri de;
I'll pay my debt of gratitude

Shrine of my household de,ities;

Bright scene of home's unsullied joys; To thee my burthened spirit flies,

When Fortune frowns, or Care annoy.s!

Thine is the bliss that never cloys;

The smile whose truth hath oft been tried;

What, then, ǎre this wòrld's tinsel toys,