THE DOMESTIC AFFECTIONS.

WHENCE are those tranquil joys in mercy given,
To light the wilderness with beams of heaven?
To soothe our cares, and through the cloud diffuse
Their temper'd sunshine and celestial hues ?
Those pure delights, ordain'd on life to throw
Gleams of the bliss ethereal natures know?
Say, do they grace Ambition's regal throne,
When kneeling myriads call the world his own?
Or dwell with Luxury, in th' enchanted bowers
Where taste and wealth exert creative powers?

Favour'd of heaven! O Genius! are they thine, When round thy brow the wreaths of glory shine; While rapture gazes on thy radiant way,

Midst the bright realms of clear and mental day?
No! sacred joys! 'tis yours to dwell enshrined,
Most fondly cherish'd, in the purest mind;
To twine with flowers those loved, endearing ties,
On earth so sweet-so perfect in the skies!

Nursed in the lap of solitude and shade, The violet smiles, embosom'd in the glade There sheds her spirit on the lonely gale, Gem of seclusion! treasure of the vale! Thus, far retired from life's tumultuous road, Domestic Bliss has fixed her calm abode Where hallow'd Innocence and sweet Repose May strew her shadowy path with many a rose. As, when dread thunder shakes the troubled sky, The cherub, Infancy, can close its eye, And sweetly smile, unconscious of a tear, While viewless angels wave their pinions near; Thus, while around the storms of Discord roll, Borne on resistless wing from pole to pole, While War's red lightnings desolate the ball, And thrones and empires in destruction fall; Then calm as evening on the silvery wave, When the wind slumbers in the ocean cave, She dwells unruffled, in her bower of rest, Her empire Home!--her throne, Affection's breast!

For her, sweet Nature wears her loveliest blooms, And softer sunshine every scene illumes. When Spring awakes the spirit of the breeze, Whose light wing undulates the sleeping seas; When Summer, waving her creative wand, Bids verdure smile, and glowing life expand; Or Autumn's pencil sheds, with magic trace, O'er fading loveliness, a moonlight grace; Oh! still for her, through Nature's boundless reign, No charm is lost, no beauty blooms in vain;

While mental peace, o'er every prospect bright,
Throws mellowing tints and harmonising light!
Lo! borne on clouds, in rushing might sublime,
Stern Winter, bursting from the polar clime,
Triumphant waves his signal-torch on high,
The blood-red meteor of the northern sky!
And high through darkness rears his giant-form,
His throne the billow, and his flag the storm!
Yet then, when bloom and sunshine are no more,
And the wild surges foam along the shore,
Domestic Bliss, thy heaven is still serene,
Thy star unclouded, and thy myrtle green!
Thy fane of rest no raging storms invade-
Sweet peace is thine, the seraph of the shade!
Clear through the day, her light around thee
glows,

And gilds the midnight of thy deep repose!
-Hail, sacred Home! where soft Affection's hand
With flowers of Eden twines her magic band!
Where pure and bright the social ardours rise,
Concentring all their holiest energies !—
When wasting toil has dimm'd the vital flame,
And every power deserts the sinking frame,
Exhausted nature still from sleep implores
The charm that lulls, the manna that restores!
Thus, when oppress'd with rude, tumultuous cares,
To thee, sweet Home! the fainting mind repairs;
Still to thy breast, a wearied pilgrim, flies,
Her ark of refuge from uncertain skies!

Bower of repose! when, torn from all we love, Through toil we struggle, or through distance rove; To thee we turn, still faithful, from afarThee, our bright vista! thee, our magnet-star! And from the martial field, the troubled sea, Unfetter'd thought still roves to bliss and thee!

When ocean-sounds in awful slumber die, No wave to murmur, and no gale to sigh; Wideo'er the world when Peace and Midnight reign, And the moon trembles on the sleeping main; At that still hour, the sailor wakes to keep, Midst the dead calm, the vigil of the deep! No gleaming shores his dim horizon bound, All heaven-and sea-and solitude-around! Then, from the lonely deck, the silent helm, From the wide grandeur of the shadowy realm, Still homeward borne, his fancy unconfined, Leaving the worlds of ocean far behind, Wings like a meteor-flash her swift career, To the loved scenes, so distant, and so dear!

Lo! the rude whirlwind rushes from its cave, And Danger frowns-the monarch of the wave!

Lo! rocks and storms the striving bark repel, And Death and Shipwreck ride the foaming swell!

Child of the ocean! is thy bier the surge, Thy grave the billow, and the wind thy dirge? Yes! thy long toil, thy weary conflict o'er,

No storm shall wake, no perils rouse thee more!
Yet, in that solemn hour, that awful strife,
The struggling agony for death or life,
E'en then thy mind, embittering every pain,
Retraced the image so beloved-in vain !
Still to sweet Home thy last regrets were true,
Life's parting sigh-the murmur of adieu!

Can war's dread scenes the hallow'd ties efface, Each tender thought, each fond remembrance chase?

Can fields of carnage, days of toil, destroy
The loved impression of domestic joy?

Ye daylight dreams! that cheer the soldier's breast,

In hostile climes, with spells benign and blest,
Soothe his brave heart, and shed your glowing ray
O'er the long march through Desolation's way;
Oh! still ye bear him from th' ensanguined plain,
Armour's bright flash, and Victory's choral strain,
To that loved Home where pure affection glows,
That shrine of bliss! asylum of repose!
When all is hush'd-the rage of combat past,
And no dread war-note swells the moaning blast;
When the warm throb of many a heart is o'er,
And many an eye is closed to wake no more;
Lull'd by the night-wind, pillow'd on the ground,
(The dewy deathbed of his comrades, round!)
While o'er the slain the tears of midnight weep,
Faint with fatigue, he sinks in slumbers deep!
E'en then, soft visions, hovering round, portray
The cherish'd forms that o'er his bosom sway;
He sees fond transport light each beaming face,
Meets the warm tear-drop and the long embrace!
While the sweet welcome vibrates through his
heart,

"Hail, weary soldier !-never more to part!"

And lo! at last, released from every toil, He comes-the wanderer views his native soil! Then the bright raptures words can never speak Flash in his eye and mantle o'er his cheek! Thon Love and Friendship, whose unceasing prayer

Implored for him each guardian-spirit's care; Who, for his fate, through sorrow's lingering year, Had proved each thrilling pulse of hope and fear;

In that blest moment, all the past forgetHours of suspense and vigils of regret !

And oh! for him, the child of rude alarms, Rear'd by stern danger in the school of arms! How sweet to change the war-song's pealing note For woodland-sounds in summer air that float! Through vales of peace, o'er mountain wilds to roam, And breathe his native gales, that whisper-'Home!'

Hail, sweet endearments of domestic ties, Charms of existence! angel sympathies ! Though Pleasure smile, a soft Circassian queen ! And guide her votaries through a fairy scene, Where sylphid forms beguile their vernal hours With mirth and music in Arcadian bowers; Though gazing nations hail the fiery car That bears the Son of Conquest from afar, While Fame's loud pæan bids his heart rejoice, And every life-pulse vibrates to her voice;Yet from your source alone, in mazes bright, Flows the full current of serene delight!

On Freedom's wing, that every wild explores, Through realms of space, th' aspiring eagle soars! Darts o'er the clouds, exulting to admire, Meridian glory-on her throne of fire! Bird of the Sun! his keen unwearied gaze Hails the full noon, and triumphs in the blaze; But soon, descending from his height sublime. Day's burning fount, and light's empyreal clime, Once more he speeds to joys more calmly blest, Midst the dear inmates of his lonely nest!

Thus Genius, mounting on his bright career
Through the wide regions of the mental sphere,
And proudly waving in his gifted hand,
O'er Fancy's worlds, Invention's plastic wand,
Fearless and firm, with lightning-eye surveys
The clearest heaven of intellectual rays!
Yet, on his course though loftiest hopes attend,
And kindling raptures aid him to ascend,
(While in his mind, with high-born grandeur
fraught,

Dilate the noblest energies of thought ;)
Still, from the bliss, ethereal and refined,
Which crowns the soarings of triumphant mind,
At length he flies, to that serene retreat,
Where calm and pure the mild affections meet;
Embosom'd there, to feel and to impart
The softer pleasures of the social heart!

Ah! weep for those, deserted and forlorn, From every tie by fate relentless torn;

1

See, on the barren coast, the lonely isle,
Mark'd with no step, uncheer'd by human smile,
Heart-sick and faint the ship-wreck'd wanderer
stand,

Raise the dim eye, and lift the suppliant hand!
Explore with fruitless gaze the billowy main,
And weep and pray-and linger-but in vain!

Thence, roving wild through many a depth of shade,

Where voice ne'er echo'd, footstep never stray'd,
He fondly seeks, o'er cliffs and deserts rude,
Haunts of mankind midst realms of solitude!
And pauses oft, and sadly hears alone

The wood's deep sigh, the surge's distant moan!
All else is hush'd! so silent, so profound,
As if some viewless power, presiding round,
With mystic spell, unbroken by a breath,
Had spread for ages the repose of death!
Ah! still the wanderer, by the boundless deep,
Lives but to watch-and watches but to weep!
He sees no sail in faint perspective rise,

1 His the dread loneliness of sea and skies!
Far from his cherish'd friends, his native shore,
Banish'd from being-to return no more;
There must he die !-within that circling wave,
That lonely isle-his prison and his grave!

Lo! through the waste, the wilderness of snows, With fainting step, Siberia's exile goes! Homeless and sad, o'er many a polar wild, Where beam, or flower, or verdure never smiled; Where frost and silence hold their despot-reign, And bind existence in eternal chain ! Child of the desert! pilgrim of the gloom! Dark is the path which leads thee to the tomb! While on thy faded cheek the arctic air Congeals the bitter tear-drop of despair! Yet not that fate condemns thy closing day In that stern clime to shed its parting ray; Not that fair nature's loveliness and light No more shall beam enchantment on thy sight; Ah! not for this-far, far beyond relief, Deep in thy bosom dwells the hopeless grief; But that no friend of kindred heart is there, Thy woes to mitigate, thy toils to share; That no mild soother fondly shall assuage The stormy trials of thy lingering age; No smile of tenderness, with angel power, Lull the dread pangs of dissolution's hour; For this alone, despair, a withering guest, Sits on thy brow, and cankers in thy breast! Yes! there, e'en there, in that tremendous clime, Where desert grandeur frowns in pomp sublime;

Where winter triumphs, through the polar night,
In all his wild magnificence of might;
E'en there, affection's hallow'd spell might pour
The light of heaven around th' inclement shore!
And, like the vales with gloom and sunshine
graced,

That smile, by circling Pyrenees embraced,
Teach the pure heart with vital fires to glow,
E'en 'midst the world of solitude and snow!
The halcyon's charm, thus dreaming fictions feign,
With mystic power could tranquillise the main ;
Bid the loud wind, the mountain billow sleep,
And peace and silence brood upon the deep!

And thus, Affection, can thy voice compose The stormy tide of passions and of woes; Bid every throb of wild emotion cease, And lull misfortune in the arms of peace!

Oh! mark yon drooping form, of aged mien, Wan, yet resign'd, and hopeless, yet serene! Long ere victorious time had sought to chase The bloom, the smile, that once illumed his face, That faded eye was dimm'd with many a care, Those waving locks were silver'd by despair! Yet filial love can pour the sovereign balm, Assuage his pangs, his wounded spirit calm! He, a sad emigrant! condemn'd to roam In life's pale autumn from his ruin'd home, Has borne the shock of Peril's darkest wave, Where joy and hope-and fortune - found a

grave! 'Twas his to see Destruction's fiercest band Rush, like a Typhon, on his native land, And roll triumphant on their blasted way, In fire and blood, the deluge of dismay ! Unequal combat raged on many a plain, And patriot-valour waved the sword in vain! Ah! gallant exile! nobly, long, he bled, Long braved the tempest gathering o'er his head! Till all was lost! and horror's darken'd eye Roused the stern spirit of despair to die!

Ah! gallant exile! in the storm that roll'd
Far o'er his country, rushing uncontroll'd,
The flowers that graced his path with loveliest
bloom,

Torn by the blast, were scatter'd on the tomb !
When carnage burst, exulting in the strife,
The bosom ties that bound his soul to life,
Yet one was spared! and she, whose filial smile
Can soothe his wanderings and his tears beguile,
E'en then could temper, with divine relief,
The wild delirium of unbounded grief;

And, whispering peace, conceal with duteous art
Her own deep sorrows in her inmost heart!
And now, though time, subduing every trace,
Has mellow'd all, he never can erase;
Oft will the wanderer's tears in silence flow,
Still sadly faithful to remember'd woe!
Then she, who feels a father's pang alone,
(Still fondly struggling to suppress her own,)
With anxious tenderness is ever nigh,

To chase the image that awakes the sigh!
Her angel-voice his fainting soul can raise
To brighter visions of celestial days!

And speak of realms, where Virtue's wing shall soar
On eagle-plume-to wonder and adore ;
And friends, divided here, shall meet at last,
Unite their kindred souls-and smile on all the
past!

Yes! we may hope that nature's deathless ties, Renew'd, refined, shall triumph in the skies! Heart-soothing thought! whose loved, consoling powers

With seraph-dreams can gild reflection's hours, Oh! still be near, and brightening through the gloom,

Beam and ascend! the day-star of the tomb! And smile for those, in sternest ordeals proved, Those lonely hearts, bereft of all they loved.

Lo! by the couch where pain and chill disease Ia every vein the ebbing life-blood freeze; Where youth is taught, by stealing, slów decay, Life's closing lesson-in its dawning day; Where beauty's rose is withering ere its prime, Unchanged by sorrow and unsoil'd by time; There, bending still, with fix'd and sleepless eye, There, from her child, the mother learns to die; Explores, with fearful gaze, each mournful trace Of lingering sickness in the faded face; Through the sad night, when every hope is filed, Keeps her lone vigil by the sufferer's bed; And starts each morn, as deeper marks declare The spoiler's hand-the blight of death is there! He comes! now feebly in the exhausted frame, Slow, languid, quivering, burns the vital flame; From the glazed eye-ball sheds its parting rayDim, transient spark, that fluttering fades away ! Faint beats the hovering pulse, the trembling heart; Yet fond existence lingers ere she part!

"Tis past the struggle and the pang are o'er, And life shall throb with agony no more; While o'er the wasted form, the features pale, Death's awful shadows throw their silvery veil.

Departed spirit! on this earthly sphere
Though poignant suffering mark'd thy short

career,

Still could maternal love beguile thy woes, And hush thy sighs—an angel of repose!

But who may charm her sleepless pang to rest, Or draw the thorn that rankles in her breast? And, while she bends in silence o'er thy bier, Assuage the grief, too heart-sick for a tear? Visions of hope in loveliest hues array'd, Fair scenes of bliss by fancy's hand portray'd! And were ye doom'd with false, illusive smile, With flattering promise, to enchant awhile? And are ye vanish'd, never to return, Set in the darkness of the mouldering urn? Will no bright hour departed joys restore? Shall the sad parent meet her child no more? Behold no more the soul-illumined face, The expressive smile, the animated grace! Must the fair blossom, wither'd in the tomb, Revive no more in loveliness and bloom? Descend, blest faith! dispel the hopeless care, And chase the gathering phantoms of despair; Tell that the flower, transplanted in its morn, Enjoys bright Eden, freed from every thorn; Expands to milder suns, and softer dews, The full perfection of immortal hues ; Tell, that when mounting to her native skies, By death released, the parent spirit flies; There shall the child, in anguish mourn'd so long, With rapture hail her midst the cherub throng, And guide her pinion on exulting flight, Through glory's boundless realms, and worlds of living light.

Ye gentle spirits of departed friends! If e'er on earth your buoyant wing descends; If, with benignant care, ye linger near, To guard the objects in existence dear; If, hovering o'er, ethereal band! ye view The tender sorrows, to your memory true; Oh! in the musing hour, at midnight deep, While for your loss affection wakes to weep; While every sound in hallow'd stillness lies, But the low murmur of her plaintive sighs; Oh! then, amidst that holy calm be near, Breathe your light whisper softly in her ear; With secret spells her wounded mind compose, And chase the faithful tear-for you that flows: Be near-when moonlight spreads the charm you loved

O'er scenes where once your earthly footstep roved.

Then, while she wanders o'er the sparkling dew, Through glens and wood-paths, once endear'd by you,

And fondly lingers in your favourite bowers,
And pauses oft, recalling former hours;
Then wave your pinion o'er each well-known vale,
Float in the moonbeam, sigh upon the gale;
Bid your wild symphonies remotely swell,
Borne by the summer-wind from grot and dell;
And touch your viewless harps, and soothe her soul
With soft enchantments and divine control!
Be near, sweet guardians! watch her sacred rest,
When Slumber folds her in his magic vest;
Around her, smiling, let your forms arise,
Return'd in dreams, to bless her mental eyes;
Efface the memory of your last farewell-
Of glowing joys, of radiant prospects tell;
The sweet communion of the past renew,
Reviving former scenes, array'd in softer hue.

Be near when death, in virtue's brightest hour,
Calls up each pang, and summons all his power;
Oh! then, transcending Fancy's loveliest dream,
Then let your forms unveil'd around her beam;
Then waft the vision of unclouded light,
A burst of glory, on her closing sight;
Wake from the harp of heaven th' immortal strain,
To hush the final agonies of pain;
With rapture's flame the parting soul illume,
And smile triumphant through the shadowy gloom!
Oh! still be near, when, darting into day,
Th' exulting spirit leaves her bonds of clay;
Be yours to guide her fluttering wings on high
O'er many a world, ascending to the sky;

There let your presence, once her earthly joy,
Though dimm'd with tears and clouded with alloy,
Now form her bliss on that celestial shore
Where death shall sever kindred hearts no more.

Yes! in the noon of that Elysian clime, Beyond the sphere of anguish, death, or time; Where mind's bright eye, with renovated fire, Shall beam on glories never to expire; Oh! there th' illumined soul may fondly trust, More pure, more perfect, rising from the dust, Those mild affections, whose consoling light Sheds the soft moonbeam on terrestrial night, Sublimed, ennobled, shall for ever glow, Exalting rapture-not assuaging woe!

TO MR EDWARDS, THE HARPER OF CONWAY.

[Some of the happiest days the young poetess ever passed were during occasional visits to some friends at Conway, where the charms of the scenery, combining all that is most beautiful in wood, water, and ruin, are sufficient to inspire the most prosaic temperament with a certain degree of enthusiasm ; and it may therefore well be supposed how fervently a soul constituted like hers would worship Nature at so fitting a shrine. With that happy versatility which was at all times a leading characteristic of her mind, she would now enter with child-like playfulness into the enjoyments of a mountain scramble, or a pic-nic water party, the gayest of the merry band, of whom some are now, like herself, laid low, some far away in foreign lands, some changed by sorrow, and all by time; and then, in graver mood, dream away hours of pensive contemplation amidst the gray ruins of that noblest of Welsh castles, standing, as it then did, in solitary grandeur, unapproached by bridge or causeway, flinging its broad shadow across the tributary waves which washed its regal walls. These lovely scenes never ceased to retain their hold over the imagination of her whose youthful muse had so often celebrated their praises. Her peculiar admiration of Mrs Joanna Baillie's play of Ethwald was always pleasingly associated with the recollection of her having first read it amidst the ruins of Conway Castle. At Conway, too, she first made acquaintance with the lively and graphic Chronicles of the chivalrous Froissart, whose inspiring pages never lost their place in her favour. Her own little poem, "The Ruin and its Flowers," which will be found amongst the earlier pieces in the present collection, was written on an excursion to the old fortress of Dyganwy, the remains of which are situated on a bold promontory near the entrance of the river Conway; and whose ivied walls, now fast mouldering into oblivion, once bore their part bravely in the defence of Wales; and are further endeared to the lovers of song and tradition as having echoed the complaints of the captive Elphin, and resounded to the harp of Taliesin. A scarcely degenerate representative of that gifted bard1 had, at the time now alluded to, his appropriate dwelling-place at Conway; but his strains have long been silenced, and there now remain few, indeed, on whom the Druidical mantle has fallen so worthily. In the days when his playing was heard by one so fitted to enjoy its originality and beauty,

"The minstrel was infirm and old;"

but his inspiration had not yet forsaken him; and the following lines (written in 1811) will give an idea of the magic power he still knew how to exercise over the feelings of his auditors.]

MINSTREL! whose gifted hand can bring
Life, rapture, soul, from every string;
And wake, like bards of former time,
The spirit of the harp sublime;-
Oh! still prolong the varying strain !
Oh! touch th' enchanted chords again!

1 Mr Edwards, the Harper of Conway, as he was generally called, had been blind from his birth, and was endowed with that extraordinary musical genius by which persons suffering under such a visitation are not unfrequently indemnified. From the respectability of his circumstances, he was not