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Acadia.
Trembles at every gust that wildly raves,
While her thoughts fly to him upon the waves;
As the wind rises, still her fears increase,—
A step,—a voice—'tis his, and all is peace.
While her thoughts fly to him upon the waves;
As the wind rises, still her fears increase,—
A step,—a voice—'tis his, and all is peace.
Oh! Love, in stately dome, or princely bower,
Man owns thy holy soul-subduing power,
Feels that the sweetest charm his spirit knows
From thy unsullied, sacred fountain, flows;
For splendor sheds a cold and cheerless glare,
If Love diffuse no ray of gladness there;
But, if you have a still more precious charm,
A smile more lovely, or a ray more warm,
Oh! it is that which fondly lingers o'er
The rude and lowly cabins of the poor.
Man owns thy holy soul-subduing power,
Feels that the sweetest charm his spirit knows
From thy unsullied, sacred fountain, flows;
For splendor sheds a cold and cheerless glare,
If Love diffuse no ray of gladness there;
But, if you have a still more precious charm,
A smile more lovely, or a ray more warm,
Oh! it is that which fondly lingers o'er
The rude and lowly cabins of the poor.
Their humble meal the mother now prepares,
O'er which they soon forget their former cares;
The children's prattle crowns the parents' joy,
Who often dwell upon their wandering boy—
For 'twas but yesternight that they received
News too delightful to be disbelieved.
Fraught with glad tidings from a distant land,
The letter trembled in the father's hand;—
The seal was broke, while all the little crowd
Around him press'd, to hear it read aloud,
For he, the cause of all their anxious fear,
In foreign lands had wander'd many a year,
Led by that ceaseless restlessness of soul,
Which still points onwards to some brighter goal.
O'er many lands his wayward steps had roved,
O'er which they soon forget their former cares;
The children's prattle crowns the parents' joy,
Who often dwell upon their wandering boy—
For 'twas but yesternight that they received
News too delightful to be disbelieved.
Fraught with glad tidings from a distant land,
The letter trembled in the father's hand;—
The seal was broke, while all the little crowd
Around him press'd, to hear it read aloud,
For he, the cause of all their anxious fear,
In foreign lands had wander'd many a year,
Led by that ceaseless restlessness of soul,
Which still points onwards to some brighter goal.
O'er many lands his wayward steps had roved,