Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 35 1834.pdf/12



household thoughts around thee, as their shrine, Cling reverently!—Of anxious looks beguiled, My mother's eyes upon thy page divine Were daily bent; her accents, gravely mild, Breath'd out thy lore;—whilst I, a dreamy child, On breeze-like fancies wander'd oft away, To some lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild, Some fresh-discover'd nook for woodland play, Some secret nest:-yet would the solemn word, At times, with kindlings of young wonder heard, Fall on my waken'd spirit, there to be A seed not lost; for which, in darker years, O Book of Heaven! I pour, with grateful tears, Heart-blessings on the holy Dead, and Thee.