Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/132

Rh '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.