Page:Records of Woman.pdf/123

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Winning her back to nature.—She unbound The helm of many battles from her head, And, with her bright locks bow'd to sweep the ground, Lifting her voice up, wept for joy, and said,— "Bless me, my father, bless me! and with thee, To the still cabin and the beechen-tree, Let me return!" Oh! never did thine eye Thro' the green haunts of happy infancy Wander again, Joanne!—too much of fame Had shed its radiance on thy peasant name; And bought alone by gifts beyond all price, The trusting heart's repose, the paradise Of home with all its loves, doth fate allow The crown of glory unto woman's brow.