Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/210

198

Is it the brooding night, Is it the shivery creeping on the air, That makes the home, so tranquil and so fair, O'erwhelming to my sight?

All solemnized it seems, And still'd, and darken'd in each time-worn hue, Since the rich clustering roses met my view, As now, by starry gleams.

And this high elm, where last I stood and linger'd—where my sisters made Our mother's bower—I deem'd not that it cast So far and dark a shade!

How spirit-like a tone Sighs through yon tree! My father's place was there At evening hours, while soft winds waved his hair! Now those grey locks are gone!