[ 262 ] [MARCH, 



THK FAR-HOME. 



I LOOK'D on the bright and burning sun, 



When he set beneath the wave, 

 And red clouds o'er the dark earth hung. 



Like banners o'er a grave : 

 The ocean, in its farthest bound, 



Had a wild and fiery hue ; 

 And I thought I heard a living sound 



From the lands I might not view. 



It spoke not to my inward thought, 



As if on land or sea 

 There lay the home my heart had sought, 



Or where its rest could be ; 

 And I felt as if the hopes were gone, 



That sooth'd my, heart before, 

 When I thought the sense of woe and wrong 



Might be lost on some far shore. 



I watch'd till the stars of ev'ning shone 



In the blue vault of the sky 

 But I felt my spirit dark and lone, 



'Mid their infinity ; 

 For, in that vast and glorious shrine, 



Where a thousand bright worlds hung, 

 Could I single out that world of mine, 



To which my thought had clung ? 



I turn'd me to the earth again 



To a lone and silent dell, 

 Where a fountain hush'd the sleepless brain, 



As its gushing waters fell : 

 A quiet grave was at my feet, 



Where one I had cherish'd slept ; 

 And the calm of that resting-place was sweet 



As the thoughts of him I wept. 



And where then found my heart its home ? 



'Mid the bright isles of the main ? 

 Or, was it where whate'er may roam, 



Hath now no mark of pain ? 

 Oh ! was it not in that quiet place, 



Where the suffering heart might see 

 The repose of that which bore the trace 



Of its own mortality ? 



H.S 



