Littell's Living Age/Volume 136/Issue 1756/A Picture

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A PICTURE.

One picture fair within my heart I carry,
Unshadowed by the weary weight of years;
And often, as amid strange scenes I tarry,
A vision of my early youth appears.

The houses clustered on the water’s border,
Clear imaged in the softly flowing stream;
The trees beyond it, set in gracious order,
The bridge, the road — delicious is the dream!

Each nook recalls fond thoughts, and memories soften
My heart to those that still by them abide;
I think of those that wandered with me often —
Of those who now in earth lie side by side.

Long years have rolled, and other children gladly
Rove in the woods and by the waterside;
And some who walked with me may eye them sadly,
And think of other days, whose light has died.

And yet it lives, and sheds a wondrous sweetness
Around the ways, else darkly shaded all;
Making the heart, preparèd in all meetness,
Like "darkened chamber,"[1] when the bright rays fall:

A home of beauty, where the past is cherished,
Each common thing made radiant in the light;
No gleam of love or beauty that has perished,
But here, relimned, is clear to inward sight.

Good Words.W. P. Blackmore.

  1. "The heart is the true camera obscura, in the lowliest making pictures that can never be painted." — Schmidt