ON A PICTURE,
REPRESENTING AN ITALIAN CONTADINA AND HER FAMILY.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
I.
Not for the myrtle, and not for the vine,
Whose grape, like a gem, is the sunbeam's shrine;
And not for the deep blue heaven, that showers
Joy on thy spirit, like light on the flowers;
And not for the breath of the citron-trees,
Fair Peasant! I call thee not blest for these.
II.
Not for the beauty spread over thy brow,
Though round thee a gleam, as of spring, it throw;
And not for the lustre that laughs from thine eye,
Like a dark stream's flash to the summer sky,
Though the south in its riches nought lovelier sees—
Fair Peasant! I call thee not blest for these!
III.
But for these breathing and loving things—
For the boy's fond arm that around thee clings;
For the sunny cheek on thy lap that glows,
In the peace of a trusting child's repose;
For the hearts whose home is thy gentle breast—
Oh! richly I call thee, and deeply blest!
