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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
Never the friend's familiar step to meet
With loving laughter, and the welcome sweet
Of thy glad eyes."
"Thou art gone home, gone home!" then, high and clear,
Warbled that other Voice: "Thou hast no tear
Again to shed.
Never to fold the robe o'er secret pain,
Never, weigh'd down by Memory's clouds, again
To bow thy head.
"Thou art gone home! oh! early crown'd and blest!
Where could the love of that deep heart find rest
With aught below?
Thou must have seen rich dream by dream decay,
All the bright rose-leaves drop from life away—
Thrice blest to go!"
