132 DEPARTURE OF MRS. HANNAH MORE.
Where music, joy, and love,
Were his young hours entrancing ; And where ambition's thunder-claim
Points out his lot, Or fitful wealth allures to roam,
There, doth he make his home, Repining not.
It is not thus with Woman. The far halls,
Though ruinous and lone,
Where first her pleased ear drank a nursing-mother's tone,
The home with humble walls, Where breath 'd a parent's prayer around her bed,
The valley, where with playmates true,
She cull'd the strawberry, bright with dew,
The bower, where Love her timid footsteps led,
The hearth-stone where her children grew,
The damp soil, where she cast The flower-seeds of her hope, and saw them bide the blast,
Affection, with unfading tint recalls, Lingering round the ivied walls, Where every rose hath in its cup a bee,
Making fresh honey of remember'd things, Each rose without a thorn, each bee bereft of stings.
�� �
