Poems and Essays

by Joseph Howe

 

COMING HOME.

 
Mantled in snow, my native land,
    I hail thee from the sea;
Cheerless to others looks the strand,
    But oh! how dear to me.

My fellow-voyagers gaze and shrink,
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    As blows the breeze from shore,
With raptured pulse the air I drink—
    The Northern breeze once more. [Page 80]

They, thinking of their Southern homes,
    And of the trellised vine;
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Wonder from icy shores there comes
    Excited thought like mine.

As landmarks, they, thy headlands view,
    Right glad to pass them by;
To me they’re pictures, stern, but true,
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    That charm and cheer the eye.

They cannot see the scenes beyond,
    Of happy household mirth,
The skaters on the glittering pond,
    The children round the hearth.
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They cannot hear the merry cheer
    Of coasters on the steep;
They do not know how soundly here,
    The free and happy sleep.

They cannot hear the peasant’s axe
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    Sharp ringing through the groves,
Nor see the blazing fire he piles
    To gladden those he loves.

The sleighs go through the crowded street,
    Like swallows on the wing;
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Beneath the furs warm fingers meet,
    Hark! how the sleigh-bells ring. [Page 81]

There’s not a sound that cleaves the air
    But music has for me;
Nightly the warm hearts beating there,
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    Have blest me on the sea.

The stately piles of old renown
    With reverent thought I’ve trod,
Where noble hearts have laid them down
    With History and with God.
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The crowded mart, the busy throng,
    The gay and brilliant halls;
The tramp of steeds, the voice of song,
    The many-pictured walls,

Are all behind; but, all before,
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    My native land I view;
A blessing on her sea-girt shore,
    Where toil the good and true.
 
January 25, 1862. [Page 82]