It is in the contemplation of these additions and improvements to our metropolis, that we doubly feel the blessings and effects of that peace which has enabled the government, as well as private individuals, to attempt to make London worthy of the character it bears in the scale of cities; and we are happy now to feel proud of the architectural beauty, as we always have of the commercial influence, of our metropolis.[53]
There blend the ties that strengthen Our hearts in hours of grief, The silver links that lengthen Joys visits when most brief! Then, dost thou sigh for pleasure? O! do not widely roam! But seek that hidden treasure At home, dear home!
By the soft green light in the woody glade, On the banks of moss where thy childhood play’d; By the waving tree thro’ which thine eye First look’d in love to the summer sky; By the dewy gleam, by the very breath Of the primrose-tufts in the grass beneath, Upon thy heart there is laid a spell-- Holy and precious--oh! guard it well!
By the sleepy ripple of the stream, Which hath lull’d thee into many a dream; By the shiver of the ivy-leaves, To the wind of morn at thy casement-eaves; By the bees’ deep murmur in the limes, By the music of the Sabbath-chimes; By every sound of thy native shade, Stronger and dearer the spell is made.
By the gathering round the winter hearth, When twilight call’d unto household mirth, By the fairy tale or the legend old In that ring of happy faces told; By the quiet hours when hearts unite In the parting prayer, and the kind “good-night;” By the smiling eye and the loving tone, Over thy life has the spell been thrown.
And bless that gift!--it hath gentle might, A guardian power and a guiding light! It hath led the freeman forth to stand In the mountain-battles of his land; It hath brought the wanderer o’er the seas, To die on the hills of his own fresh breeze; And back to the gates of his father’s hall, It hath won the weeping prodigal.
Yes! when thy heart in its pride would stray, From the loves of its guileless youth away; When the sullying breath of the world would come, O’er the flowers it brought from its childhood’s home; Think thou again of the woody glade, And the sound by the rustling ivy made; Think of the tree at thy parent’s door, And the kindly spell shall have power once more!