Home Poem by John Anster

Haunts of my youthful days, tho' distant far,
My spirit is with you! oh I could weep,
Vex'd with the jarrings of this populous world,
To think upon thy deep tranquillity,
Mine own lov'd home! the struggles and the strife
Of worthless ones, that sink into the heart,
Turn'd all its blood to poison! I have thought
Of thee, and I am calm: thy trees arose,
Brightening before mine eye: the pleasantness
That slumbers in thy vallies--the soft hues
That bathe thy sunny hills--all met my soul;
And, lovelier far than Nature's outward forms,
The spirit of Domestic Happiness:
The voice of her I lov'd was in my ear,
She smil'd serenity, and I was calm.
Even now I am no more the man I was
When first I sat to meditate this song;
For then the harsh rebuke, the bitter taunt,
(Most harsh when issuing from Friendship's lips,)
Still vex'd the ear, and sicken'd all the soul;
Haunts of my childhood, now I think on you,
And thoughts and feelings gush along my heart
Sweet as the music of my native stream!--
Feelings more holy never with the breeze
Of Evening stole into the spirit of him
Who plies his bark on Uri's lonely lake,
And meditates on Tell--the while he sees
Darkening the wave beneath the fane which speaks
The patriot's triumph, and his country's love:
The tear is on his cheek--his heart is full--
A brighter tinge hath lit his streaming eye,
With gentler sweep he draws the gliding oar,
Fearful to break those shadows on the wave
Which wake such deep, such sacred sympathies!--

Haunts of my childhood, are ye still as fair
As when I wander'd thro' each green recess?
Still does the soft breeze with his gentle breath
Stirring at once a thousand twinkling leaves
Utter neglected music? Does the cloud,
In whose dark womb the noon--day Sun is hid,
Whose folds are lightly colour'd with his beams,
Still hang as lovely in the silent sky?
Is Nature still the same, altho' no more
An eye is there, to hold deep intercourse
With all her forms, altho' no heart is there
To feel her power, and hymn her holiness?
Oft have I thought some bond of mighty strength
Had linked me in a strange identity
With outward accidents of Nature--oft
Methought some spell of more than human force
Had lull'd to rest my individual self,
And that one soul inspir'd the scenes around,
The spacious sky, the universal air,
And him who gazed in rapture on the sight!
And now in crowded city, oh how strange,
How impious does this separation seem,
From all I wish and love--even from myself!
Yet have I oft--times held communion high
And holy with the absent scenery
That pleas'd me: oft with spirit most intense
I brooded, till amid the silent soul
Was heard the flow of waters, and the stir
Of Summer leaves--till every form I lov'd
Was with me--till I ceas'd to be alone.
Dear are such visions to the thinking soul,
And like in love as in their nature like
To those fair forms, that, having past from earth,
Return at twilight, and the musing man,
Before whose eye they move, conceives their looks
Chasten'd, refin'd, and purified by Death!

Spirits, that oft on light and dewy wing
Hover'd around the cradle of my childhood,
Touching the dreaming infant's cheek with smiles,
And, in the hours of my advancing age,
Have, with such music as the unseen lark
Oft sends into the morning traveller's soul,
Pour'd strains of more than earthly melody
In calm and awful accents to the heart,
Breathing along those inward chords that thrill
With unbid impulse to the Poet's lay;
Spirits, ye have not yet deserted me;
Ye have not left me, darkly wandering,
Companionless, unguided, in a world
I cannot mingle with! Conflicting men
May rudely throw me from their noisy converse,
Or stretch the hand of seeming brotherhood,
And mock me with their love.
Haunts of my youth,
Ye will not mock me, and ye cannot change.