Nursed in the lap of solitude and shade, The violet smiles, embosom’d in the glade There sheds her spirit on the lonely gale, Gem of seclusion! treasure of the vale! Thus, far retired from life’s tumultuous road, Domestic Bliss has fixed her calm abode Where hallow’d Innocence and sweet Repose May strew her shadowy path with many a rose. As, when dread thunder shakes the troubled sky, The cherub, Infancy, can close its eye, And sweetly smile, unconscious of a tear, While viewless angels wave their pinions near; Thus, while around the storms of Discord roll, Borne on resistless wing from pole to pole, While War’s red lightnings desolate the ball, And thrones and empires in destruction fall; Then calm as evening on the silvery wave, When the wind slumbers in the ocean cave, She dwells unruffled, in her bower of rest, _Her_ empire Home!--her throne, Affection’s breast! For her, sweet Nature wears her loveliest blooms, And softer sunshine every scene illumes. When Spring awakes the spirit of the breeze, Whose light wing undulates the sleeping seas; When Summer, waving her creative wand, Bids verdure smile, and glowing life expand; Or Autumn’s pencil sheds, with magic trace, O’er fading lowliness, a moonlight grace; Oh! still for her, through Nature’s boundless reign, No charm is lost, no beauty blooms in vain; While mental peace, o’er every prospect bright, Throws mellowing tints and harmonising light! Lo! borne on clouds, in rushing might sublime, Stern Winter, bursting from the polar clime, Triumphant waves his signal-torch on high, The blood-red meteor of the northern sky! And high through darkness rears his giant-form, His throne the billow, and his flag the storm! Yet then, when bloom and sunshine are no more, And the wild surges foam along the shore, Domestic Bliss, _thy_ heaven is still serene, Thy star unclouded, and thy myrtle green! Thy fane of rest no raging storms invade-- Sweet peace is thine, the seraph of the shade! Clear through the day, her light around thee glows, And gilds the midnight of thy deep repose! --Hail, sacred Home! where soft Affection’s hand With flowers of Eden twines her magic band! Where pure and bright the social ardours rise, Concentring all their holiest energies!-- When wasting toil has dimm’d the vital flame, And every power deserts the sinking frame, Exhausted nature still from sleep implores The charm that lulls, the manna that restores! Thus, when oppress’d with rude, tumultuous cares, To thee, sweet Home! the fainting mind repairs; Still to thy breast, a wearied pilgrim, flies, Her ark of refuge from uncertain skies!