[10] Childe Harold, canto 4, st. lvi.

[11] Duppa—­Observations on the Continent.

[12] Childe Harold, canto 4, st. xxxi, xxxii.

[13] Notes to Childe Harold, ibid.—­See Engraving of Petrach’s
House at Arqua, Mirror, vol. xvii, p. 1.

* * * * *

THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

* * * * *

THE HOME OF LOVE.

  “They sin who tell us Love can die. 
  With Life all other Passions fly,
  All others are but Vanity;—­

* * * * *

  “But Love is indestructible. 
  Its holy flame for ever burneth,
  From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth;
  Too oft on earth a troubled guest,
  At times deceived, at times oppressed,
  It here is tried and purified,
  And hath in Heaven its perfect rest.”—­SOUTHEY.

  Thou movest in visions, Love!—­Around thy way,
  E’en through this World’s rough path and changeful day,
      For ever floats a gleam,
  Not from the realms of Moonlight or the Morn,
  But thine own Soul’s illumined chambers born—­
      The colouring of a dream!

  Love, shall I read thy dream?—­Oh! is it not
  All of some sheltering, wood-embosomed spot—­
      A Bower for thee and thine? 
  Yes! lone and lonely is that Home; yet there
  Something of Heaven in the transparent air
      Makes every flower divine.

  Something that mellows and that glorifies
  Bends o’er it ever from the tender skies,
      As o’er some Blessed Isle;
  E’en like the soft and spiritual glow,
  Kindling rich woods, whereon th’ ethereal bow
      Sleeps lovingly awhile.

  The very whispers of the Wind have there
  A flute-like harmony, that seems to bear
      Greeting from some bright shore,
  Where none have said Farewell!—­where no decay
  Lends the faint crimson to the dying day;
      Where the Storm’s might is o’er.

  And there thou dreamest of Elysian rest,
  In the deep sanctuary of one true breast
      Hidden from earthly ill: 
  There wouldst thou watch the homeward step, whose sound
  Wakening all Nature to sweet echoes round,
      Thine inmost soul can thrill.

  There by the hearth should many a glorious page,
  From mind to mind th’ immortal heritage,
      For thee its treasures pour;
  Or Music’s voice at vesper hours be heard,
  Or dearer interchange of playful word,
      Affection’s household lore.

  And the rich unison of mingled prayer,
  The melody of hearts in heavenly air,
      Thence duly should arise;
  Lifting th’ eternal hope, th’ adoring breath,
  Of Spirits, not to be disjoined by Death,
      Up to the starry skies.