The upland farm, the cot upon the heath,
The fisher's hut, where sandy salt winds come—
The bleakest home is warm with beauty's breath,
To him that calls it home.

To him, no beauty like those lowing sheds,
Or gusty ash that creaks before the door,
Or glittering shells that gem the sandy beds,
Or foam that tufts the shore.

In man and Nature kindred spirits move,
And beauty is the union of the two:
The things we deem most lovely, and most love,
Are those she meets us through.

Long living in our homely places brings

That woman's heart is a priceless pearl,
We all of us know very well;
But every pearl in an oyster grows,
While the oyster is cased in a shell.

And many a man, with a cunning plan
To force it its treasure to yield,
Has won him a girl, while he lost the pearl
That lay in her bosom concealed.

Some with their fingers would open the shell,
As if that were the natural way;
Some with the harsh and brutal steel
Would torture their delicate prey;

Others are told that a wedge of gold
At length will be sure to prevail:

I dreamt (would God it were true!) that thou and I were friends together;
Let us tell then one another the sweet secrets of our hearts.
See, I have a book; it is filled with loving verses:
Of thee I seek but love, let us wander through the gardens.
Hand in hand together, we will walk, and sit, and rise;
Let us be happy together, let us join in merry converse.
Offer me the well filled goblet, from thy hands alone I take it;
Give me yet again thy lip's kiss, and again I press thee for it.
The Minstrel at a distance draws his bow across the strings;

Here she lies, whom Fortune dowered
With the virgin wealth of Youth,
Beauty, and the love of Truth,
Golden Honour, spotless Fame,
Twenty-times transmitted name!
Here she lies, deserted, dead!
Dead, alas, and on her head
The cold and crumbling earth is showered!
Not a stone is at her feet;
Not a bud, with Summer sweet,
Sleepeth on her winding-sheet.
Yet what do such poor wants avail?
The sad-eyed widow, Pity pale,
Weepeth when her story's told;
How her love was left for gold;
How, desert' and doomed to fade,
(Underneath the green grass laid,)

Only a blush! O'er the cheek it swept,
In a tint, but a shade more bright,
While over the forehead the soft glow crept,
Like Aurora's roseate light.

Only a blush! 'Twas a single word
That the heart's deep fountain woke,
And in turbulent gushes, its depths were stirred,
For the lips were loved that spoke.

Only a blush! Yet the glow revealed
That she loved him, and with pride
In the armor of many a conquest steel'd,
He lingered near her side,

And breathed into her credulous ear,
In the whim of an idle hour,

I own three golden nuggets.
Two boys and a girl;
Who fondly call me mother;
I'm the happiest woman in the world.

I loved them ere they knew me,
I prayed that they might live;
As their little brown arms entwined me,
I gave all that I could give.

A mother's love and sympathy;
A mother's joy and tears;
A mother's heart—felt interest,
And above all, a mother's prayers.

I heard their childish laughter,
I joined them in their play;
I kissed their cuts and bruises;
I wiped their tears away.

God has let me keep my nuggets,

Spokes when he sees a rosted Pig, he swears
Nothing he loves on't but the chaps and ears:
But carve to him the fat flanks; and he shall
Rid these, and those, and part by part eat all.

Pause, pause, thou libertine, and lay
Thy hand upon thy bounding heart,
And ask thy soul, if to betray
The virgin is a manly part?

Alas! 'tis here the error lies—
'Tis gallantry to rob the maid
Of her fair fame, and tyrannize
O'er the fond heart by love betray'd.

Mistaken Man! the honor prize
Of Woman, nor her peace destroy;
'Tis her meek smile that best supplies
The sweetest zest of social joy.

Reject th' enticements of Desire,
Ye lovely maids, with cautious mind;
Nor yield to that destructive fire

Farewell, sweet Love! yet blame you not my truth;
More fondly ne'er did mother eye her child
Than I your form: yours were my hopes of youth,
And as you shaped my thoughts I sighed or smiled.

While most were wooing wealth, or gaily swerving
To pleasure's secret haunts, and some apart
Stood strong in pride, self-conscious of deserving,
To you I gave my whole weak wishing heart.

And when I met the maid that realized
Your fair creations, and had won her kindness,
Say, but for her if aught on earth I prized!

Why sigh? I'm in love. And with whom? With a girl.
Is she pretty? Delightful, a rosebud, a pearl.
And where did you meet her? At dinner one night.
Do you hope to succeed? Well, I fancy I might;
But I don't want it known; it must be on the sly.
You have no thought of marriage? No, no, sir, not I
The girl has no money, or so I am told,
‘No money,’ forsooth; true love cares not for gold.