No one would think the story on his mind Brought round his glad return, and he once more To welcome him with music, shouts, and songs; But cried-'Where is the careless Nubian girl Sheer from her shoulders severed the young head, The Soldier paused; and surely some one else Had taken up the burden of a tale; But at that moment through the cypress stems Shot the declining crimson of the sun Full on the faces of that company, Who for some instants in deep silence watched And, little needing the clear warning voice THE TENT. WHY should a man raise stone and wood Between him and the sky? Why should he fear the brotherhood Of all things from on high? As stands in sunshine or in storm Or if we thus, as creatures frail Weak Nature to supply ;— The simplest that can keep The Fathers of our mortal race, Whence Adam fled accursed,— Rested in tents, as best became In cold they sought the sheltered nook, And oft their casual home forsook They wandered, fancy-driven, And while this holy sense remained, In tents they often entertained The mystery was revealed, How the world's wound in future days Should by God's love be healed. Thus we, so late and far a link Of generation's chain, Delight to dwell in tents, and think The old world young again; With Faith as wide and Thought as narrow As theirs, who little more From life demanded than the sparrow Gay-chirping by the door. The Tent! how easily it stands, Almost as if it rose Spontaneous from the green or sand, Or, rather, it is we who plant This root, where'er we roam, And hold, and can to others grant, The comforts of a home. Make the Divan-the carpets spread, Rest, weary heart! rest, weary head! We all have much we would forget— Be that forgotten now! And placid Hope, instead, shall set Her seal upon your brow: |