Yet one Song more! one high and solemn strain

  Ere PAEAN! on thy temple's ruined wall

  I hang the silent harp: there may its strings,

  When the rude tempest shakes the aged pile,

  Make melancholy music. One Song more!

  PENATES! hear me! for to you I hymn

  The votive lay. Whether, as sages deem,

  Ye dwell in the [1]inmost Heaven, the [2]COUNSELLORS

  Of JOVE; or if, SUPREME OF DEITIES,

  All things are yours, and in your holy train

  JOVE proudly ranks, and JUNO, white arm'd Queen.

  And wisest of Immortals, aweful Maid

  ATHENIAN PALLAS. Venerable Powers!

  Hearken your hymn of praise! tho' from your rites

  Estranged, and exiled from your altars long,

  I have not ceased to love you, HOUSEHOLD GODS!

  In many a long and melancholy hour

  Of solitude and sorrow, has my heart

  With earnest longings prayed to rest at length

  Beside your hallowed hearth—for PEACE is there!

  Yes I have loved you long. I call on you

  Yourselves to witness with what holy joy,

  Shunning the polished mob of human kind,

  I have retired to watch your lonely fires

  And commune with myself. Delightful hours

  That gave mysterious pleasure, made me know

  All the recesses of my wayward heart,

  Taught me to cherish with devoutest care

  Its strange unworldly feelings, taught me too

  The best of lessons—to respect myself!

  Nor have I ever ceas'd to reverence you

  DOMESTIC DEITIES! from the first dawn

  Of reason, thro' the adventurous paths of youth

  Even to this better day, when on mine ear

  The uproar of contending nations sounds,

  But like the passing wind—and wakes no pulse

  To tumult. When a child—(for still I love

  To dwell with fondness on my childish years,

  Even as that Persian favorite would retire

  From the court's dangerous pageantry and pomp,

  To gaze upon his shepherd garb, and weep,

  Rememb'ring humble happiness.) When first

  A little one, I left my father's home,

  I can remember the first grief I felt,

  And the first painful smile that cloathed my front

  With feelings not its own: sadly at night

  I sat me down beside a stranger's hearth;

  And when the lingering hour of rest was come,

  First wet with tears my pillow. As I grew

  In years and knowledge, and the course of Time

  Developed the young feelings of my heart,

  When most I loved in solitude to rove

  Amid the woodland gloom; or where the rocks

  Darken'd old Avon's stream, in the ivied cave

  Recluse to sit and brood the future song,

  Yet not the less, PENATES, loved I then

  Your altars, not the less at evening hour

  Delighted by the well-trimm'd fire to sit,

  Absorbed in many a dear deceitful dream

  Of visionary joys: deceitful dreams—

  Not wholly vain—for painting purest joys,

  They form'd to Fancy's mould her votary's heart.

  By Cherwell's sedgey side, and in the meads

  Where Isis in her calm clear stream reflects

  The willow's bending boughs, at earliest dawn

  In the noon-tide hour, and when the night-mists rose,

  I have remembered you: and when the noise

  Of loud intemperance on my lonely ear

  Burst with loud tumult, as recluse I sat,

  Pondering on loftiest themes of man redeemed

  From servitude, and vice, and wretchedness,

  I blest you, HOUSEHOLD GODS! because I loved

  Your peaceful altars and serener rites.

  Nor did I cease to reverence you, when driven

  Amid the jarring crowd, an unfit man

  To mingle with the world; still, still my heart

  Sighed for your sanctuary, and inly pined;

  And loathing human converse, I have strayed

  Where o'er the sea-beach chilly howl'd the blast,

  And gaz'd upon the world of waves, and wished

  That I were far beyond the Atlantic deep,

  In woodland haunts—a sojourner with PEACE.

  Not idly fabled they the Bards inspired,

  Who peopled Earth with Deities. They trod

  The wood with reverence where the DRYADS dwelt;

  At day's dim dawn or evening's misty hour

  They saw the OREADS on their mountain haunts.

  And felt their holy influence, nor impure

  Of thought—or ever with polluted hands

  Touched they without a prayer the NAIAD'S spring;

  Yet was their influence transient; such brief awe

  Inspiring as the thunder's long loud peal

  Strikes to the feeble spirit. HOUSEHOLD GODS,

  Not such your empire! in your votaries' breasts

  No momentary impulse ye awake—

  Nor fleeting like their local energies,

  The deep devotion that your fanes impart.

  O ye whom YOUTH has wilder'd on your way,

  Or VICE with fair-mask'd foulness, or the lure

  Of FAME that calls ye to her crowded paths

  With FOLLY's rattle, to your HOUSEHOLD GODS

  Return! for not in VICE's gay abodes,

  Not in the unquiet unsafe halls of FAME

  Does HAPPINESS abide! O ye who weep

  Much for the many miseries of Mankind,

  More for their vices, ye whose honest eyes

  Frown on OPPRESSION,—ye whose honest hearts

  Beat high when FREEDOM sounds her dread tocsin;—

  O ye who quit the path of peaceful life

  Crusading for mankind—a spaniel race

  That lick the hand that beats them, or tear all

  Alike in frenzy—to your HOUSEHOLD GODS

  Return, for by their altars VIRTUE dwells

  And HAPPINESS with her; for by their fires

  TRANQUILLITY in no unsocial mood

  Sits silent, listening to the pattering shower;

  For, so [3]SUSPICION sleep not at the gate

  Of WISDOM,—FALSEHOOD shall not enter there.

  As on the height of some huge eminence,

  Reach'd with long labour, the way-faring man

  Pauses awhile, and gazing o'er the plain

  With many a sore step travelled, turns him then

  Serious to contemplate the onward road,

  And calls to mind the comforts of his home,

  And sighs that he has left them, and resolves

  To stray no more: I on my way of life

  Muse thus PENATES, and with firmest faith

  Devote myself to you. I will not quit

  To mingle with the mob your calm abodes,

  Where, by the evening hearth CONTENTMENT sits

  And hears the cricket chirp; where LOVE delights

  To dwell, and on your altars lays his torch

  That burns with no extinguishable flame.

  Hear me ye POWERS benignant! there is one

  Must be mine inmate—for I may not chuse

  But love him. He is one whom many wrongs

  Have sicken'd of the world. There was a time

  When he would weep to hear of wickedness

  And wonder at the tale; when for the opprest

  He felt a brother's pity, to the oppressor

  A good man's honest anger. His quick eye

  Betray'd each rising feeling, every thought

  Leapt to his tongue. When first among mankind

  He mingled, by himself he judged of them,

  And loved and trusted them, to Wisdom deaf,

  And took them to his bosom. FALSEHOOD met

  Her unsuspecting victim, fair of front,

  And lovely as [4]Apega's sculptured form,

  Like that false image caught his warm embrace

  And gored his open breast. The reptile race

  Clung round his bosom, and with viper folds

  Encircling, stung the fool who fostered them.

  His mother was SIMPLICITY, his sire

  BENEVOLENCE; in earlier days he bore

  His father's name; the world who injured him

  Call him MISANTHROPY. I may not chuse

  But love him, HOUSEHOLD GODS! for we were nurst

  In the same school.

                      PENATES! some there are

  Who say, that not in the inmost heaven ye dwell,

  Gazing with eye remote on all the ways

  Of man, his GUARDIAN GODS; wiselier they deem

  A dearer interest to the human race

  Links you, yourselves the SPIRITS OF THE DEAD.

  No mortal eye may pierce the invisible world,

  No light of human reason penetrate

  That depth where Truth lies hid. Yet to this faith

  My heart with instant sympathy assents;

  And I would judge all systems and all faiths

  By that best touchstone, from whose test DECEIT

  Shrinks like the Arch-Fiend at Ithuriel's spear,

  And SOPHISTRY'S gay glittering bubble bursts,

  As at the spousals of the Nereid's son,

  When that false [5] Florimel, by her prototype

  Display'd in rivalry, with all her charms

  Dissolved away.

                   Nor can the halls of Heaven

  Give to the human soul such kindred joy,

  As hovering o'er its earthly haunts it feels,

  When with the breeze it wantons round the brow

  Of one beloved on earth; or when at night

  In dreams it comes, and brings with it the DAYS

  And JOYS that are no more, Or when, perchance

  With power permitted to alleviate ill

  And fit the sufferer for the coming woe,

  Some strange presage the SPIRIT breathes, and fills

  The breast with ominous fear, and disciplines

  For sorrow, pours into the afflicted heart

  The balm of resignation, and inspires

  With heavenly hope. Even as a Child delights

  To visit day by day the favorite plant

  His hand has sown, to mark its gradual growth,

  And watch all anxious for the promised flower;

  Thus to the blessed spirit, in innocence

  And pure affections like a little child,

  Sweet will it be to hover o'er the friends

  Beloved; then sweetest if, as Duty prompts,

  With earthly care we in their breasts have sown

  The seeds of Truth and Virtue, holy flowers

  Whose odour reacheth Heaven.

                         When my sick Heart,

  (Sick [6] with hope long delayed, than, which no care

  Presses the crush'd heart heavier;) from itself

  Seeks the best comfort, often have I deemed

  That thou didst witness every inmost thought

  SEWARD! my dear dead friend! for not in vain,

  Oh early summon'd in thy heavenly course!

  Was thy brief sojourn here: me didst thou leave

  With strengthen'd step to follow the right path

  Till we shall meet again. Meantime I soothe

  The deep regret of Nature, with belief,

  My EDMUND! that thine eye's celestial ken

  Pervades me now, marking no mean joy

  The movements of the heart that loved thee well!

  Such feelings Nature prompts, and hence your rites

  DOMESTIC GODS! arose. When for his son

  With ceaseless grief Syrophanes bewail'd,

  Mourning his age left childless, and his wealth

  Heapt for an alien, he with fixed eye

  Still on the imaged marble of the dead

  Dwelt, pampering sorrow. Thither from his wrath

  A safe asylum, fled the offending slave,

  And garlanded the statue and implored

  His young lost Lord to save: Remembrance then

  Softened the father, and he loved to see

  The votive wreath renewed, and the rich smoke

  Curl from the costly censer slow and sweet.

  From Egypt soon the sorrow-soothing rites

  Divulging spread; before your [7] idol forms

  By every hearth the blinded Pagan knelt,

  Pouring his prayers to these, and offering there

  Vain sacrifice or impious, and sometimes

  With human blood your sanctuary defil'd:

  Till the first BRUTUS, tyrant-conquering chief,

  Arose; he first the impious rites put down,

  He fitliest, who for FREEDOM lived and died,

  The friend of humankind. Then did your feasts

  Frequent recur and blameless; and when came

  The solemn [8] festival, whose happiest rites

  Emblem'd EQUALITY, the holiest truth!

  Crown'd with gay garlands were your statues seen,

  To you the fragrant censer smok'd, to you

  The rich libation flow'd: vain sacrifice!

  For nor the poppy wreath nor fruits nor wine.

  Ye ask, PENATES! nor the altar cleans'd

  With many a mystic form; ye ask the heart

  Made pure, and by domestic Peace and Love

  Hallowed to you.

                  Hearken your hymn of praise,

  PENATES! to your shrines I come for rest,

  There only to be found. Often at eve,

  Amid my wanderings I have seen far off

  The lonely light that spake of comfort there,

  It told my heart of many a joy of home,

  And my poor heart was sad. When I have gazed

  From some high eminence on goodly vales

  And cots and villages embower'd below,

  The thought would rise that all to me was strange

  Amid the scene so fair, nor one small spot

  Where my tir'd mind might rest and call it home,

  There is a magic in that little word;

  It is a mystic circle that surrounds

  Comforts and Virtues never known beyond

  The hallowed limit. Often has my heart

  Ached for that quiet haven; haven'd now,

  I think of those in this world's wilderness

  Who wander on and find no home of rest

  Till to the grave they go! them POVERTY

  Hollow-eyed fiend, the child of WEALTH and POWER,

  Bad offspring of worse parents, aye afflicts,

  Cankering with her foul mildews the chill'd heart—

  Them WANT with scorpion scourge drives to the den

  Of GUILT—them SLAUGHTER with the price of death

  Buys for her raven brood. Oh not on them

  GOD OF ETERNAL JUSTICE! not on them

  Let fall thy thunder!

                        HOUSEHOLD DEITIES!

  Then only shall be Happiness on earth

  When Man shall feel your sacred power, and love

  Your tranquil joys; then shall the city stand

  A huge void sepulchre, and rising fair

  Amid the ruins of the palace pile

  The Olive grow, there shall the TREE OF PEACE

  Strike its roots deep and flourish. This the state

  Shall bless the race redeemed of Man, when WEALTH

  And POWER and all their hideous progeny

  Shall sink annihilate, and all mankind

  Live in the equal brotherhood of LOVE.

  Heart-calming hope and sure! for hitherward

  Tend all the tumults of the troubled world,

  Its woes, its wisdom, and its wickedness

  Alike: so he hath will'd whose will is just.

  Meantime, all hoping and expecting all

  In patient faith, to you, DOMESTIC GODS!

  I come, studious of other lore than song,

  Of my past years the solace and support:

  Yet shall my Heart remember the past years

  With honest pride, trusting that not in vain

  Lives the pure song of LIBERTY and TRUTH.

[Footnote 1: Hence one explanation of the name Penates, because they were supposed to reign in the inmost Heavens.]

[Footnote 2: This was the belief of the ancient Hetrusci, who called them Consentes and Complicces]

[Footnote 3:

     Oft, tho' Wisdom wake, Suspicion sleeps

  At Wisdom's gate, and to Simplicity

  Resigns her charge, while Goodness thinks no ill

  Where no ill seems.

                        MILTON.]

[Footnote 4: One of the Ways and Means of the Tyrant Nabis. If one of his Subjects refused to lend him money, he commanded him to embrace his Apega; the statue of a beautiful Woman so formed as to clasp the victim to her breast, in which a pointed dagger was concealed.]

[Footnote 5:

    Then did he set her by that snowy one,

      Like the true saint beside the image set,

    Of both their beauties to make paragone

      And trial whether should the honour get:

      Streightway so soone as both together met,

    The enchaunted damzell vanish'd into nought;

      Her snowy substance melted as with heat,

    Ne of that goodly hew remayned ought

  But the emptie girdle which about her wast was wrought.

                                                           SPENCER.]

[Footnote 6: Hope deferred maketh the heart sick. PROVERBS.

  Qua non gravior mortalibus addita cura,

  SPES ubi longa venit.

                         STATIUS.]

[Footnote 7: It is not certainly known under what form the Penates were worshipped. Some assert, as wooden or brazen rods shaped like trumpets: others, that they were represented as young men.]

[Footnote 8: The Saturnalia.]