Classic Poem

XII.—THE SAME

And ye are strong to shelter! all meek things,
All that need home and covert, love your shade!
Birds of shy song, and low-voiced quiet springs,
And nun-like violets, by the wind betray'd.
Childhood beneath your fresh green tents hath play'd,
With his first primrose wealth: there love hath sought
A veiling gloom for his unutter'd thought;
And silent grief, of day's keen glare afraid,
A refuge for her tears; and ofttimes there
Hath lone devotion found a place of prayer,
A native temple, solemn, hush'd, and dim;
For wheresoe'er your murm'ring tremors thrill
The woody twilight, there man's heart hath still
Confess'd a spirit's breath, and heard a ceaseless hymn.