Happy!—one bosom flower to cull at last 640
O’er which the blight of sin hath never passed!
Happy—that from this fount of pain and woe
A stainless stream may still in brightness flow;
Happy!—in memory’s wreath one bud to set
On which the bloom of Eden lingers yet! 645
NOTES.
“Breathed from the altar of domestic peace.”—page [2].
[1]. Whoever has had the privilege of a visit to Fair Mead Lodge, will feel that Essex has the honour of being the chosen residence of at least one poet, who, in this age of independance and human perfectability, is not too proud to “look through Nature up to Nature’s God.”
“The pen,—