While War’s red lightnings desolate the ball,
And thrones and empires in destruction fall;
Then calm as evening on the silvery wave,
When the wind slumbers in the ocean cave,
She dwells unruffled, in her bower of rest,
Her empire Home!—her throne, Affection’s breast!
For her, sweet Nature wears her loveliest blooms,
And softer sunshine every scene illumes.
When Spring awakes the spirit of the breeze,
Whose light wing undulates the sleeping seas;