But passions spread like plagues, and thousands wild
With bigotry shall tread the offering
Beneath their feet, detested and defiled.
Wordsworth.
What household thoughts around thee, as their shrine,
Cling reverently! Of anxious looks beguiled.
My mother’s eyes upon thy page divine
Were daily bent; her accents, gravely mild,
Breathed out thy love;—whilst I a dreaming child,
On breeze-like fancies wandered oft away