  Home again! Home? what satire in the word! II.If home is where the heart is, where's my home? Well: here's my easel; here my old piano; Here the memorials of my early days! Here let me try at least to be content. This din of rolling wheels beneath my window, Let it renew for me the ocean's roar! It is the heart makes music musical! III.My neighbor has a mocking-bird: its song Has been as little heeded as the noise Of rattling wheels incessant; but to-day One of its strains brought all Elysium back Into my heart. What was it? What the tie Linking it with some inexpressive joy? At length I solve the mystery! Those notes, Pensively slow and sadly exquisite, Were what the wood-thrush piped at early dawn After that evening passage in the boat, When stars came out, that never more shall set. Oh! sweet and clear the measured cadence fell Upon my ear in slumber—and I woke! I woke, and listened while the first faint flush Of day was in the east; while yet the grove Showed only purple gloom, and on the beach The tidal waves with intermittent rush Broke lazily and lent their mingling chime. And O the unreckoned riches of the soul! The possible beatitudes, of which A glimpse is given, a transitory glimpse, So rarely in a lifetime! Then it was, Hearing that strain, as if all joy the Past Had in its keeping,—all the Future held,— All love, all adoration, and all beauty,— Made for a moment the soul's atmosphere, And lifted it to bliss unspeakable. O splendor fugitive! O transport rare! Transfiguring and glorifying life! This strange, inexplicable human heart! IV.My lawyer sends me more good news; he writes: "The picture's sale will reach ten thousand copies, And for the first year only! We shall have A big bill to send in; and do not fear But the 'old man' will pay it, every dime. To escape the heavy damages the law Allows for such infringement, he'll be glad To compromise for the amount I fix; And what I shall compel him to disgorge Will simply be fair copyright on all Your published works; and this will give you clear Some fifteen thousand dollars, not to speak Of a fixed interest in future sales." So writes my lawyer. Now one would suppose That news like this would make me light of heart, Spur my ambition; and, as taste of blood Fires the pet tiger, even so touch of gold Would rouse the sacred appetite of gain. But with attainment cometh apathy; And I was somewhat happier, methinks, When life was all a struggle, and the prayer, "Give me my daily bread," had anxious meaning. Is it then true that woman's proper sphere Is in the affections? that she's out of place When these are balked, and science, art, or trade Has won the dedication of her thought? Nay! the affections are for all; and he, Or she, has most of life, who has them most. O, not an attribute of sex are they! Heart loneliness is loneliness indeed, But not for woman any more than man, Were she so trained, her active faculties Could have a worthy aim. |
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