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There is a spot, a quiet spot, which blooms
On earth's cold, heartless desert. It hath power
To give a sweetness to the darkest hour,
As in the starless midnight, from the rose,
Now dipped in dew, a sweeter perfume flows;
And suddenly the wanderer's heart assumes
New courage, and he keeps his course along,
Cheering the darkness with a whispered song:
At every step a purer, fresher air
Salutes him, and the winds of morning bear
Soft odours from the violet beds and vines;
And thus he wanders, till the dawning shines
Above the misty mountains, and a hue
Of vermeil blushes on the cloudless blue,
Like health disporting on the downy cheek—
It is time's fairest moment—as a dove
Shading the earth with azure wings of love,
The sky broods o'er us, and the cool winds speak
The peace of nature, and the waters fall,
From leap to leap, more sweetly musical,
And, from the cloudy bosom of the vale,
Come, on the dripping pinions of the gale,
The simple melody of early birds
Wooing their mates to love, the low of herds,
And the faint bleating of the new-born lambs
Pursuing, with light bounding step, their dams;
Again the shepherd's whistle, and the bark,
That shrilly answers to his call; and hark!
As o'er the trees the golden rays appear,
Bursts the last joyous song of chanticleer,
Who moves in stately pomp before his train,
Till, from his emerald neck, and burnished wings,
The playful light a dazzling beauty flings,
As if the stars had lit their fires again—
So sweetly to the wanderer o'er the plain,
The rose, the jessamine, and every flower,
That spreads its leafets in the dewy hour,
And catches in its bell, night's viewless rain,
In tempered balm their rich aroma shower;
And with this charm the morning on his eye,
Looks from her portals in the eastern sky,
And throws her blushes o'er the sleeping earth,
And wakes it to a fresh and lovely birth—
O! such a charm adorns that fairest spot,
Where noise and revelry disturb me not,
But all the spirits that console me, come,
And o'er me spread a peaceful canopy,
And stand with messages of kindness by,
And one sweet dove, with eyes that look me blessed,
Sits brooding all my treasures in her nest,
Without one slightest wish the world to roam,
Or leave me, and that quiet dwelling—home.