storms,
The poor tossed bark may be?

Descend, my thoughts!
Your theme lies lowly as the ground-bird's nest;
Why seek, with wings so feeble and unused,
To soar above the clouds and front the stars?
Descend from your high venture, and to scenes
Of the heart's common history come down!

II.

THE FATHER'S STORY.

The little mansion had its fill of sunshine;
The western windows overlooked the Hudson
Where the great city's traffic vexed the tide;
The front received the Orient's early flush.
Here dwelt three beings, who the neighbors said
Were husband, wife, and daughter; and indeed
There was no sign that they were otherwise.
Their name was Percival; they lived secluded,
Saw no society, except some poor
Old pensioner who came for food or help;
Though, when fair days invited, they would take
The omnibus and go to see the paintings
At the Academy; or hear the music
At opera or concert; then, in summer,
A visit to the seaside or the hills
Would oft entice them.

Percival had reached
His threescore years and five, but stood erect
As if no touch of age had chilled him yet.
Simple in habit, studious how to live
In best conformity with laws divine,--
Impulsive, yet by trial taught to question
All impulses, affections, appetites,
At Reason's bar,--two objects paramount
Seemed steadily before him; one, to find
The eternal truth, showing the constant right
In politics, in social life, in morals,--
The other, to apply all love and wisdom
To education of his child--of Linda.

Yet, if with eye anointed, you could look
On that benign and tranquil countenance,
You might detect the lines which Passion leaves
Long after its volcano is extinct
And flowers conceal its lava. Percival
Was older than his consort, twenty years;
Yet were they fitly mated; though, with her,
Time had dealt very gently, leaving face
And rounded form still youthful, and unmarred
By one uncomely outline; hardly mingling
A thread of silver in her chestnut hair
That affluent needed no deceiving braid.
Framed for maternity the matron seemed:
Thrice had she been a mother; but the children,
The first six winters of her union brought,
A boy and girl, were lost to her at once
By a wall's falling on them, as they went,
Heedless of danger, hand in hand, to school.
To either parent terr