"Of home! dear scene, whose ties can bind / With sacred force the human mind / That feels each little absence pain, / And lives but to return again / To that lov'd spot, however far, / Points, like the needle to its star; / That native shed which first we knew, / Where first the sweet affections grew; / Alike the willing heart can draw, / If fram'd of marble, or of straw."
— Williams, Helen Maria (1759-1827)
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed for T. Cadell
Date
1788
Metaphor
"Of home! dear scene, whose ties can bind / With sacred force the human mind / That feels each little absence pain, / And lives but to return again / To that lov'd spot, however far, / Points, like the needle to its star; / That native shed which first we knew, / Where first the sweet affections grew; / Alike the willing heart can draw, / If fram'd of marble, or of straw."
Metaphor in Context
For you, while Morn in graces gay,
Wakes the fresh bloom of op'ning Day;
Gilds with her purple light your dome,
Renewing all the joys of home;
Of home! dear scene, whose ties can bind
With sacred force the human mind;
That feels each little absence pain,
And lives but to return again;
To that lov'd spot, however far,
Points, like the needle to its star;
That native shed which first we knew,
Where first the sweet affections grew;
Alike the willing heart can draw,
If fram'd of marble, or of straw;
Whether the voice of pleasure calls,
And gladness echoes thro' its walls;
Or, to its hallow'd roof we fly,
With those we love to pour the sigh;
The load of mingled pain to bear,
And soften every pang we share!--
Ah, think how desolate His state,
How He the chearful light must hate,
Whom, sever'd from his native soil,
The Morning wakes to fruitless toil;
To labours, hope shall never chear,
Or fond domestic joy endear;
Poor wretch! on whose despairing eyes
His cherish'd home shall never rise!
Condemn'd, severe extreme, to live
When all is fled that life can give!--
And ah! the blessings valued most
By human minds, are blessings lost!
Unlike the objects of the eye,
Enlarging, as we bring them nigh,
Our joys, at distance strike the breast,
And seem diminish'd when possest.
(pp. 12-4, ll. 173-208)
Wakes the fresh bloom of op'ning Day;
Gilds with her purple light your dome,
Renewing all the joys of home;
Of home! dear scene, whose ties can bind
With sacred force the human mind;
That feels each little absence pain,
And lives but to return again;
To that lov'd spot, however far,
Points, like the needle to its star;
That native shed which first we knew,
Where first the sweet affections grew;
Alike the willing heart can draw,
If fram'd of marble, or of straw;
Whether the voice of pleasure calls,
And gladness echoes thro' its walls;
Or, to its hallow'd roof we fly,
With those we love to pour the sigh;
The load of mingled pain to bear,
And soften every pang we share!--
Ah, think how desolate His state,
How He the chearful light must hate,
Whom, sever'd from his native soil,
The Morning wakes to fruitless toil;
To labours, hope shall never chear,
Or fond domestic joy endear;
Poor wretch! on whose despairing eyes
His cherish'd home shall never rise!
Condemn'd, severe extreme, to live
When all is fled that life can give!--
And ah! the blessings valued most
By human minds, are blessings lost!
Unlike the objects of the eye,
Enlarging, as we bring them nigh,
Our joys, at distance strike the breast,
And seem diminish'd when possest.
(pp. 12-4, ll. 173-208)
Provenance
Reading
Citation
Only 1 entry in ESTC (1788).
Helen Maria Williams, A Poem on the Bill Lately Passed for Regulating the Slave Trade (London: Printed for T. Cadell, 1788). <Link to ECCO><Link to facsimile edition in Google Books>
Helen Maria Williams, A Poem on the Bill Lately Passed for Regulating the Slave Trade (London: Printed for T. Cadell, 1788). <Link to ECCO><Link to facsimile edition in Google Books>
Date of Entry
09/02/2011
