Poems (Osgood)/"Happy at Home"

by Frances Sargent Osgood

HAPPY AT HOME

Let the gay and the idle go forth where they will,
In search of soft Pleasure, that syren of ill;
Let them seek her in Fashion's illumined saloon,
Where Melody mocks at the heart out of tune;
Where the laugh gushes light from the lips of the maiden,
While her spirit, perchance, is with sorrow o'erladen;
And where, 'mid the garlands Joy only should braid,
Is Slander, the snake, by its rattle betray'd,
Ah! no! let the idle for happiness roam,
For me—I but ask to be happy at home!"

At home! oh, how thrillingly sweet is that word!
And by it what visions of beauty are stirr'd!
I ask not that Luxury curtain my room
With damask from India's exquisite loom;
The sunlight of heaven is precious to me,
And muslin will veil it if blazing too free;
The elegant trifles of Fashion and Wealth
I need not—I ask but for comfort and health!
With these and my dear ones—I care not to roam,
For, oh! I am happy, most "happy at home!"

One bright little room where the children may play,
Unfearful of spoiling the costly array;
Where he, too—our dearest of all on the earth,
May find the sweet welcome he loves at his hearth;
The fire blazing warmly the sofa drawn nigh;
And the star-lamp alight on the table close by;
A few sunny pictures in simple frames shrined,
A few precious volumes the wealth of the mind;
And here and there treasured some rare gem of art,
To kindle the fancy or soften the heart;
Thus richly surrounded, why, why should I roam?
Oh! am I not happy—most "happy at home?"

The little ones, weary of books and of play,
Nestle down on our bosoms—our Ellen and May!
And softly the simple, affectionate prayer,
Ascends in the gladness of innocence there;
And now ere they leave us, sweet kisses and light
They lavish, repeating their merry "good-night!"
While I with my needle, my book, or my pen,
Or in converse with him, am contented again,
And cry—" Can I ever be tempted to roam,
While blessings like these make me happy at home?"