Frances Anne Kemble - Departing lyrics

Pour we libations to the father, Jove, And bid him watch propitious o'er our way; Pile on the household altar fragrant wreaths, And to th' auspicious Lares bid farewell, Beneath whose guardianship we have abode. Blest be the threshold over which we pa**, Turning again, with hands devout uplifted; Blest be the roof-tree, and the hearth it shelters; Blest be the going forth and coming home Of those who dwell here; blest their rising up, And blest their lying down to holy slumber; Blest be the married love, sacred and chaste; Blest be the children's head, the mother's heart, The father's hope. Reach down the wanderer's staff,— Tie on the sandals on the traveller's feet : The wan-eyed morn weeps in the watery east; Gird up the loins, and let us now depart.