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SONNET. PERHArs the lady of my love is now Looking upon the skies. A single star Is rising in the east, and from afar Sheds a most tremulous lustre: silent night Doth wear it like a jewel on her brow: But see : it motions with its lovely light Onward and onward through those depths of blue To its appointed course, steadfast and true. So, dearest, would I sain be unto thee Steadfat for ever—like yon planet fair; And yet more like art thou a jewel rare, Oh! brighter than the brightest star to me. Come hither, my young love, and I will wear Thy beauty on my breast delightedly.

BARRY CoRNWALL.

THE DIFFIDEN "E OF LOVE.

WHY should I blush to own I love 7
*Tis love that rules the realms above.
Why should I blush to say to all
That virtue holds my heart in thrall !

why should I seek the thickest shade, Lest Love’s dear secret be betrayed f Why the stern brow deceitful move, When I am languishing with love?

Is it a weakness thus to dwell
On passion that I dare not tell ?
Such weakness I would ever prove:
'Tis painful, but ’tis sweet to love!
HENRY KIRK WHITE.

THE PRIDE OF LOVE.

'Tis strange with how much power and pride
The softness is of love allied;
How much of power to force the breast
To be in outward show at rest.
How much of pride that never eye
May look upon its agony
Ah! little will the lip reveal
Of all the burning heart can feel.
Oh! why should woman ever love
Trusting to one sole star above;
And fling her little chance away
Of sunshine, for its doubtful ray !

- LANDoN.

THE PROPOSAL.

Ay, they are Love's own words! his breath of flame
Hath sighed upon the fair unconscious page,
And thy cheek kindles at the “one loved name,”
Whose every thought doth thy young heart engage;
Fondly as pilgrims greet some hallowed shrine,
Thy lips would greet the words, “Thine, dearest, ever
thine.”

Ay, it is Love's own tracing! every word
Of eloquence is written by his pen
'Tis the heart’s language—all thine ear hath heard
(Like music from his tongue) is told again
Each fondly-murmured sigh, each half-breathed vow
Flom his soul's depths are drawn, unsealed, acknowledged
now :

With all a lover's tenderness, he lays
His heart, his hopes, his fortunes, at thy feet;
Implores thee, by those well-remembered days
That ye have passed so oft in “converse sweet,”
By many a whispered word in wood or grove,
Not to reject his suit, or scorn his proffered love.

What does thy young heart prompt thee to reply f By the carnation heightening on thy cheeks,

And the bright crystal in thy downcast eye– More eloquent than words—'tis thus it speaks:

“Beloved one each sigh thy breast hath known,

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LOVE'S WISHES.

I wish that I were A voiceless sigh, Floating through air, When thy beauty draws nigh: Unperceived I would steal o'er thy cheek of down, And kiss thy soft lips unchecked by a frown.

I would that 1 were A dying tone, To dwell on thine ear Though the music were gone: I would charin thy heart with my latest breath, And yield thee pleasure e'en in my death. I would I might pass from this living tomb, Into the violet's sweetest perfume; On the wings of the morning to thee I would fly, And mingle my soul with thy sweeter sigh.

My heart is bound. With a viewless chain,_ I see no wound,But I feel its pain. Break my prison, and set Ine free! Bondage, though sweet, hath no charms for me. Yet no!—e’en in setters my fond heart will dwell, Since thy shadow floats o'er it, and hallows its cell !

Oh! for some fairy talisman to conjure
Up to these longing eyes the form they pine for
And yet in love there’s no such word as absence 1
The loved one, like our guardian spirit, walks
Beside us ever, shines upon the beam—
Perfumes the flower—and sighs in every breeze 1
Its presence gives such beauty to the world
That all things beautiful its likeness are ;
And aught in sound most sweet, to sight most fair,
Breathes with its voice, or like its aspect smiles.
SIR. E. L. BULwer.

THE TRYSTING HOUR.

The night-wind's Eolian breezes,
Chase melody o'er the grove,
The fleecy clouds wreathing in tresses,
Float rosy the woodlands above;
Then tarry no longer, my true love,
The stars hang their lamps in the sky,
'Tis lovely the landscape to view, love,
When each bloom has a tear in its eye.

So stilly the evening is closing
Bright dew-drops are heard as they fall,
Eolian whispers reposing,
Breathe softly, I hear my love call;
Yes! the light fairy step of my true love,
The night-breeze is wasting to me;
Over heath-bell and violet blue, love,
Perfuming the shadowy lea.
THoMAs LYLE.

LOVE.

THERE is a love so fond, so cue,
No art the magic tie can sever;

'T is ever beauteous, ever new;-
Its chain once linked is linked for ever.

There is a love, but passion's beam,_
Too fond, too warm, too bright to last,-

The phrensy of a fevered dream,
That burns a moment, then is past.

'Tis like the lightning's lurid glare, That streams its blaze of fatal light,

Flanes for an instant through the air, Then sinks away in deepest night.

There is a love whose feeling rolls In pure unruffled calmness on, The meeting of congenial souls,

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How can they dream that thy sweet life will bear
Crowds’, palaces', and cities’ heartless air
When kooks and thoughts alike must feel the chain,
And naught of life is real but its pain;
Where the young spirit's high imaginings
Are scorned and cast away as idle things;
Where, think or feel, you are foredoomed to be
A marvel, and a sign for mockery;
Where none must wander from the beaten road,
All alike champ the bit and feel the goad.
It is not inade for thee, young Love!—away!
To where the green earth laughs to the clear day;
To the deep valley, where a thousand trees
Keep a green court for fairy revelries;–
To some small island in a lonely lake,
Where only swans the diamond waters break;"
Where the pine hangs in silence o'er the tide,
And the stream gushes from the mountain side;
These, Love, are harunts for thee: where canst thou
brood
With thy sweet wings furled—but in solitude :
LANDoN.

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Then, with the glory from the rose,
With the sparkle from the stream,
With the light thy rainbow-presence throws
Over the poet’s dream; -
With all the Elysian hues
Thy pathway that suffuse,
With joy, with music, from the fading grove,
Take me, too, heavenward, on thy wing, sweet L'vo
x-

It is the soft and silent hour
When mighty Love hath mightiest power
To bind the heart, s: odue the will,
Bid Reason's cold stern voice be still.
Oh! never sounds in Beauty’s ear
The whispered word so sweet and dear,
As when the gathering shadows hide
The tell-tale cheek, which Feeling's tide,
In one full, happy, Joyous gush,
Hath teinted with a crimson blush |
So calm, so still, the scene around,
Almost the heart’s own echoes sound!
How many a breast, on eve like this,
Is steeped in rapture—filled with bliss'
MRs. WALRIn

SLIGHTED LOVE.

MAY slighted woman turn, AND as a vine the oak hath shaken off, Bend lightly to her tendencies again? Oh, no! by all her loveliness, by all That makes life poetry and beauty, no! Make her a slave, steal from her rosy cheek By needless jealousies; let the last star Leave her a watcher by your couch of pain; Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all That makes her cup a bitterness—yet give One evidence of love, and earth has not An en-blem of devotedness like hers. But, oh! est.ange her once, it boots not how, By wrong or silence, any thing that tells A change has come upon your tenderness, And there is not a high thing out of heaven Her pride o’ermastereth not :

N. P. Willik

THE MINSTREL’S LOVE.

He loved,—as minstrel-elf must prove.--
For song itself is born of love
So the young glow and melting shower
Of April animate the flower—
Perfume and sunnlinnce of an hour:-
Too exquisitely loved to last,
Such curse upon the lyre is cast:
Brief must they feel who feel the spell
Of love too sensitively well,
A's fires of sudden vividness
Exmousted by their own excess.
And such the wreath his passion braided
For thousand bosoms, bright but vain,
Like cistus-bloom scarce blown till sided,
Scarce faded till full blown again;
Short-lived alike the bliss and pain.
Thus still adored he, still endured,
Wandering for ever, never cured.
Ishiyar. FrtTatar

YEs so it is—and the same thirst
For something high and pure, above
This withering world, which, from the first,
Made me drink deep of woman's love-
As the one joy, to heaven most near
Of all our hearts can meet with here, -
Still burns me un, still keels awake

A fever naught but death can slake. - or Mana

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Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met,
And on the wave is deeper blue,
And on the leaf a browner hue,
And in the heaven the clear obscure
So softly dark, and darkly pure,
Which follows the decline of day
When twilight melts beneath the moon away.
ByRon.

SONNET.

Sweet as the cry of joy, or as the song
Of tender birds—like the beloved tone
Of one who loves us, loved by us alone—
Such are the honeyed accents of thy tongue;
Like Orpheus' lyre, so eloquent, so strong :
Such sounds the muse herself might not disown,
So speaks harmonious, her inost favored son,
And pours the rapturous tide of verse along.
Oh! if fond love should once that voice inspire,
And breathe the mingling harmony of sighs,
The soul of such rare music ne'er could tire;
l: speaks the ecstacy of Paradise.
Sure then, thy sweetness might a mortal move,
And win at once to more than mortal love.

THE LOVE BORN OF SORROW.

OUR love has been no summer-flower, For joy’s bright chaplet braided;

Drooping when tenpests darkly lower, By grief’s bleak winter faded.

We have not loved as those who plight
Their troth in sunny weather,

Wiiile leaves are green, and skies are bright,
To tread life’s path together.

But we have loved as those who tread
The thorny path of sorrow,

With clouds o'ercast—and cause to dread
Yet deeper gloom to-morrow.

That thorny path, those cloudy skies,
Have drawn our spirits nearer.

And rendered us, by holiest ties,
Each to the other dearer

Love born in hours of joy and mirth, With mirth and joy may perish;

That to which darker days gave birth Still more and more we cherish.

It looks beyond the clouds of time,
Through Death’s dim shadowy portal;
Made by adversity sublime,
By faith and hope immortal!
B. BART.on.

PERHAPS I LOVE.

PERHAPs I love

To visit my heart’s treasure by that light
When misers seek their buried hoards; to steal
Upon the loved one, like a mermaid’s song,
Unseen and floating between sea and sky;
To creep upon her in love’s loveliest hour,
Not in her daylight beauty with the glare
Of the bright sun around her; but thus pure,
And white, and delicate, under the cool moon
Or lamp of alabaster. Thus I love
To think of thee, thou dear one! thus with flowers
About thee, and fresh air, and such a light,
And such a stillness; thus I dream of thee!

Miss MITFord.

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FlkAGMENT.

I'LL lay me on the wintry lea
And sleep amid the cauld and weet;

And ere another’s bride I be
Oh! bring to me my winding sheet!

What can a helpless lassie do,
When ilka friend would prove ner foe,
Would gar her break her dearest vow,
And wed with ane she canna loe?
Robert TANNAHILL-

WHERE is the heart that hath not bowed,
A slave, eternal love, to thee ?
Look on the cold, the gay, the proud,
And is there one among them free?
The cold, the proud—oh Love has turned
The marble till with fire it burned;
The gay, the young—alas ! that they
Should ever bend beneath thy sway !
Look on the cheek the rose might own,
The smile around like sunshine thrown;
The rose, the smile alike are thine,
To fade and darken at thy shrine.
And what must love be in a heart
All passion’s fiery depths coneealing,
Which has in its minutest part,
More than another's depth of feeling?
LANDON.

God gives us Love. Something to love,
He lends us; but when love is grown
To ripeness, that on which it throve
Falls off and love is left alone !
TENNYSox.

L’ABSENCE ET LE RETOUR.

Il faut l’avoir connu l'affreux malheur de vivre loin de ce qu'on aime, pour pouvoir se faire une idée des rayssmens qu'éprouve notre ame, lorsqu'on lui rend le bien qu’elle avoit perdu. Il faut avoir repandu les lames amères de l'absence pour sentir toute la volupté des doors larmes du retour. Je te plains, malheureux amant, qu'un sort cruel a forcé de quitter l'objet de tes voeux. Chaqut pas que tu sais ajoute à tes maux; chaque heure te sip: pelle un plaisir perdu: tu calcules avec desespoir tousies 1nstans qui s'écouleront avant la fin deton exil; tu cross les abréger en les recomptant. Tu portes sans cesse le yeux sur le chemin qui conduit aux lieux oil tu laissas to coeur; tu le mesure avec effroi; et le voyageur que tu decouvres sur cette route te semble jouir d'un destin plus it!” reux que celui des rois. Je te plains: mais que tu seris digne d'envie le jour où tu revoleras vers elle! le jourch reconnaissant de loin sa maison, tu la verras attendo l'heureux instant qui doit payer tant de chagrins! Ah!“ instant s'il se prolongeoit, tu ne pourrois le supporter; ton ame, qui trouva de la force contre les maux, serail & cablée de tant de bonheur.

FLORIAN.

TRUE LOVE DIFFIDENT.

If long I lingered to avow
The latent flame my bosom proved,
Yet, fairest, dearest, deem not thou
I feebly felt, or lightly loved;
I came not with the wealthier throng
Who breathed their heartless vows to thee!
Yet, maiden I I have loved thee long,
And not the less though hopelessly.
For, oh! I deemed not it could be
That thou shouldst deign to smile on me;
For how should friendless misery gain
The prize by monarchs sought in vain 7
How should the falcon mect that sun

Which eagles dare not gaze upon f Duu.

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