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ONE after one the joys of youth Had died away,

And visions of unfading truth, As false as they;

Then came a dark and dreary chill,
More sad than grief;

The very pang that bade me feel
Had seemed relief.

I saw thce smile; the icy chain
Began to melt;

I heard thee speak; and once again
I lived, I felt!

Thy gentle care once more for me
Hope’s garland wove;

And all my soul's dark apathy,
Touched by thy love,

Grew rapture—as the languid mist
Of sullen hue,

By morning's summer radiance kissed,
Melts in bright dew.

And thou hast given me light and life,
Fond hopes, sweet fears;
The varying passions’ pleasing strife,
And smiles and tears.
H. Townsend.

I rain would sing, but will be silent now,
For pain is sitting on my lover’s brow;
And he would hear me--and, though silent, deem
I pleased myself, but little thought of him,
While of naught else I think; to him I give
My spirit, and for him alone I live:
Bear him within my heart, as mothers bear
The last and youngest object of their care.
Servian Poetry.—BowRING.


THAT is the hour, beloved of Heaven,
When plighted faith is purely given;
When lovers blending heart with heart,
And, silent, mingling hand with hand,
Before God’s sacred altar stand,
No more in life to part;
Then lowly kneel them down to pray,
That youth's devoted fire
Should ever burn with equal sway,
Till love with life expire.
That, when fast gathering storms prevail,
And sorrow dims the tearful eye,
And those we once deemed faithful, fly
Before the changing gale,
Those vows might not be given in vain:
That summer hours of cloudless joy,
That years of sickness, grief, and pain,
Might ne'er that silver link destroy.
And oh! in man’s most dreary hour,
Has woman’s voice the magic power
That o the haughty heart, and glads the aching
And gilds with brighter gleam the deep'ning nigh.
LoRD PorchEstER.


Deck not with gems that lovely form for me,
They in my eyes can add no charm to thee.
Braid not for me the tresses of thy hair;
I must have loved thee hadst thou not been fair.

How ost, when half in tears, hast thou beguiled The sorrow from my heart, and I have smiled.

Oh! formed alike my tears and smiles to share, I must have loved thee hadst than or +een fair.

Time on that cheek his withering hand may press,
He may do all but make me love thee less;
The mind defies him, and thy charm lies there,
I must have loved thee hadst thou not been fair.


UNseen she prayed, With all the still, small whispers of the night, And with the searching glances of the stars, And with her God alone! She lifted up Her sad, sweet voice, while trembling o'er her head The dark leaves thrilled with prayer—the tearful prayer Of woman's quenchless yet repentant love.

“Father of spirits, hear !
Look on the inmost soul, to thee revealed :

Look on the fountain of the burning tear,
Before thy sight in solitude unsealed !

“Hear, Father hear and aid :
If I have loved too well, if I have shed,
Tn my vain fondness, o'er a mortal head,

Gifts, on thy shrine, my God, more fitly laid;

“If I have sought to live
But in one light, and made a mortal eye
The lonely star of my idolatry,

Thou, that art Love, oh! pity and forgive

“Chastened and schooled at last, -
No more my struggling spirit burns,
But fixed on thee, from that vain worship turns !

What have I said the deep dream is not past.

“Yet hear! If still I love,
Oh! still too fondly—if, for ever seen,
An earthly image comes my soul between,

And thy calm glory, Father, throned above;

“If still a voice is near,
(Even while I strive these wanderings to control)
An earthly voice, disquieting my soul,

With its deep music, too intensely dear;

“O, Father, draw to thee
My lost affections back —the dreaming eyes
Clear from the mist—sustain the heart that dies;

Give the worn soul once more its pinions free

“I must love on, O God!
This bosom must love on 1 but let thy breath
Touch and make pure the flame that knows not do the
Bearing it up to Heaven, Love's own abode”

— I do love violets! They well the history of woman’s love; They open with the earliest breath of spring; Lead a sweet life of perfume, dew and light, And, if they perish, perish with a sigh Delicious as that life. On the hot June They shed no perfume: the flowers may remain, But the rich breathing of their leaves is past.— The violet breath of love is purity.



In joyous youth what soul hath never known
Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to his own f
who hath not paused while Beauty’s pensive eye
Asked from his heart the homage of a sight
Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame
The power of grace, the magic of a name?

Who that would ask a heart to dulness wed,
The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead 7
No; the wild bliss of Nature needs alloy,
And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy!
And say, without our hopes, without our fears,
Without the harna that olio.hted love and enre

Without the smile from partial beauty won,
Oh! what were man —a world without a sun 1
Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour,
There dwelt no joy in Eden’s rosy bower
In vain the viewless seraph lingering there,
At starry midnight charmed the silent air;
In vain the wild-bird carolled on the steep,
To hail the sun, slow wheeling from the deep;
In vain, to sooth the solitary shade,
Aérial notes in mingling pleasure played;
The summer wind that shook the spangled tree,
The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee;—
Still slowly passed the melancholy day,
And still the stranger wist not where to stray;—
The world was sad —the garden was a rold 1
And Man, the hermit, sighed—till Woman smiled !

O LovE, first learned in a lady's eyes,
Lives not alone immured in the brain;
But, with the motion of all elements,
Courses as swift as thought in every power;
And gives to every power a double power.
Above their functions and their offices.
It adds a precious feeling to the eye;--
A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind:
A lover’s ears will hear the lowest sound,
When the suspicious head of theft is stopt.--
For valor, is not love a Hercules,
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides 7
Subtle as Shpinx; as sweet and musical
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair:
And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods
Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.
Never durst poet touch a pen to write.
Until his ink were tempered with Love's sighs:
O! then his lines would ravage savage ears,
And plant in tyrants mild humility.
From women’s eyes this doctrine I derive :
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;
They are the books, the arts, the acudemes,
That show, contain, and nourish all the world;
Else, none at all in aught proves excellent.


THERE is a language by the virgin made,
Not read but felt, not uttered but betrayed,
A mute communion, yet so wondrous sweet,
Eyes must impart what tongue can ne'er repeat.
'Tis written on her cheeks and meaning brows;
In one short glance whole volumes it avows;
In one short moment tells of many days,
In one short speaking silence all conveys.
Joy, sorrow, love, recounts, hope, pity, fear,
And looks a sigh, and weeps without a tear.
Üh ' 'tis so chaste, so touching, so refined,
So soft, so wistful, so sincere, so kind
Were eyes melodious, and could music shower
From orient rays new striking on a flower,
Such heavenly music from that glance might rise,
And angels own the music of the skies.


Too proud For less than absolute command, too soft For aught but gentle tender thought; her hair Clustered as from an orb of gold, cast out A dazzling and overpowering radiance, save Here and there on her white neck reposed, In a soothed brilliamee, some thin wandering tress. The azure flashing of her eye was fringed With virgin meekness, and her tread that seemed Earth to disdain, as softly fell on it As the light dew shower on a tuft of flowers. MiLMAx.

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SONNET. LET me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is no1 love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove : Oh no! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out e'en to the edge of doom. If this be error, and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.


Look through mine eyes with thine. True wife,
Round my true heart thine arms entwine,
My other dearer life in life,
Look through my very soul with thine.
Untouched with any shade of years,
May those kind eyes for ever dwell
They have not shed a many tears,
Dear eyes! since first I knew them well.


Oh! woman’s love is a holy light,
Which when once kindled can not die;
Though time, and treachery, and slight,
To quench the deathless flame may try.
Uike ivy, when it grows 'tis seen
To wear an everlasting green;
Like ivy, too, 'tis sound to cling
Too often round a worthless thing.
O woman's love! at times it may
Seein cold and clouded; but it burns
With an undeviating ray,
And never from its idol turns.
Its sunshine is a smile; a frown
The heavy cloud that weighs it down;
A tear its weapon is—(beware
Of woman's tears, there's danger there):—
Its sweetest place on which to rest,
A constant and confiding breast;-
Its joy—to meet;-its death—to part;-
Its sepulchre—a broken heart!


WITH more than Jewish reverence as yet
Do I the sacred name conceal;
When, ye kind stars, ah! when will it be fit
This gentle mystery to reveal!
When will our love be named, and we possess
That christening as a badge of happiness?

So bold as yet no verse of mine has been,
To wear that gem on any line :
Nor, till the happy nuptial muse be seen,
Shall any stanza with it shine.
Rest, mighty name 1 till then; for thou must be
Laid down by her, ere taken up by me.

Then all the fields and woods shall with it ring;
Then Echo's burden it shall be;
Then all the birds in several notes shall sing,
And all the rivers murmur, thee;
Then every wind the sound shall upward bear,
And softly whisper’t to some angel’s ear.


NAY, 'tis not Tire grace of her meek, bending, snowy neck The flowing outline of proportioned limbs Moving with health's elastic lightness, blent With all that nameless as a vity of air

That marks high birth; ’tis not, alone, a face
Whose features are all symzetry; an eye
In whose ethereal blue Love sii, enshrined,
A spirit in a star; cheeks eloquent
In changeful blushes, as her sweetest lips
In the harmonious utterance of pure thoughts:
'Tis not all these—the palpable ornaments
Of the material mould,—Love's pageantry
Floating e'er beauty’s surface.—
No, no! it is not these that win my heart;
But ’tis the pure intelligence of mind
That, like some inborn light, brains from her soul;
The virtuous thoughts that clothe he, like a garment;
The chastity, the candor, and the meekness,
That, through her parted hair, look from a brow
And features, where the seal of heaven is set!

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Thy stately pine-tree, or thy gracious rose,
In their sweet shade can yield thee no repose,
Here, where the blight hath wings.

And, as a flower with some fine sense imbued,
To shrink before the wind’s vicissitude,
So in thy prescient breast
Are lyre-strings quivering with prophetic thrill
To the low footstep of each coming ill;
—Oh! canst thou dream of rest ?

Bear up thy dream thou mighty and thou weak |
Heart strong as death, yet as a reed to break;
As a flame, tempest-swayed
He that sits calm on high is yet the source
Whence thy soul's current hath its troubled course,
He that great deep hath made

Will He not pity ? He, whose searching eye
Reads all the secrets of thine agony 7–
Oh! pray to be forgiven
Thy fond idolatry, thy blind excess,
And seek with Him that bower of blessedness:–
Love! thy sole home is heaven :

LOVE. A MystERY thou art, thou mighty one We speak thy name in beauty, yet we shun To own thee, Love, a guest; the poet’s songs Are sweetest when their voice to thee belongs, And hope, sweet opiate, tenderness, delight, Are terms which are thy own peculiar right; Yet all deny their master; who will own His breast thy footstool, and his heart thy throne f


WAKE, oh, wake! the morning star
Hath ceased to grace his glittering car :
Slowly the redd’ning clouds enfold,
And frequent streaks of living gold
Announce the lord of day.
The light breeze wafts perfume on high,
Less sweet alone than thy sweet sigh'
The flower with fresher teints is glowing,
The fount with clearer crystal flowing.
Oh come! oh come !
Hours like this a charm impart,
That wins the eye but not the heart,
While Love is still away !

Wake, oh, wake through every grove Is heard the matin round of love; —And shall a dearer love be vain To bid thee burst dull slumber's chain, And spurn at slow delay ? Though morning glow with teints divine I’d change her brightest blush for thine, And deem thine eye from sleep awaking, Outshone the sun through darkness breaking. Oh coine ! oh come ! Hours like this are quickly fled, . But thy fond smile a joy can shed Which melts not thus away ! T. DALE.

Ah, me : for aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth:
But either it was different in blood,
Or else misgrafted in respect of years;
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends:
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it;
Making it momentary as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the colled night,
That in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth;
And, ere a man hatn power to say, Behold !
The Jaws of darkness do devour it up ;
So quick bright things come to confusion :

LOVE'S LAST EVENING. Oh! that word was, how sad a word it is '-SHAksriks

Dost thou recal it?’twas a glorious eve!
The air was precious with the breath of flowers
That had been weeping—and the harps of eve
Played vespers to the stars and in the blue,
The deep blue sky, (how beautiful she looked')
Stood the young moon - - -

- - - -

Thou dost know how many years, How long and well my soul has worshipped thee, Till my mind made itself a solitude For only thee to dwell in-and thou wer! The spirit of all fountains in my breast ! —We will not speak of that; but oh that eve Amid the pines, our fondest and our last ! (Ere it had crossed my heart, or thine, to think That we could part—and ome could change so soon) How it has haunted me, with all the sounds That made it silent—and the starry eyes And flitting shapes that made it solitude' Did I not love thee! oh! but for one throb, One pulse of all the pulses beating then; One feeling—though the feeling were a pang! One passion—though the passion spoke in tears! I deemed thy love was boundless; oh the queen, The eastern queen, who melted down her pearl, And drank the treasure in a single draught, Was wiser far than hearts that love too well, If love be finite In that last adieu Our young and ardent spirits burnt away, And flung their ashes on the winds of heaven! Our love has perished like the sound that dies, And leaves no echo-like the eastern day That has no twilight—like the lonely flower Flung forth to wither on the wind, that wastes Even its perfume: dead, thou false one' dead, With all the precious thoughts on which it fed, And all the hopes which made it beautiful— Sound, light, and perfume, gone—and gone for ever J. K. HERVEy,

LE véritable amour me peut exister sans l'estime; no Pestine la plus parfaite ne suffit pas pour l’amour. Copassion sidouce et si violente, source de plaisirs et deprino, de tourmens et de délices, cette flamme qui consume, eiful vivre, ne s'allume jamais qu'une fois. Les ames puress. vent l’immoler a la vertu, et donner ensuite au devoir out ce qui dépend encore d’elles: mais cet attrait, ce channe irrésistible, cet élae rapide de toutes les pensées, de two les sentimens vers un seul objet, ces craintes terribles, tes vives espérances, et ces profondes douleurs pour un road de colére, et ces ravissemens inexprimables pour un semiment de main, on ne les éprouve phus; ils sont passes * le premier amour. Le coeur n'en est plus susceptible. C'est le lis coupé sur sa tige; la plante vit encore, malso produit plus de fleurs. FLORIAN.


Oh, never did achievement -ival Love's,
For daring enterprise and execution :
It will do miracles: attempt such things
As make ambition, fiery as it is,
Dull plodding tameness in comparison.
Talk of the miser’s passion for his store—
'Tis milk and water to the lover’s, which
Defies the mines of earth and caves of ocean
To inatch its treasure! Talk of height, breadth,depth
The e is no measure for the lover’s passion,
No bounds to what "twill do!


LovE is a gift which God hath given
To man alone beneath the heaven.
It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie, -
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind
In body and in soul can bind.



FAREwell, fair Rosebud of the isles :
Yet one farewell to thee;
Brief was the blessing of thy smiles
Like all of bliss for me.
Deputed dreams' sent down to bless
The sleep of beauty, tell
With what impassioned tenderness
The minstrel breathes farewell!

Oh! tell her she's my sheltering tree,
My love-star o'er the waves,
The camel's treasured draught to me,
That midst the desert saves.
This neart itself a desert bare
As that my footstep knows;
One only rose left blooming there,
And she that virgin rose.
Ishmael FitzADAM.


- LADY, Ye who have dwelt upon the sordid land, Amid the everlasting gloomy war Of Poverty with Wealth—ye can not know How we, the wild sons of the ocean, mock At men who fret out life with care for gold. Oh the fierce sickness of the soul—to see Love bought and sold, and all the heaven-roofed temple Of God's great globe, the money-change of Mammon I dream of love, enduring faith, a heart Mingled with mine—a deathless heritage Which I can take unsullied to the stars, When the Great Father calls his children home; And in the midst of this Elysian dream, Lo, Gold—the demon Gold alas ! the creeds Of the false land

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• But surely in the countries where the sun
Lights loveliness in all he shines upon—
Where Love is as a mystery and a dream,
One single flower upon life’s troubled stream;
There, there, perchance, may the young bosom thrill,
Feeling and Fancy linger with Love still.


I will remember thee, in that stil’ hour
When, like a dream of beauty, frn the west,
Heaven’s sweetest star sheds down her gclien dower
Of light upon the waters, whose unrest
And moodiness might well be charined away,
By the pure loveliness of that soft ray !

I will remember thee,_when night hath thrown
Its dreams around the sleeper, and repose
Hath calmed the worn and aching spirit down
To brief oblivion of its waking woes;
Then,_when deep silence reigneth over all,
My lonely thoughts thine image shall recal.

I will remember thee,_when morn hath hung
Her banner on the hills, and kindling gleams
Of sunlight, in warm diamond showers are flung
Upon the surface of the bounding streams,
Whico, move in their exulting course along,
Free as the murmurs of their own wild song.

I will remember thee,_when summer's sigh
Breathes o'er the mountains, and the laughing earth
Is zoned with roses, while deep melody
Hath in the woods, with the wild flowers its birth
From joyous birds, who mid their green homes there
Pour forth their music on the clear blue air

I will remember thee,_through many a scene
Of pleasantness and solitude;—for thou
Upon my dark and troubled path hast been
A vision blest and cheering, -as the bow
That spans the thunder-cloud: a thing of light,
As early hope's first dreamings pure and bright:
ELIZA Actox.


Oh! Love hath wings on which we fly,
To breathe in joy's unclouded sky!
And Love hath wings, on which we go
Down to the hopeless depths of wo!
Love is a light in sorrow’s night,
It shines with pure and gladdening ray,
And Love is a flame which from heaven came,
A beacon that shines o'er our earthly way,

When kindred hearts in rapture meet,
When e'en their plaintive sighs are sweet,
Then dwells celestial bliss below,
Then flies all thought of care or wo!
Then trip the hours o'er summer flowers;
Then life glides like a gentle stream :
Earth yields no bliss so sweet as this, -
Though it sometimes fade like an earthly dreau.

The pair inspired by rosy love,
Foretaste the joys of heaven above!
Their hearts are blessed, and what to them
Is glittering pomp or costly gem
They rapture breathe on earth beneath
They tread a soft enchanted path.
If o'er the hour the tempest lower, ..
They reck not the fate of its bursting wrath.

Alas! if Love do not reveal .
His warmth to stamp the marriage seal,
Then grief and bitter wo betide
The wedded lord and hapless bride:
Then hope will die, and true Love fly
Far off upon his trembling wing:
The withered breast shall know no rest -
From the seorpion care, and his wo

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