THE KISS. Two lovely beings near me stood, The one a tall and blooming youth: The other, in sweet maidenhood, All wreathed with smiles, and love, and truth. He gazed upon her beaming face As if his soul lay mirrored there, Then drew her close to his embrace But shrinking back, she said, "Take care!” It never gave me joy," he sighed, "The dew from saintly lips to sip— I'd rather quaff the lava-tide That flushes Passion's burning lip." "Then go," she said; "I spurn thy kiss; Go, kneel at glowing Venus' shrine, And drink thy fill of wanton bliss Thy lip shall never feed on mine." BLANCHE TO ANTONIO. SINCE that balmy night in June We sat beneath the moon, Mid zephyrs cool, While all the stars above Talked to us of light and love, I've been a fool. On the bolt of my heart's door Rust had gathered—and before It cobwebs hung; But to thy touch, alack ! The rusty bolt flew back— And ope it swung. Then enter do not falter— Take the chair beside the altar, Intrepidly, O'er my spirit, kneeling there, Bend, and drink the holy prayer It breathes for thee. I'LL SHARE IT NOT WITH NELLIE. THEY say that thou art still engaged Unto the lovely Nellie ; If this be so, thy love may go I'll share it not with Nellie. They say thou'rt charmed with every maid, If this be true, to thee adieu- If Nellie was thy premier love- If I am thine-for ever thine Ah! why dost thou deceive her ? I did not use a wile to win Thee from the lovely Nellie ; THE LOVE-LETTER. A FLUTTER in my room I heard, I took it from its little bill, And o'er it glanced mine eye, When thought, obedient to my will, Did make her shuttle flyThe while the carrier-dove, aloof, Awaited for this woof. "I've read thy lines with feelings higher Than minstrel's art can tell Thou'st breathed thy love in words of fire, And sat in pearls of thought, Estelle’— Thou'st led me to the Oasis In the desert of thy heart, Where limpid streams of love and bliss, From silent sources start And, with a chaste and reverent hand, "I bless thee for the iron faith In man thy truth has taught me- Thy sympathy, unschooled by art,— It is the great need of my heart To love and be beloved."— Here, white-winged herald, with this note, Back to thy master float! |