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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,
And giv'st thy heart to many;

If this be true, to thee adieu-
I'll share it not with any.

If Nellie was thy premier love—
Thy truest-why thus leave her ?

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 ;
Thou gav'st, in fee, thy heart to me-
I'll share it not with Nellie.

THE LOVE-LETTER.

A FLUTTER in my room I heard,
Soft as descending dew,
And on my table saw a bird
Perch with a billet-doux.

I took it from its little bill,

And o'er it glanced mine eye, When thought, obedient to my will,

Did make her shuttle fly— The 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,
Engraved me in the sand.

"I bless thee for the iron faith

In man thy truth has taught me
The flowers thou'st flung upon my path-
The feasts of song thou'st brought me ;

Thy sympathy, unschooled by art,—
The friendship thou hast proved;

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 !

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