'Tis sweet to bear At midnight, o'er the blue and moonlit deep, The song and our of Adria's gondelier,

By distance mellowed, o'er the waters sweep: Tis sweet to see the evening star appear;

'Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on uc.an, span the sky. 'Tis sweet to hear the vetchdog's honest bark

Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark

Our coming, and look orighter when we come. 'Tis sweet to be awakened by the lark,

Or lulled with falling waters; sweet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, The lisp of clularen, and their earliest words. But sweeter far than this, than these, than all, Is first and passionate love: It stands alone, Like Adam's recollection of his fall.

By heavenly feet thy paths are trod,-
Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne
To which the steps are mountains; where the god
Is a pervading life and light,-so shown
Not on those summits solely, nor alone
In the still cave and forest; o'er the flower

His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown,
His soft and summer breath, whose tender power
Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour
All things are here of him; from the black pines
That are his shade on high, and the loud roar
Of torrents, where he listeneth; to the vines
Which slope his green path downward to the shore,
Where the bowed waters meet him, and adore,
Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood,

The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, But lignt leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood, Offering to him and his a populous solitude.

A populous solitude of bees and birds,

And fairy-formed and many-colored things,

Who worship him with notes more sweet than words.
And innocently open their glad wings,
Fearless and full of life: the gush of springs,
And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend

Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings
The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend,
Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end.

THEY err who deem Love's brightest hour in blooming youth is known:

Its purest, tenderest, holiest power in after life is shown, When passions chastened and subdued to riper years are given,

And earth and earthly things are viewed in light that breaks from Heaven.

It is not in the flush of youth, or days of cloudless mirth, We feel the tenderness and truth of Love's devoted worth; Life then is like a tranquil stream which flows in sunshine bright,

And objects mirrored in it seem to share its sparkling light.

OH! they are blest indeed, and swift the hours
Till her young sisters wreath her hair in flowers.
Then before all they stand; the holy vow,
And ring of gold-no fond illusions now-
Bind her as his. Across the threshold led,
And every tear kissed off as soon as shed,
His house she enters, there to be a light,
Shining within when all without is night;
A guardian angel o'er his life presiding,
Doubling his pleasure, and his cares dividing!
How oft her eyes read his; her gentle mind
To all his wishes, all his thoughts inclined,
Still subject-ever on the watch to borrow
Mirth of his mirth, and sorrow of his sorrow-
The soul of music slumbers in the shell
Till waked to rapture by the master's spell;
And feeling hearts-touch them but rightly, pour
A thousand melodies unheard before.

ROGERS,

THY life was all one oath of love to me! Sworn to me daily, hourly, by thine eyes, Which, when they saw me, lightened up as though An angel's presence did enhance their sense, That I have seen their very color change, Subliming into lines past earthliness. Talk of the adjuration of the tongueCompare Love's name-a sound which any life May pipe! a breath! with holy love itself! Thou'rt not forsworn, because thou tookst no oath ? What were thy accents, then? thy accents? tell me! Oh! they did turn thy lightest words to oaths, Vouching the burden of a love-fraught soul! Telling a tale which my young nature caught With interest so deep, 'twas conned by heart Before I knew the fatal argument!

SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

SONG OF THE AGED MINSTREL.

AND said I that my limbs were old,
And said I that my blood was cold,
And that my kindly fire was fled,
And my poor withered heart was dead,
And that I might not sing of love?
How could I to the dearest theme
That ever warmed a minstrel's dream,

So foul, so false a recreant prove?
How could I name Love's very name,
Nor wake my heart to notes of flame!

In peace Love tunes the shepherd's reed;
In war, he mounts the warrior's steed;
In halls, in gay attire is seen;

In hamlets dances on the green.
Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
And men below, and saints above,
For love is heaven and heaven is love!

WILT THOU BE MINE.

Ir thou❜lt be mine, the treasures of air,
Of earth and sea, shall lie at thy feet;
Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair,

Or in Hope's sweet music is most sweet, Shall be ours, if thou wilt be mine, love! Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove, A voice divine shall talk in each stream, The stars shall look like worlds of love,

SCOTT.

And this earth be all one beautiful dream In our eyes, if thou wilt be mine, love! And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high, Like streams that come from heavenward hills, Shall keep our hearts-like meads that lie

To be bathed by those eternal rills— Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love!

All this and more the Spirit of Love

Can breathe o'er them who feel his spells! The heaven which forms his home above, make on earth, where'er he dwells, And he will, if thou wilt be mine, love!

He

can

T. MOORE.

BRIDAL GREETINGS.

OCEAN and land the globe divide;
Summer and winter share the year:
Darkness and light walk side by side;

And earth and heaven are always near

Though each be good and fair alone,
And glorious in its time and place,
In all, when fitly paired, is shown
More of their Maker's power and grace.

Then may the union of young hearts
So early and so well begun,
Like sea and shore, in all their parts
Appear as twain, but be as one.

Be it like summer-may they find
Bliss, beauty, hope, where'er they roam;
Be it like winter-when confined,
Peace, comfort, happiness, at home.
Like day and night, sweet interchange
Of care, enjoyment, action, rest;
Absence nor coldness e'er estrange
Hearts by unfailing love possest.

Like earth's horizon be their scene

Of life, a rich and various ground; And, whether lowering or serene,

Heaven all above it and around.

IT is the spirit's bitterest pain
To love and be beloved again,
And yet between a gulf which ever
The hearts that burn to meet must sever.
O'er some Love's shadow may but pass
As passes the breath-stain o'er glass;
And pleasures, cares, and pride, combined
Fill up the blank Love leaves behind.
But there are some whose love is high,
Entire-almost idolatry;
Who, turning from a heartless world,

Ask some dear thing which may renew Affection's severed links, and be

As true as they themselves are true.
But love's bright fount is never pure,
And all his pilgrims must endure
All passion's mighty suffering
Ere they may reach the blessed spring.
And some who waste their lives to find
A prize which they may never win;
Like those who seek for Irem's groves,
Which found, they may not enter in.
And some there are who leave the path
In agony and fierce disdain,
And bear upon each wounded heart
The scar that never heals again.

A SILVER lute, a minstrel hand,
To youth and love belong,
For is not Love's own magic wand
The melody of song?

LANDON.

H. B.

2

THE ABSENT LOVER TO HIS BETROTHED.

SUMMER was on the hills when last we parted,

Flowers in the vale, and beauty on the sky,

Our hearts were true, although our hopes were thwarted; Forward, with wistful eye,

Scarce half-resigned we looked, yet thought how sweet "Twould be again in after months to meet.

And months have passed: now the bright moon is shining O'er the gray mountains and the stilly sea,

As, by the streamlet's willowy bend reclining,

I pause, remembering thee,

Who to the moonlight lent a softer charm,

As through these wilds we wandered arm in arm!

Yes! as we roamed, the sylvan earth seemed glowing
With many a beauty unremarked before:
The soul was like a deep urn overflowing
With thoughts a treasured store;

The very flowers seemed born but to exhale,

As breathed the West, their fragrance to the gale.
Methinks I see thee yet-thy form of lightness,

An angel phantom gliding through the trees,
Thine alabaster brow, thy cheek of brightness,
Thy tresses in the breeze

Floating their auburn, and thine eyes that made,
So rich their blue, heaven's azure like a shade.

Methinks even yet I feel thy timid fingers,

With their bland pressure thrilling bliss to mine.
Methinks yet on my cheek thy breathing lingers
As, fondly leant to thine,

I told how life all pleasureless would be,
Green palm-tree of earth's desert, wanting thee.
Not yet, not yet, had disappointment shrouded

Youth's summer calms with storms of wintry strife;
The star of Hope shone o'er our path unclouded,
And Fancy colored life

With those elysian rainbow-hues, which Truth
Melts with his rod, when disenchanting youth.

Where art thou now? I look around, but see not
The features and the form that haunt my dreams!
Where art thou now? I listen, but for me not
The deep, rich music streams

Of that entrancing voice, which could bestow
A zest to pleasure, and a balm to wo :-

I miss thy smile, when morn's first light is bursting
Through the green branches of the casement tree;
To list thy voice my lonely ear is thirsting,

Beside the moonlight sea:

Vain are my longings, my repinings vain;
Sleep only gives thee to my arms again.

Yet should it cheer me, that nor wo hath shattered
The ties that link our hearts, nor Hate, nor Wrath,
And soon the day may dawn, when shall be scattered
All shadows from our path;

And visions be fulfilled, by Hope adored,
In thee, the long-lost, to mine arms restored.
Ah! could I see thee!-see thee, were it only
But for a moment looking bliss to me!
Ah! could I hear thee!-desolate and lonely
Is life deprived of thee:

I start from out my revery, to know
That hills between us rise, and rivers flow!

Let Fortune change-be fickle Fate preparing
To shower her arrows, or to shed her balm,
All that I ask for, pray for, is the sharing
With thee life's storm or calm:

For, ah! with others' Wealth and Mirth would be
Less sweet by far than Sorrow shared with thee!
Yes! vainly, foolishly, the vulgar reckon
That Happiness resides in outward shows:
Contentment from the lowliest cot may beckon
True Love to sweet repose:

For genuine bliss can ne'er be far apart,

When soul meets soul, and heart responds to heart.

Farewell! let tyrannous Time roll on, estranging
The eyes and heart from each familiar spot:
Be fickle frendships with the seasons changing,
So that thou changest not!

I would not that the love, which owes its birth
To heaven, should perish like the things of earth!—
Adieu! as falls the flooding moonlight round me,
Fall Heaven's best joys on thy beloved head!
May cares that harass, and may griefs that wound me,
Flee from thy path and bed!

Be every thought that stirs, and hour that flies,
Sweet as thy smile, and radiant as thine eyes!

AMBITIOUS LOVE.

I AM undone; there is no living, none, be away. It were all one

DELTA

If
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me!
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere;
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
The hind that would be mated by the lion
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague,
To see him every hour, to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table; heart too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favor!
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relics!

UNCHANGEABLE LOVE.

SHAKSPERE

BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,

Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms
Like fairy-gifts fading away;

Thou wouldst still be adorned, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will;

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!
Oh! the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close;

As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose!
T. MOORE.

LOVE AUGURIES.

THERE are a thousand fanciful things
Linked round the young heart's imaginings.
In its first love-dream, a leaf or a flower,
Is gifted then with a spell and a power;
A shade is an omen, a dream is a sign,
From which the maiden can well divine
Passion's whole history. Those only can tell
Who have loved as young hearts can love so well,
How the pulses will beat, and the cheek wili he died,
When they have some love augury tried.
Oh! it is not for those whose feelings are cold,
Withered by care, or blunted by gold;
Whose brows have darkened with many years,
To feel again youth's hopes and fears-
What they now might blush to confess,
Yet what made their spring-day's happiness!

THE WEALTH OF LOVE.

LANDON.

ON PARTING.

THE kiss, dear maid! thy lip hath left

Shall never part from mine, Till happier nours restore the gift

Untainted back to thine.

Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, An equal love may see:

The tear that from thine eyelid streams, Can weep no change in me.

I ask no pledge to make me blest

In gazing when alone;
Nor one memorial for a breast

Whose thoughts are all thine own.
Nor need I write-to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak:
Oh! what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak?

A WIFE TO HER HUSBAND. WITH thee conversing I forget all time; Alt seasons and their change, all please alike; Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild; then silent night, With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, And these the gems of heaven, her starry train But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower, Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers; Nor grateful evening mild; nor silent night With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon, Or glittering starlight,-without thee is sweet. MILTON

Must bear the love it can not show,

And silent ache for thee.

BYRON.

JAMAIS nous ne verrions briller un jour serein,
Toujours par la douleur l'âme seroit flétrie,
S l'amour ne venoit consoler notre vic,
Et semer quelques fleurs sur ce triste chemin.

THE REPROACH.

WHY art thou silent? Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant
(As would my deeds have been) with hourly care,
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
For naught but what thy happiness could spare.
Speak, though this soft warm heart, once free to hold
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold
Than a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine;

Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know!
WORDSWORTH.

THE TRANCE OF LOVE.

LOVE in a drowsy mood one day

Reclined with all his nymphs around him, His feathered darts neglected lay,

And faded were the flowers that crowned him. Young Hope, with eye of light, in vain

Led smiling Beauty to implore him, While Genius poured his sweetest strain, And Pleasure shook his roses o'er him.

At length a stranger sought the grove,
And fiery Vengeance seemed to guide him,
He rudely tore the wreaths of Love,
And broke the darts that lay beside him.
The little god now wakeful grew,

And, angry at the bold endeavor,
He rose, and wove his wreaths anew,

And strung his bow more firm than ever.

When, lo! the invader cried, "Farewell!
My skill, bright nymphs, this lesson teaches-
While Love is sprightly bind him well
With smiles, and songs, and honeyed speeches;
But should dull languor seize the god,
Recall me on my friendly mission;
For know when Love begins to nod,
His surest spur is opposition."

From the Italian.

LOVE'S ARTIFICE.

I SAID it was a wilful, wayward thing,

And so it is, fantastic and perverse!

Which makes its sport of persons and of seasons,
Takes its own way, no matter right or wrong.

It is the bee that finds the honey out,

Where least you dream 'twould seek the nectarous store.

And 'tis an errant masquer-this same love

That most outlandish, freakish faces wears

To hide his own! Looks a proud Spaniard now;

Now a grave Turk; hot Ethiopian next;

And then phlegmatic Englishman; and then
Gay Frenchman; by-and-by Italian, at
All things a song; and in another skip,

Gruff Dutchman; still is Love behind the masque!
it is a hypocrite! looks every way

But that where lie its thoughts! will openly
Frown at the thing it smiles in secret on;
Shows most like hate, e'en when it most is love;
Would fain convince you it is very rock
When it is water! ice when it is fire!
Is oft its own dupe, like a thorough cheat;
Persuades itself 'tis not the thing it is;
Holds up its head, purses its brows, and looks
Askant, with scornful lip, hugging itself
That it is high disdain-till suddenly
It falls on its knees, making most piteous suit
With hail of tears and hurricane of sighs,
Calling on heaven and earth for witnesses
That it is love, true love-nothing but love!

SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

SONNET.

OH! were I loved as I desire to be,
What is there in the great sphere of the earth,
And range of evil between death and birth,
That I should fear-if I were loved by thee?
All the inner, all the outer world of pain

Clear Love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine;
As I have heard that, somewhere in the main

Fresh water springs come up through bitter brine.

'Twere joy, not fear, clasped hand in hand with thee,

To wait for death-mute-careless of all ills,
Apart upon a mountain, through the surge
Of some new deluge from a thousand hills
Flung leag ́s of roaring foam into the gorge
Below us, as far on as eye could see.

A. TENNYSON.

LOVE is a thing of frail and delicate growth;
Soon checked, soon fostered; feeble and yet strong,
It will endure much, suffer long, and bear
What would weigh down an angel's wing to earth,
And yet mount heavenward; but not the less
It dieth of a word, a look, a thought;
And when it dies, it dies without a sign
To tell how fair it was in happier hours:
It leaves behind reproaches and regrets,
And bitterness within affection's well.
For which there is no healing.

THE FAITH OF LOVE.

THOU hast watched beside the bed of death,

O fearless human love!

Thy lip received the last faint breath,

Ere the spirit fled above.

Thy prayer was heard by the parting bier,

In a low and farewell tone,

Thou hast given the grave both flower and tear.
-O Love! thy task is done.

Then turn thee from each pleasant spot,
Where thou wert wont to rove;
For there the friend of thy soul is not,
Nor the joy of thy youth, O Love'

Thou wilt meet but mournful Memory there,
Her dreams in the grove she weaves,
With echoes filling the summer air,
With sighs the trembling leaves.

Then turn thee to the world again,

From these dim haunted bowers,

And shut thine ear to the wild sweet strain
That tells of vanished hours.

And wear not on thine aching heart
The image of the dead,
For the tie is rent that gave thee part
In the gladness its beauty shed:

And gaze on the pictured smile no more
That thus can life outlast,
All between parted souls is o'er;

-Love! Love! forget the past!
"Voice of vain boding! away, be still!
Strive not against the faith

That yet my bosom with light can fill,

Unquenched and undimmed by death: "From the pictured smile I will not turn, Though sadly now it shine;

Nor quit the shades that in whispers mourn
For the step once linked with mine:

"Nor shut mine ear to the song of old,
Though its notes the pang renew,
-Such memories deep in my heart I hold,
To keep it pure and true.

"By the holy instinct of my heart,
By the hope that bears me on,

I have still my own undying part

In the deep affection gone.

"By the presence that about me seems
Through night and day to dwell,

Voice of vain bodings and fearful dreams!
-I have breathed no last farewell!"

THE BETROTHED.

HEMANS.

BETROTHED to one long worshipped and enshrined

In the veiled altars of that vestal mind,
Dreaming of years unwrecked and fate defied,
With one dear treasure ever by her side-
Pure-gentle-tender as the evening air,
When something holy blends with beauty there-
While vague and voiceless, through the 1, ht above
Moves the impassioned spirit of deep love,
The noble maiden sat! and in her ear

Came those low tones which naideas deen most dear,
And o'er her young cheeks softest beauty stole
And went, the blushes speeding from the soul;
And oft from earth all guilelessly she raised
The eye e'en Love had ne'er too wildly praised;
The eye which wooed you like a star to gaze,
And dream that worlds lay couched beneath its rays;
And as you gazed, your softening spirit drew,
As from some holy fount, a virtue from its hue.
Sad scenes had tempered with a pensive grace
The maiden lustre of that faultless face,
Had hung a sweet and dreamlike spell upon
The gliding music of her silver tone;

And shaded the soft soul which loved to lie
In the deep pathos of that volumed eye.
Lone-thoughtful-tender-ever from her birth,
Her heart had been too gentle for light mirth.
Such are the thrones where love too surely reigns,
And turns his slightest chaplets into chains:
To them the world of others is as naught;
They shrink from earth and banquet on sweet thought,
And passion grows their life; alas for those
Whom rapture leaves too restless for repose,
Who bind on reeds their hopes-their joys-their all
And idly chide the wild winds when they fall!

GIVE ME BUT THY LOVE.

GIVE me but thy love, and I
Envy none beneath the sky;
Pains and perils I defy

If thy presence cheer my.
Give me but thy love, my sweet!
Joy shall bless us when we meet;
Pleasures come, and cares retreat,

When thou smilest near me.

Happy 'twere, beloved one,
When the toils of day are done,
Ever with the set of sun

To thy fond arms retiring;-
There to feel, and there to know
A balm that baffles every wo,

While hearts that beat and eyes that glow
Are sweetest thoughts inspiring.

What are all the joys of earth?
What are revelry and mirth?
Vacant blessings-nothing worth
To hearts that ever knew love.
What is all the pomp of state,
What the grandeur of the great,
To the raptures that await

On the path of true love?

Should joy our days and years illume,
How sweet with thee to share such doom!
Nor, oh! less sweet, should sorrows come,
To cherish and caress thee;
Then, while I live, then till I die,
Oh! be thou only smiling by,
And, while I breathe, I'll fondly try
With all my heart to bless thee!

J. BIRD

DELTA