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REUNION OH! I'll not ask, nor answer how, or why, We both have backward trod the paths of fate To meet again in life : to know I have thee, Is knowing more than any circumstance, Or means by which I have thee ; To fold thee thus, to press thy balmy lips And gaze upon thy eyes, is so much joy, I have not leisure to reflect, or know, Or trifle time in thinking.



And now as then Along those hush'd rich corridors we moved, Poring each masterpiece we favour'd most, And would no longer stay, but felt some

chance Must serve us for the rest : musing, I pass From scene to scene of my dear lady's life, And leave my other memories undisturb’d.

Thomas Woolner.

SHALL we roam, my love,
To the twilight grove,

Where the moon is rising bright?
Oh, I'll whisper there
In the cool night air,

What I dare not in the broad daylight.


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 loneliest 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.

I'll tell thee a part
Of the thoughts that start

To being when thou art nigh;
And the beauty more bright
Than the stars' soft light,

Shall seem as a weft from the sky.

When the pale moonbeam
On tower and stream

Sheds a flood of silver sheen,
How I love to gaze
As the cold ray strays

O'er thy face, my heart's throned queen.

Wilt thou roam with me
To the restless sea,

And linger upon the steep,
And list to the flow
Of the waves below,

How they toss and roar and leap ?

JOYOUS MEETING Oh, Ariana, is it given me then To clasp thee thus, thus fondly to my bosom! This tender minute pays an age of care ; Expels all fears, all torments from my mind, While feeble hope gives way to fiercest joy ! Let me devour thy beauties, feed to death :Oh! we will never, never part again.


Those boiling waves,
And the storm that raves

At night o'er their foaming crest,
Resemble the strife
That from earliest life

The passions have waged in my breast.

AFTER LONG ABSENCE. No mother that has mourn'd her long lost

infant Rejoices half so much to find her darling; Or views the lovely babe with half the fond

ness I look on thee.


Oh, come then and rove
To the sea or the grove,

When the moon is shining bright,
And I'll whisper there
In the cold night air,
What I dare not in the broad daylight.


ITS DEEP RECOMPENSE. I HAVE not joy'd an hour since you departed, For public miseries and for private fears, But this bless'd meeting has o'erpaid them all.


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'Twas sad to feel our pleasant meetings o'er, Oh, my Antigone!

Though came no more the grief that bade What shall I say to tell thee, that my soul

us part; Is full with joy? How shall I pour it forth?

It had become the habit of our love,To see thee still the same, to see thee mine,

Ah, me! the love of that fond gentle heart ! Is all the gods could grant, or I could ask.

No storm of Fate could shake it where it Hopkins.

grew, Or strew the lovely blossom that it bore;

She loved as woman rarely loves but once ; ENTHUSIASTIC MEETING.

A love that asks return, and asks no more. LOOK ever thus ; with that bright glance of

We met in silence, and a moment's space Thus always meet my transports; let these Each stood with downcast eyes; the time

had been Thus ever fold me; and this cheek, that Our joy had flooded forth in words, but now blooms

It seem'd beyond all language-calmWith all health's op'ning roses, press my lips

sereneWarm as at this blest moment.

It was an earnest of what life would be,Mason. | The placid feeling that inspired each

breast,It cannot be, my senses all deceive me

I took her hand,- I drew her to my side,

“Dear love!” her raised eyes, tearful, spoke And yet it is.--Oh, let me gaze upon thee, Recall each trace which marks thee for my

the rest.

Mary Jane Sawyer. own, And gives me back the image of my heart.



OH! my Clytemnestra,

Now, in this dear embrace, I lose the toils We were to meet at sunset down the lane,

Of ten years' war; absence, with all its pains, To tread once more that pathway in the

Is by this charming moment wiped away. shade

All bounteous gods ! sure never was a heart Of the old trees--old chestnut trees, that

So full, so blest as mine. there

Thomson. Meeting o'erhead a rustling archway made ; Lovely the scene, the hour no less, as sank Sound into silence, into shadow light;

SECRET MEETING. Meek Nature seem'd to hold her breath in awe,

WE met in secret, in the depth of night, Shrinking affrighted from approaching | When there was none to watch us; not an night.


Save the lone dweller of the lonely sky As paled the last red cloud in heaven, she To gaze upon our love and pure delight; came

And in that hour's unbroken solitude, Her light step quickening as she onward When the white moon had robed her in its drew;

beam, The face she met me with was sadly gay,

I've thought some vision of a blessèd dream And my lip trembled, for her thoughts I Or spirit of the air before me stood, knew ;

And held communion with me. In mine ear The morrow was to be our wedding day, Her voice's sweet notes breathed not of the And this fair summer's night brought to its

earth, close

Her beauty seem'd not of a mortal birth; The long, sweet story of our love: the And in my heart there was an awful fear, thought

A thrill, like some deep warning from above, Was joy, yet sadness dash'd it as it rose. That soothed its passion to a spirit's love.

THE HAPPY HOUR OF. SINCE the time when Adam first

Embraced his Eve in happy hour, . And every bird of Eden burst

In carol, every bud to flower, What eyes, like thine, have waken'd hopes?

What lips, like thine, so sweetly join'd? Where on the double rose-bud droops The fulness of the pensive mind.


She stood before ine; the pure lamps of

heaven Lighted her charms, and those soft eyes

which turn'd On me with dying fondness. My heart

burn'd, As, tremblingly with hers, my vows were

given. Then softly 'gainst my bosom beat her heart ; These living arms around her form were

Binding her heavenly beauty like a zone,
While from her ruby warm lips, just apart
Like bursting roses, sighs of fragrance stole,

And words of inusic whispering in mine ear,
Things pure and holy none but mine

should hear : For they were accents utter'd from the soul, For which no tongue her innocence reproved, And breathed for one who loved her and was loved.

Ismael Fitzadam.

AT SUNSET. We meet here at sunset, beloved ! as of old,When the boughs of the chestnut are waving

in gold; When the starry clematis bends down with

its bloom, And the jasmine exhales a more witching

perfume. This sweet hour shall atone for the anguish

of years, And, though fortune still frown, bid us smile

through our tears : Through the storms of the future shall soothe

and sustain ; Then meet me at sunset-oh! meet me again!

Alaric A. Watts.

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THE RAPTURE OF MEETING. Now by the transports in my thrilling veins, My thrilling heart, that leaps with joy to meet

thee, Most welcome to these arms : ah ! my loved

lord, Could you conceive the fears your absence

gave, The kind suggestions of our female softness, Whilst every singing dart, each brandish'd

Iinagination leveli'd at your breast ;
You from that thought might guess my
Present rapture.



REPLETE WITH BLESSINGS. Does she not come like Wisdom or good

Fortune, Replete with blessings, giving wealth and

honour? The dowry which she brings is Peace and

Pleasure ;
And everlasting joy is in her arms.



Thou inightiest pleasure And greatest blessing that kind Heaven

could send me ! Oh! when I look on thee, new starts of glory Spring in my breast, and with a backward

bound I run the race of lusty youth again.



The air which thy smooth voice doth break, In the calm harbour of whose gentle breast Into my soul like lightning flies; My tempest-beaten soul may safely rest. My life retires while thou dost speak, Oh! my heart's joy! whate'er my sorrows And thy soft breath its room supplies.

be, They cease and vanish on beholding thee :

Lost in this pleasing ecstasy, Care shuns thy walk, as at the cheerful light

I join my trembling lips to thine, The groaning ghosts and birds obscure take | And back receive that life from thee fight;

Which I so gladly did resign. By this one view all my past pains are paid,

Forbear, Platonic fools ! t'inquire And all I have to come more easy made.

What numbers do the soul compose ;

| No harmony can life inspire
But that which from these accents flows.

Thomas Stanley.
THROUGH my happy tears there look'd in

BEFORE PARTING. A face as sweet as morning violets;

One kiss more, sweet! A face alight with love ineffable,

Soft as voluptuous wind of the west, The starry heart-hid wonder trembling

Or silkenest surge of thy purple-vein'd breast, through ;

Ripe lips all ruddily melting apart,

Drink up the honey and wine of my heart !
A face like nestling luxury of flowers.
Gerald Massey.

One kiss more, sweet!
Warm as a morning sunbeam's dewy gold

Slips in a red rose's fragrantest fold,

Sets its green blood all a-blush, burning up

At the fresh feel of life, in its crimson cup ! O My beloved ! let me hold thee Long in my arms ; I've not beheld thy face

One kiss more, sweet! These many days ; by night I've oft seen | Full as the flush of the sea-waves grand thee

Flooding the sheeny fire out of the sand; In gentle dreams, and satisfied my soul On all the shores of my being let bliss With fancied joys, till morning cares Break with its neap-tide sea in a kiss ! awaked me. Otway.

Gerald Massey.



The Master, Love,
A more ideal artist he than all.


Love first learn'd in a ladye's eye,
Lives not 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 seeing to the eye.


Love is the purification of the heart from self ; it strengthens and ennobles the character, gives a higher motive and a nobler aim to every action of life, and makes both man and woman strong, noble, and courageous; and the power to love truly and devotedly is the noblest gift with which a human being can be endowed; but it is a sacred fire that must not be burnt to idols.

Miss Jewsbury.

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