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OFT-TOLD LOVE WEARIES NOT.
A PRAYER FOR PURITY IN LOVE, SAY over again, and yet once over again,
I LOVE! and love hath given me That thou dost love me. Though the word
Sweet thoughts to God akin, repeated
And oped a living paradise Should seem “a cuckoo-song," as thou dost My heart of hearts within : treat it.
O from this Eden of my life
God keep the serpent Sin !
I love ! and into angel-land
With starry glimpses peer ; Beloved, I, admit the darkness greeted,
I drink in beauty like heaven-wine, By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's
When one is smiling near. pain,
And there's a rainbow round my soul Cry, “ Speak once more-thou lovest !” Who
For every falling tear. can fear
Dear God in heaven! keep without stain Too many stars, though each in heaven
My bosom's brooding Dove : shall roll
Oh clothe it meet for angel-arms, Too many flowers, though each shall crown
And give it place above ! the year ?
For there is nothing from the world Say thou dost love me, love me, love me,
I yearn to take, but Love. toll
THE CONQUEROR, LOVE.
Dost dream thine icy heart shall ne'er be
By woman's smile? Nay, it shall come on THE TENDER MYSTERY OF Love.
thee He who hath loved not, here would learn that Like heaven's own fires upon a waste of
snow! And make his heart a spirit; he who knows
Anon. That tender mystery will love the more ;
LOVE, A PEARL. For this is Love's recess, where vain men's
LOVE is a pearl of purest hue, woes
But stormy waves are round it; And the world's waste hath driven him far
And dearly may a woman rue from those,
The hour that first she found it. For 'tis his nature to advance or die ;
L. E. Landon. He stands not still, but or decays or grows
Into a boundless blessing, which may vie
TRUE LOVE EVER JEALOUS.
Was warm without a spice of jealousy. ITS EXACTIONS.
Knowles. 'Tis very natural for a young friend and a
THE DAWN OF LOVE. young lover to think the persons they love
Love in its first dim and imperfect shape have nothing to do but please them ; when
is but imagination concentrated on one perhaps they, for their parts, had twenty
Bulwer. other engagements before.
Love is LIFE.
LOVE was to his impassion'd soul
Not, as with others, a mere part
Of its existence, but the wholeThe presence of the love it would conceal.
The very life-breath of his heart ! Coleridge.
THE LOVE OF SYMPATHETIC souls. And yet it is so, he is bound to me, AND what am I to you? a steady hand
For human love makes aliens near of kin :
By it I rise, there is equality ;
I rise to thee, my twin.
Take courage-courage! ay, my purple peer,
I will take courage ; for thy Tyrian rays But need we praise his tendance tutelar
Refresh me to the heart, and strangely dear Who feeds a flame that warms him ? Yet
And healing is thy praise.
Take courage, quoth he, and respect the mind
Your Maker gave, for good your fate fulfil : As heaven's high twins, whereof in Tyrian
The fate round many hearts your own to
wind. The one revolveth, through his course
Twin soul, I will ! I will!
Jean Ingelow. immense Might love his fellow of the damask hue, For like, and difference.
DRAWING-ROOM LOVE. For different pathways evermore decreed
They may talk of love in a cottage, To intersect, but not to interfere :
And bowers of trellised vineFor common goal, two aspects, and one Of nature bewitchingly simple, speed,
And milkmaids half divine ;
They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping
In the shade of a spreading tree,
And a walk in the fields at morning,
But give me a slight flirtation
By the light of a chandelierAnd yet desert makes brighter not the less,
With music to play in the pauses, For nearest his own star he shall not fail
And nobody very near ;
With a glass of pure old wine,
The small white hand in mine.
True love is at home on a carpet, Ah! there's the thought which makes his And mightily likes his easerandom line
And true love has an eye for a dinner
And starves beneath shady trees;
His wing is the fan of a lady, Then shall I drink this draught of oxymel,
His foot's an invisible thing,
And his arrow is tipp'd with a jewel, Part sweet, part sharp? Myself o'erprized to know
And shot from a silver string.
N. P. Willis. Is sharp; the cause is sweet, and, truth to
SWEET are the kisses, the embracements Which is, that this of all the men on earth
sweet, Doth love me well enough to count me When like desires and like affections meet ; great
For from the earth to heaven is Cupid raised, To think my soul and his of equal girth - Where fancies are in equal balance poised. O liberal estimate !
• The sun produces life, or causes death, according as its rays fall, and so doth love.
ONE loving hour For many years of sorrow can dispense. A dram of sweet is worth a pound of sorrow.
INNOCENCE AND LOVE.
She was innocent : And to lie innocent is Nature's wisdom ! The fledge-dove knows the prowlers of the The fledge-dove knows in
air, Fear'd soon as seen, and Autters back to
shelter ; And the young steed recoils upon his
haunches, The never-yet-seen adder's hiss first heard. Oh! surer than suspicion's hundred eyes Is that fine sense which to the pure in heart, By mere oppugnancy of their own goodness, Reveals the approach of evil.
Coleridge. BETROTHAL. “ Not so !” cried Arthur, as his loyal knee Bent to the earth, and with the knightly
truth Of his right hand he clasp'd her own; "to be Thine evermore ; youth mingled with thy
youth, Age with thine age; in thy grave mine ;
above, Soul with thy soul ;—this is the Christian's love !"
ITS THRONE. My soul is like a wide and empty fane; Sit thou in't like a god, O maid divine ! With worship and religion 'twill be fill’d. My soul is empty, lorn, and hungry space; Leap then into it like a new-born star.
IDEAL LOVE. I MEANT the day-star should not brighter
ride, Nor shed like influence from its lucent
seat; I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet, Free from that solemn vice of greatness
pride; I meant such softest virtue there should meet,
Fit in that softer bosom to abide ; Only a learned and a manly soul I purposed her, that should with even
powers The rock, the spindle, and the shears control Of destiny, and spin her own free hours.
WOMAN MUST BE SOUGHT. ALEXIS calls me cruel :
The lifted crags that hold The gather'd ice of winter, He says, are not more cold.
When even the very blossoms
Around the fountain's brim, And forest walks, can witness
The love I bear to him.
I would that I could utter
My feelings without shame, And tell him how I love him,
Nor wrong a virgin's fame.
THE MYSTERY OF LOVE. To feel, although no tongue can prove, That every cloud that spreads above, And veileth love-itself is love.
Alas! to seize the moment
When heart inclines to heart, And press a suit with passion,
Is not a woman's part.
I feel it when I sorrow most : 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.
If man comes not to gather
The roses where they stand, They fade among the foliage,They cannot seek his hand.
From the Spanish.
TRUE AND ENDURING LOVE. More obstinate than century-founded rocks, No true and enduring love can exist with Earth's mighty belt, that make the ocean
Yielding as willow that in marshy bed
The faintest air-stir makes to bend the head :
tear, TRUE LOVE GROUNDED ON ESTEEM.
No Muse might number in a live-long year: A WORLD of things must curiously be sought, For all he entertaineth in a mind A world of things must be together brought, Fix'd as earth's centre, changeful as the wind. To make up charms which have the power to
Whitmore Jones. move Through a discerning eye true love ; That is a masterpiece above
I CANNOT lose a world for thee, What only looks and shape can do,
But would not lose thee for a world ! There must be wit and judgment too ;
Byron. Greatness of thought and worth, which draw From the whole world respect and awe. She that would raise a noble love, must find
ITS DIVINE DESTINY. Ways to beget a passion for her mind;
No mortal object did these eyes behold, She must be that, which she to be would
When first they met the placid light of thine seem ;
And my soul felt her destiny divine, For all true love is grounded on esteem ;
And hope of endless peace in me grew bold : Plainness and truth gain more a generous Heaven-born, the soul a heavenward course heart
must hold; Than all the crooked subtleties of art.
Beyond the visible world she soars to seek Buckingham. (For what delights the sense is false and
weak) FIRST LOVE.
Ideal Form, the universal mould.
The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest Oh! there is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love the
In that which perishes ; nor will he lend
His heart to aught which doth on time first fluttering of its silken wings--the first rising sound and breath of that wind which
'Tis sense, unbridled will, and not true love, is so soon to sweep through the soul, to
That kills the soul : love betters what is best, purify or to destroy !
Even here below, but more in heaven above. Longfellow.
From the Italian of Michael Angelo. DEPTH OF LOVE. Oh! love is deeper than the ocean's caves, Reckless and stormier far than all his waves :
LOVE'S FLORAL OFFERING. Yet is he gentler than the doe that cleaves DEAR object of my late and early prayer ! To the calm solitude of forest leaves.
Source of my joy ! and solace of my care ! And love is swifter than the fleece that flies Whose gentle friendship such a charm can Over its summer playground, the blue skies :
give Yet hesitating as a vale-check'd stream
As makes me wish and tells me how to live! That lingers, lingers, in a mazy dream.
To thee the Muse with grateful hand would And love is warmer than a Zephyr's breath,
bring That sighs · himself some summer day to | These first fair children of the doubtful death :
Spring Yet, seeming strange, he feigns uncaring Oh may they, fearless of a varying sky, words,
Bloom in thy breast and smile beneath thine Cold as the winter pourd o'er shrinking herds, eye! And love is plaintive as a cushat dove,
In fairer lights their vivid blue display, And yet there's nought so silent as sweet And sweeter breathe their little lives away. love ;
John Langhorne. Her every look, her every smile,
Shot right and left a score of arrows; I thought 'twas Venus from her isle,
And wonder'd where she left her sparrows.
AN IMMATERIAL FIRE.
Whose pale, weak influence
And narrow laws of sense,
An immaterial fire,
But cannot emulate.
Or make the lilies fade,
Through sunny May, through sultry June
I loved her with a love eternal;
I wrote them to the Daily Journal :
That ancient ladies have no feeling :
See any happiness in kneeling!
She sketch'd; the vale, the wood, the beach,
Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading ; THEY call him Doricles; and he boasts
She botanized ; I envied each himself
Young blossom in her boudoir fading : To have a worthy feeling : but I have it
She warbled Handel ; it was grand : Upon his own report, and I believe it ;
She made the Catalani jealous : He looks like sooth : he says he loves my
She touch'd the organ; I could stand daughter;
For hours and hours to blow the bellows. I think so too ; for never gazed the moon Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read, As 'twere, my daughter's eyes : and, to be | And she was flatter'd, worshipp'd, bored, plain,
Her steps were watch'd, her dress was I think, there is not half a kiss to choose
noted : Who loves another best.
Her poodle dog was quite adored ;
Her sayings were extremely quoted.
She laugh'd, and every heart was glad,
As if the taxes were abolish'd ;
She frown'd, and every look was sad
As if the Opera were demolish'd.
She smiled on many, just for fun ;
I knew that there was nothing in it : Was in my fowling-piece and filly,
I was the first-the only one In short, while I was yet a boy,
Her heart had thought of for a minute. I fell in love with Laura Lily.
I knew it, for she told me so,
In phrase that was divinely moulded ; I saw her at the County Ball :
She wrote a charming hand,-and oh! There when the sounds of flute and fiddle
How sweetly all her notes were folded. Gave signal sweet in that old hall
Of hands across and down the middle,
Our love was like most other loves :
A little glow, a little shiver, And then she danced-0 heaven, her
A rose-bud and a pair of gloves,
And “ Fly not yet" upon the river : dancing !
Some jealousy of some one's heir,
Some hopes of dying broken-hearted; Dark was her hair, her hand was white;
A miniature, a lock of hair,
The usual vows,—and then we parted. I never saw a waist so slender!
Winthrop Mackworth Praed.