Truth-what is truth? Two bleeding hearts Wounded by men, by Fortune tried, Outwearied with their lonely parts,

Vow to beat henceforth side by side.

The world to them was stern and drear, Their lot was but to weep and moan : Ah, let them keep their faith sincerc, For neither could subsist alone!

But souls whom some benignant breath

Has charm'd at birth from gloom and care, These ask no love-these plight no faith, For they are happy as they are.

The world to them may homage make,

And garlands for their forehead weave;
And what the world can give, they take—
But they bring more than they receive.

They smile upon the world; their ears
To one demand alone are coy;
They will not give us love and tears-
They bring us light, and warmth, and joy.

On one she smiled, and he was blest!

She smiles elsewhere-we make a din! But 'twas not love that heaved his breast, Fair child! it was the bliss within. Matthew Arnold.

LANGUISHING.

I am not what I was: since yesterday,
My strength forsakes me, and my needful
rest;

I pine, I languish, love to be alone;
Think much, speak little, and in speaking sigh.
When I see Torrismond, I am unquiet;
And when I see him not, I am in pain.
They brought a paper to me to be sign'd;
Thinking on him, I quite forgot my name,
And wrote for Leonora, Torrismond.

I went to bed, and to myself I thought
That I would think on Torrismond no more;
Then shut my eyes, but could not shut out
him :

I turn'd and tried each corner of my bed,
To find if sleep was there, but sleep was lost:
Feverish for want of rest, I rose and walk'd,
And by the moonshine to the windows went,
There thinking to exclude him from my
thoughts.

I cast my eyes upon the neighbouring fields,
And ere I was aware, sigh'd to myself,
Then sought my Torrismond.

MAIDENLY LOVE.

Dryden.

"Then what remains?" ask'd Lucy, once again,

Her pale lip quivering with a thrill of pain.
"I scarcely know," said Eustace, "but I think
'Twere madness thus to venture on the brink
Of hopeless poverty, with no pretence
But creature love, for tempting Providence.
You know my yearly stipend is but small.”
He should have seen her turning to the wall
As if the stones could pity-and the blush
That grew upon her face, the burning gush
Of woman's feeling o'er her brow and cheek,
And flashing eye-that used to be so meek!
It pass'd-and never marble look'd more pale
Than Lucy while she listen'd to his tale.
"You comprehend my meaning?"

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"Yes; I do." "I thought you must; for all I say is true; And I am pleased we can so well agree, It makes the matter easier far to me; And you will say it was your own desire, Not mine, that our engagement should expire." "I will."

"Farewell then, Lucy, ever dear, I'm glad your judgment is so cool and clear; True I can ne'er be happy as with you, But something to my station still is due! And I, to give that office more respect, A portion with my partner must expect!" "Enough," said Lucy, "I can understand;" And coldly she withdrew her captive hand. Farewell," he said, and left her standing there,

66

Like some mute sculptured image of Despair. G. P. R. James.

LOVE BRIGHT AS SUNLIT DEW.

MATURE LOVE.

With laughter swimming in thine eye,
That told youth's heartfelt revelry;
And motion changeful as the wing
Of swallow waken'd by the spring;
With accents blithe as voice of May
Chaunting glad Nature's roundelay;
Circled by joy like planet bright
That smiles 'mid wreaths of dewy light ;
Thy image such, in former time,
When thou, just entering on thy prime,
And woman's sense in thee combined
Gently with childhood's simplest mind,
First taught'st my sighing soul to move
With hope towards the heaven of love.
Now years have given my Mary's face
A thoughtful and a quiet grace :
Though happy still,-yet chance distress
Hath left a pensive loveliness;

Fancy has tamed her fairy gleams,

And thy heart broods o'er home-born dreams!
Thy smiles, slow-kindling now and mild,
Shower blessings on a darling child;
Thy motion slow, and soft thy tread,
As if round thy hush'd infant's bed!
And when thou speak'st, thy melting tone,
That tells thy heart is all my own,
Sounds sweeter, from the lapse of years,
With the wife's love, the mother's fears!

By thy glad youth and tranquil prime
Assured, I smile at hoary time!
For thou art doom'd in age to know
The calm that wisdom steals from woe;
The holy pride of high intent,

The glory of a life well-spent.

When, earth's affections nearly o'er,

With Peace behind, and Faith before,
Thou render'st up again to God,
Untarnish'd by its frail abode,

Thy lustrous soul,-then harp and hymn,
From bands of sister Seraphim,

Asleep will lay thee, till thine eye
Open in Immortality.

John Wilson.

But I shall alway love thee till

This heart, like earth, in death stand still. Festus. I love thee, and will leave thee

never,

Until my soul leave life for ever.

If earth can from her children run,
And leave the seasons-leave the sun,-

If yonder stars can leave the sky,
Bright truants from their home in heaven-
Immortals who deserve to die,

Were death not too good to be given,—
If heaven can leave and live from God,
And man tread off his cradle clod,—
If God can leave the world He sow'd,
Right in the heart of space to fade,—
Soul, earth, star, heaven, man, world, and God
May part-not I from thee, sweet maid.

ENDURANCE OF LOVE.

They sin who tell us love can die! With life all other passions fly,

Bailey.

All others are but vanity; In heaven ambition cannot dwell, Nor avarice in the vaults of hell; Earthly these passions of the earth, They perish where they have their birth : But love is indestructible,

Its holy flame for ever burneth,

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth:
For oft on earth a troubled guest,
At times deceived, at times oppress'd,
It here is tried and purified,
Then hath in heaven its perfect rest :
It soweth here with toil and care,
But the harvest time of love is there.

Southey.

LOVE AND SORROW SEEM TWINS. Oh! was there ever tale of human love Which was not also tale of human tears? Died not sweet Desdemona? sorrow'd not Fair, patient Imogen? and she whose name Lives among lovers, Sappho silver-voiced, Was not the wailing of her passionate lyre Ended for ever in the dull deaf sea?

Must it be thus? oh! must the cup that holds

The sweetest vintage of the vine of life

Taste bitter at the dregs? Is there no story, No legend, no love passage, which shall end Even as the bow that God hath bent in heaven,

O'er the sad waste of mortal histories, Promising respite to the rain of tears? Matthew Arnold.

FIRST AND LAST OF ALL THINGS.

Love, that is first and last of all things made, The light that moving has man's life for shade,

The spirit that for temporal veil has on
The souls of all men woven in unison,
One ficry raiment with all lives inwrought,
And lights of sunny and starry deed and
thought,

And alway through new act and passion new Shines the divine same body and beauty through,

The body spiritual of fire and light

That is to worldly noon as noon to night; Love, that is flesh upon the spirit of man And spirit within the flesh whence breath began ;

Love, that keeps all the choir of lives in chime;

Love, that is blood within the veins of time; That wrought the whole world without stroke of hand,

Shaping the breadth of sea, the length of land,

And with the pulse and motion of his breath Through the great heart of the earth strikes life and death,

The sweet twain chords that make the sweet time live

Through day and night of things alternative, Through silence and through sound of stress

and strife,

And ebb and flow of dying death and life; Love, that sounds loud or light in all men's

ears,