A LOVER'S DREAMS.

I dreamt that at even a white mist arose
Where the hedgerow rambles twist:

I thought that my love was a sweet wild rose,
And I the silvery mist!

And sweetly I beaded her pale red charms With many a diamond speck;

And softly I bent up my watery arms,

And hung round her beautiful neck.
O me! what a heavenly berth!
I revell'd all night

Till the sun came bright,

Then sank at her feet down again in the earth.
I dreamt that my love was a sweet wild pea,
All cover'd with purple bloom;

And I, methought, was an amorous bee
That loved the rich perfume.

Large draughts of nectar I sat to sip

In a bean-leaf just below;

I breathed her breath, and I kiss'd her lip,
And she was as white as snow.

O me! what a beautiful task!
For there I lay

Till eve grew grey,

While she in the sun's bright gleam did bask.
Again I was where the pale moon did line
The forest with silver bright;

I thought my love was a wild woodbine,
And I a zephyr light.

Welcome," said I, "where the bramble

weaves

Around us a guard of thorns;"

And sweetly I tangled myself in her leaves
And fann'd her red-streak'd horns;
By the music of which we led
A gay dance about,

Till old Night came out

To rock us to sleep in his dusky bed.

Anon.

THE LOVER LEFT IN DESPAIR.

Ask not the cause why sullen Spring

So long delays her flowers to bear; Why warbling birds forget to sing,

And winter-storms invert the year: Chloris is gone, and Fate provides To make it Spring where she resides. Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;

She cast not back a pitying eye, But left her lover in despair,

To sigh, to languish, and to die. Ah! how can those fair eyes endure To give the wounds they will not cure?

Dryden.

LOVE ME STILL.

When 'mid the festive scene we meet,
To joyous bosoms dear,
Though other voices fall more sweet

Upon thy listening ear,

Yet scorn not thou my ruder tone,
Oh! think my heart is all thine own,
And love me still.

When o'er young Beauty's cheek of rose Thine eye delighted strays,

Half proud to watch the blush that glows
Beneath thine ardent gaze,

Oh! think that but for Sorrow's blight
My faded cheek had yet been bright,
And love me still.

Emma C. Embury.

LOVE FLOWS NOT EVERY DAY, BUT EVER.

When, dearest, I but think of thee,
Methinks all things that lovely be
Are present, and my soul delighted;

For beauties that from worth arise
Are like the grace of deities,
Still present with us, though unsighted.

Thus whilst I sit and sigh the Day
With all his borrow'd lights away,
Till Night's black wings do overtake me,
Thinking on thee, thy beauties then,
As sudden lights do sleepy men,
So they by their bright rays awake me.

Thus absence dies, and dying proves
No absence can subsist with loves
That do partake of fair perfection;
Since in the darkest night they may,
By love's quick motion, find a way
To see each other by reflection.

The waving sea can with each flood Bathe some high promont that has stood Far from the main up in the river.

Oh! think not then but love can do As much, for that's an ocean, too, Which flows not every day, but ever. Sir J. Suckling.

LET US IMPROVE THE HOUR.

The smiling morn, the breathing spring,
Invite the tuneful birds to sing;
And while they warble from each spray,
Love melts the universal lay.
Let us, Amanda, timely wise,
Like them improve the hour that flies;
And in soft raptures spend the day
Among the shades of Endermay!
For soon the winter of the year,
And age, life's winter, will appear :
At this thy living bloom must fade;
As that will strip the verdant shade.
Our taste of pleasure then is o'er ;
The feather'd songsters love no more:
And when they droop, and we decay,
Adieu the shades of Endermay!

INVITATION TO A DUEL.

Mallet.

Brimful of anger, not of love,
The champion sends his foe one glove;
But I, who have a double share
Of softer passion, send a pair.
Nor think it, dearest Celia, cruel
That I invite you to a duel;
Ready to meet you, face to face,
At any time, in any place:

Nor will I leave you in the lurch
Though you should dare to name the church.
There come equipp'd with all your charms,
The ring and licence are my arms;
With these I mean your power to try,
And meet my charmer though I die.

Villiers, Duke of Buckingham.

THE RIGHTS OF MAN.

While others, Delia, use their pen
To vindicate the rights of men,
Let us, more wise, to bliss attend:
Be ours the Rights which they defend.
Those eyes, that glow with love's own fire,
And what they speak so well inspire;
That melting hand, that heaving breast,
That rises only to be prest;

That ivory neck, those lips of bliss
Which half invite the offer'd kiss ;
These, these and Love approves the plan-

I deem the dearest Rights of Man.

Anon.

Many a prety kisse had I of his swete musse. Skelton.

Eyes seem'd to dance with elfin light, Playmates of pearly smiles. L. Hunt.

A A

MAIDEN, THOU HAST MY HEART.

But she abideth silent, fair,
All shaded by her flaxen hair

The blushes come and go;
I look, and I no more can speak
Than the red sun that on her cheek
Smiles as he lieth low.

Sometimes the roses by the latch,
Or scarlet vine-leaves from her thatch,
Come sailing down like birds;

When from their drifts her board I clear,
She thanks me, but I scarce can hear
The shyly-utter'd words.

Oft have I woo'd sweet Lettice White By daylight and by candlelight,

When we two were apart.
Some better day come on apace,
And, let me tell her face to face,
"Maiden, thou hast my heart."

How gently rock yon poplars high
Against the reach of primrose sky

With heaven's pale candles stored!
She sees them all, sweet Lettice White;
I'll e'en go sit again to-night
Beside her ironing-board!
Jean Ingelow.

THE SMILE OF THAT LOVE-LIT EYE.

With a burning brow and weary limb,
From the parting glance of day,
The student sits in his study dim,

Till the east with dawn is gray;
But what are those musty tomes to him?
His spirit is far away.

He seeks, in fancy, the hall of light
Where his lady leads the dance,
Where the festal bowers are gleaming
bright,

Lit up by her sunny glance;
And he thinks of her the livelong night:
She thinketh of him-perchance!

Yet many a gallant knight is by

To dwell on each gushing tone,

To drink the smile of that love-lit eye, Which should beam upon him alone; To woo with the vow, the glance, and sigh, The heart that he claims his own. Anon.

A LOVER ON THE SEA.

I never knew how dear thou wert
Till I was on the silent sea:
And then my lone and musing heart
Sent back its passionate thoughts to thee.
When the wind slept on ocean's breast,
And the moon smiled above the deep,
I long'd, thus o'er thy spirit's rest,
A vigil like yon moon to keep.
When the gales arose, and, tempest-toss'd,
Our struggling ship was sore beset,
Our topsails rent, our bearing lost,
And fear in every spirit met;
Oh then, amid the midnight storm,
Peace on my soul thy memory shed-
The floating image of thy form

Made strong my heart amid its dread.
Yes, on the dark and troubled sea,

I strove my spirit's depths to know, And found its deep, deep love for thee, Fathomless as the gulfs below.

The waters bore me on my way—

Yet oh! more swift than rushing streams, To thee flew back, from day to day, My clinging love-my burning dreams. Catherine Warfield.

WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE, O?

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks-
Wilt thou be my dearie, O?

Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea,
An' a' is young an' sweet like thee;
Oh, wilt thou share its joys wi' me,

And say thou❜lt be my dearie, O?

An' when the welcome simmer shower
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower
At sultry noon, my dearie, O.
When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way,
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
An' talk o' love, my dearie, O.

An' when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest,
Enclasped to my faithful breast,
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O.

Burns.

GO, WHISPering winD, AND BEAR
THIS SIGH.

Go, thou gentle whispering wind,
Bear this sigh; and if thou find
Where my cruel fair doth rest,
Cast it in her snowy breast;
So, inflamed by my desire,
It may set her heart a-fire:
Those sweet kisses thou shalt gain
Will reward thee for thy pain.
Boldly light upon her lip,

There suck odours, and thence skip
To her bosom; lastly, fall
Down, and wander over all;
Range about those ivory hills
From whose every part distils
Amber dew; there spices grow,
There pure streams of nectar flow:
There perfume thyself, and bring
All those sweets upon thy wing:

As thou return'st, change by thy power
Every weed into a flower;
Turn each thistle to a vine,
Make the bramble eglantine;
For so rich a booty made,
Do but this, and I am paid.

Thou canst with thy powerful blast
Heat apace, and cool as fast :
Thou canst kindle hidden flame,
And again destroy the same:
Then, for pity, either stir
Up the fire of love in her,

That alike both flames may shine,
Or else quite extinguish mine.

D. Herbert.

ONE KISS-SWEET, SWEET! ANOTHER

YET!

My heart is beating with all things that are,
My blood is wild unrest;

With what a passion pants yon eager star
Upon the water's breast!

Clasp'd in the air's soft arms the world doth sleep :

Asleep its moving seas, its humming lands; With what an hungry lip the ocean deep

Lappeth for ever the white-breasted sands! What love is in the moon's eternal eyes, Leaning unto the earth from out the midnight skies!

Thy large dark eyes are wide upon my brow, Fill'd with as tender light

As yon low moon doth fill the heavens now, This mellow autumn night!

On the late flowers I linger at thy feet,

I tremble when I touch thy garment's rim; I clasp thy waist, I feel thy bosom's beatO kiss me into faintness sweet and dim ! Thou leanest to me as a swelling peach, Full-juiced and mellow, leaneth to the taker's reach.

Thy hair is loosen'd by that kiss you gave,
It floods my shoulders o'er;
Another yet! Oh, as a weary wave

Subsides upon the shore,

My hungry being, with its hopes, its fears, My heart, like moon-charm'd waters, ail

unrest,

Yet strong as is despair, as weak as tears,
Doth faint upon thy breast!

I feel thy clasping arms, my cheek is wet
With thy rich tears. One kiss-sweet, sweet!
Another yet!
Alexander Smith.

DEARER TO MY SOUL THAN ALL.

Oh, she is dearer to my soul than rest
To weary pilgrims, or to misers gold,
To great men power, or wealthy cities pride!
Otway.

In a gentle kiss Breathes the sure earnest of awakening bliss. Savage.

A HASTY KISS.

I printed on her lips an hasty kiss, The pledge of ardent love. Maurice.

A lively smile that sent This silent speech in sunshine to his heart. Wiffen.

THE LOVER'S PRAYER ANSWERED. It was an eve of autumn's holiest mood; The corn-fields, bathed in Cynthia's silver light,

Stood ready for the reaper's gathering hand; And all the winds slept soundly-Nature seem'd,

In silent contemplation, to adore

Its Maker. Now and then the agèd leaf
Fell from its fellows, rustling to the ground;
And, as it fell, bade man think on his end.
On vale and lake, on wood and mountain high,
With pensive wing outspread, sat heavenly
Thought,

66

Conversing with itself. Vesper look'd forth,
From out her western hermitage, and smiled;
And up the east unclouded, rode the moon
With all her stars, gazing on earth intense,
As if she saw some wonder walking there.
Such was the night, so lovely, still, serene,
When, by a hermit thorn that on the hill
Had seen a hundred flowery ages pass,
A damsel kneel'd to offer up her prayer-
Her prayer nightly offer'd, nightly heard.
This ancient thorn had been the meeting-place
Of love, before his country's voice had call'd
The ardent youth to fields of honour far
Beyond the wave and hither now repair'd,
Nightly, the maid, by God's all-seeing eye
Seen only, while she sought this boon alone :
Her lover's safety and his quick return."
In holy, humble attitude she kneel'd,
And to her bosom, fair as moonbeam, pressed
One hand, the other lifted up to heaven:
Her eye, upturn'd, bright as the star of morn,
As violet meck, excessive ardour stream'd,
Wafting away her earnest heart to God.
Her voice, scarce utter'd, soft as Zephyr sighs
On morning lily's check, though soft and low,
Yet heard in heaven, heard at the Mercy-seat.
A tear-drop wander'd on her lovely face;
It was a tear of faith and holy fear,
Pure as the drops that hang at dawning-time,
On yonder willows by the stream of life.
On her the moon look'd stedfastly; the stars,
That circle nightly round the Eternal Throne,
Glanced down, well pleased; and Everlasting
Love

Gave gracious audience to her prayer sincere.
Oh, had her lover seen her thus alone,
Thus holy, wrestling thus, and all for him!
For oft-times doth Providence
With unexpected joy the fervent prayer
Of faith surprise. Return'd from long delay,
With glory crown'd of righteous actions won,
The sacred thorn, to memory dear, first sought