THE LOVE THAT EVER GUIDES MY Sweet thing of beauty! life would be The soother of its grief and care : Oh, when I first beheld thy face, And press'd in mine thy gentle hand, Thy blooming cheek and modest grace Waved o'er my soul a magic wand; Thy kindly tone, thy playful smile, Bespeaking innocence and love, The lustre of thine eyes the while, That beam'd like angel-orbs above, All join'd upon my heart to pour A joyance never felt before! I deem'd the bosom must be blest Such as the earth has rarely shownHow beauteous on its graceful stem! And yet between us was there thrown A passless bar! But that is past; Sweet rosebud, thou art mine at last! And oh, the ardours of my soul My bosom wholly as when new. That lent its beauty to the rose; But now I taste the essence pure That from its core divinely flows, Absorbing all those bitter tears That follow in the wake of years! Perchance thine eyes are dimmer now, Thy step less light, thy cheek less fair; More grave thy voice and smile: but thou Art still the soother of my care. Now from thy lips a current flows Of meek intelligence and truth, And kindness in thy bosom glows More sweet than all the charms of youth; And dovelike thither would I bound When troubled waters rage around. AN ANGEL IN THE PATHS OF LIFE. Yet she was pale- and sooth a tear And thoughts most dear they were that rose; On kindness past, or memory shun. For she had left the home of years, The nestling place of infant days; And she had set her foot where tears Too often mar sweet woman's ways; And she had laid a fond warm heart As ever beat at love's bright shrine, With murmur'd vows-" till death do part, Devotedly thine, only thine." The chain of gold around her flung, The cluster'd jewels on her hand, Were gather'd where hot tears are wrung From toil at wealth's untamed command; Then ne'er can those meet emblems be To show the wealth which they enfold; For hand and heart, where love is free, Cast shade on jewels, gems, and gold. In joyous hour, or worldly strife, In cloud or sunshine, she will stand, An angel in the paths of life, To scatter blessings from her hand. And say not woman's love is light, Her constancy oft worn in pride; For never was she first to slight The vows of love which seal'd her-bride. Anon. A BRIDEGROOM'S SONG. Am I not in blessed case, My Lady, Lady: My pleasaunt pleasure shall encrease, Helene may not comparèd he, Nor Creseda that was so bright; Loue thee I will both night and day, My mouse, my nobs, my cony sweete, My hope and ioye, my whole delight; Dame Nature may fall at thy feete, And yeelde to thee her crowne of righte. I will thy body now embrace, Lady, Lady; And kiss thy swete and pleasaunt face, Enterlude of the Triall of Treasure (1567). GAYEST FLOWERS BEFORE HER FLING. Forth the lovely bride ye bring; Strew about! strew about! Strew about! strew about! Strew about! strew about! Miss Mitford. A RING TO WED THEE O'ER AGAIN. "Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed,"- Here, then, to-day (with faith as sure, With this I wed, till death us part, Mine own self's better part; Mine eye's dear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart; My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. Shakespeare. |