Cold, ah! cold must his appear Of woman's love. 'Tis pleasure to the mourner, Is woman's love. 'Tis the gem of beauty's birth; Sweet woman's love? JOHN CLARE. Oh! man may bear with suffering: his heart N. P. WILLIS. Amour! toi seul remplis notre ame, toi seul es la source de tous les biens, tant que la vertu s'accorde avec toi. Ah! qu'elle soit toujours ton guide, et que tu sois son consolateur ! Ne vous quittez jamais, enfans du ciel; marchez ensemble, en vous tenant la main. Si vous rencontrez dans votre route ou les chagrins, ou les malheurs, soutenez-vous mutuellement. Ils passeront, ces malheurs ; et la félicité dont vous jouirez en aura cent fois plus de charmes le souvenir des peines passées rendra plus touchants vos plaisirs. C'est ainsi qu'après un orage on trouve plus verd le gazon, plus riante la campagne couverte de perles liquides, plus belles les fleurs des champs relevant leurs têtes penchées ; et l'on écoute avec plus de délices l'alouette ou le rossignol qui chantent en secouant leurs ailes. FLORIAN. A LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS. Sing, syren, for thyself, and I will dote ; And in that glorious supposition think No telling how love thrives! to what it comes! Whence grows! 'Tis e'en of as mysterious root, As the pine that makes its lodging of the rock, Where you would think a blade of grass would die! What is love's poison if it be not hate? Yet in that poison oft is found love's food. SHERIDAN Knowles. LOVE THE VICTOR. "De tout ce qui t'aimait, n'est il plus rien qui t'aime?" Mighty ones, Love and Death! Ye are the strong in this world of ours, Ye meet at the banquets, ye dwell midst the flowers, Which hath the conqueror's wreath? Thou art the victor, Love! Thou art the fearless, the crown'd, the free, The strength of the battle is given to thee, The spirit from above! Thou hast look'd on Death and smiled! Thou hast borne up the reed-like and fragile form Through the waves of the fight, through the rush of the storm, On field, and flood, and wild! No! thou art the victor, Death! Thou comest, and where is that which spoke From the depth of the eye, when the spirit woke? -Gone with the fleeting breath! Thou comest, and what is left Yet loves-yet answers the burning thought Silence is where thou art! No smile to cheer, and no voice to greet, Boast not thy victory, Death! It is but as the clouds o'er the sunbeam's power, It is but as the winters o'er leaf and flower, That slumber the snow beneath. It is but as a tyrant's reign O'er the voice and the lip which he bids be still; But the fiery thought and the lofty will Are not for him to chain! They shall soar his might above ! And thus with the root whence affection springs, Tho' buried, it is not of mortal things— Thou art the victor, Love! THE RETURN. HEMANS. 13 Oh! have I lived to see thee once again? When the storm howl'd around; and these the lips Of parting linger'd-as the fragrance left By angels when they touch the earth and vanish. As for thine eyes, my soul! SIR E. L. BUlwer. How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, SHAKSPERE. THE FIRST AVOWAL. It was no fancy, he had named the name Of love, and at the thought her cheek grew flame: A lover's burning sigh, or silver word: |