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Her thoughts were all confusion, but most sweet ;
Her heart beat high, but pleasant was its beat.
She murmur'd over many a snatch of song
That might to her own feelings now belong;
She thought upon old histories she had read,
And placed herself in each high heroine's stead ;
Then woke her lute,-oh! there is little known
Of music's

power

till aided by love's own. And this is happiness : Oh! love will last When all that made it happiness is past,When all its hopes are as the glittering toys Time present offers, time to come destroys, When they have been too often crush'd to earth For further blindness to their little worth, When fond illusions have dropt one by one Like pearls from a rich carcanet, till none Are left upon life's soild and naked string And this is all what time will ever bring !

LANDON.

Love, passionate young Love, how sweet it is
To have the bosom made a paradise
By thee, life-lighted with thy rainbow smile !

LANDON.

Alas ! how light a cause may move
Dissension between hearts that love !

15

Hearts that the world in vain had tried
And sorrow but more closely tied ;
That stood the storm when waves were rough,
Yet in a sunny hour fall off,
Like ships that have gone down at sea
When heaven was all tranquillity!
A something light as air-a look,

A word unkind, or wrongly taken,—
Oh! love that tempests never shook,

A breath, a touch like this hath shaken.
And ruder words will soon rush in
To spread the breach that words begin ;
And eyes forget the gentle ray
They wore in courtship’s smiling day ;
And voices lose the tone that shed
A tenderness round all they said ;
Till fast declining, one by one,
The sweetnesses of love are gone ;
And hearts so lately mingled seem
Like broken clouds,—or like the stream
That smiling left the mountain's brow

As though its waters ne'er could sever ;
Yet e'er it reach the plain below,

Breaks into floods that part for ever.

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Oh!
you

who have the charge of Love,
Keep him in rosy bondage bound;
As in the fields of bliss above

He sits with flowrets fetter'd round.
Loose not a tie that round him clings;
Nor ever let him use his wings ;
For even an hour, a minute's flight,
Will rob the plumes of half their light.
Like that celestial bird, whose nest

Is found beneath far Eastern skies,
Whose wings, tho' radiant when at rest,
Lose all their glory when he flies.

T. MOORE.

WOMAN'S CONSTANCY.

Oh! woman, what bliss, what enchantment we owe
To the spell of thy heart, to thy solace below,
To thy truth so enduring, thy kindness and care
In the morning of joy, in the night of despair !

To thy soul's chosen love thou unchanged wilt remain
In health and in sickness, in pleasure and pain;
And when closed are his lips in Death's mortal

eclipse,
Even then, still is his the last kiss of thy lips !

And over his grave thou wilt mournfully keep
Thy lone vigil of sorrow, to pray and to weep :
Yes! to pray—that his errors of heart be forgiven,
And that thou may'st yet meet him unsullied in
heaven.

JAMES BIRD.

EASTERN LOVE-LETTER.

In Eastern lands they talk in flowers,

And they tell in a garland their loves and cares; Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers,

On its leaves a mystic language bears.

The rose is the sign of joy and love,

Young blushing love in its earliest dawn ; And the mildness that suits the gentle dove,

From the myrtle's snowy flower is drawn.

Innocence shines in the lily's bell,

Pure as a heart in its native heaven; Fame's bright star, and glory's swell,

By the glossy leaf of the bay is given.

The silent, soft, and humble heart

In the violet's hidden sweetness breathes ; And the tender soul that cannot part,

A twine of evergreen fondly wreathes,

с

The cypress that darkly shadows the

grave, Is sorrow that mourns its bitter lot ; And faith that a thousand ills can brave,

Speaks in thy blue leaves, forget-me-not.

Then gather a wreath from thy garden bowers, And tell the wish of thy heart in flowers.

PERCIVAL.

Still there clings
An earth-stain to the fairest things ;
And love, that most delicious gift
Upon life's shrine of sorrow left,
Has its own share of suffering.
A shade falls from its radiant wing,
A spot steals o'er its sunny brow,
Fades the rose-lip's witching glow.
'Tis well—for earth were too like heaven
If length of life to love were given.

LANDON.

TO THE ALTAR.

Oh! there are hearts that well

may

date The era of their joy from thee, The birthplace of the brightest fate

That wedded life and love may be:

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