The brilliant visions floating o'er thy brain,
That like spring flowers, once crush'd, can never

bloom again ?

Ah! through life's chequer'd range, but one such hour Of cloudless radiance shines

upon

the breast; 'Tis that when Love comes with a conqueror's power,

And reigns sole monarch of the heart confess'd ; When (like the Indian wood of sacred fame) The bosom's lord pours forth its sweetness to the

flame.

In after years a thousand passions take

Possession of the soul; with cunning art They win its fond idolatry, and make

Themselves a shrine to rest in! To the heart Love comes but once, like blossom to the rose, The deep soul-searching flame our first affection

knows.

Ay, ye may smile, ye stoics ! but 'tis true,

And not the fiction of a poet's brain : The heart's first bloom of love, like morning dew,

Once brush'd, ne'er sparkles on the flower again, Till the long day is closed in evening skies, And on the drooping plant another morn arise !

Mrs. C. B. Wilson.

THE DIFFIDENCE OF LOVE.

Why should I blush to own I love ?
'Tis Love that rules the realms above.
Why should I blush to say to all
That Virtue holds my heart in thrall ?

Why should I seek the thickest shade,
Lest Love's dear secret be betray'd ?
Why the stern brow deceitful move,
When I am languishing with love?

Is it a weakness thus to dwell
On passion that I dare not tell ?
Such weakness I would ever prove :
'Tis painful, but 'tis sweet to love!

HENRY KIRK White.

THE PRIDE OF LOVE.

'Tis strange with how much power and pride
The softness is of love allied ;
How much of power to force the breast
To be in outward show at rest.-
How much of pride that never eye
May look upon its agony !
Ah ! little will the lip reveal
Of all the burning heart can feel.

Oh! why should woman ever love,
Trusting to one sole star above;
And fling her little chance away
Of sunshine, for its doubtful ray!

LANDON.

UNREQUITED LOVE.

Sister ! since I met thee last,
O'er thy brow a change hath past,
In the softness of thine eyes
Deep and still a shadow lies ;
From thy voice there thrills a tone
Never to thy childhood known;
Through thy soul a storm hath moved,
- Gentle sister, thou hast loved !

Yes! thy varying cheek hath caught
Hues too bright from troubled thought;
Far along the wandering stream,
Thou art follow'd by a dream ;
In the woods and valleys lone
Music haunts thee not thine own:
Wherefore fall thy tears like rain ?
-Sister, thou hast loved in vain !

Tell me not the tale, my flower !
On
my
bosom
pour

that shower!

Tell me not of kind thoughts wasted;
Tell me not of young hopes blasted ;
Wring not forth one burning word,
Let thy heart no more be stirr’d !
Home alone can give thee rest.
-Weep, sweet sister, on my breast !

HEMANS.

THE TRYSTING HOUR.

The night-wind's Eolian breezes,

Chase melody o'er the grove,
The fleecy clouds wreathing in tresses,

Float rosy the woodlands above;
Then tarry no longer, my true love,

The stars hang their lamps in the sky, 'Tis lovely the landscape to view, love,

When each bloom has a tear in its eye.

So stilly the evening is closing

Bright dew-drops are heard as they fall, Eolian whispers reposing,

Breathe softly, I hear my love call ; Yes ! the light fairy step of my true love,

The night breeze is wafting to me ; Over heath-bell and violet blue, love, Perfuming the shadowy lea.

THOMAS LYLE. LOVE'S HERALDS.

Love's heralds should be thoughts
Which ten times faster glide than the sunbeams
Driving back shadows over lowering hills :
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw Love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.

SHAKSPERE.

Oh! for some fairy talisman to conjure
Up to these longing eyes the form they pine for !
And yet in love there's no such word as absence !
The loved one, like our guardian spirit, walks
Beside us ever,--shines upon the beam-
Perfumes the flower— and sighs in every breeze !
Its presence gives such beauty to the world
That all things beautiful its likeness are ;
And aught in sound most sweet, to sight most fair,
Breathes with its voice, or like its aspect smiles.

Sir E. L. BULWER.

LOVE'S WISHES.
I wish that I were

A voiceless sigh,
Floating through air,

When thy beauty draws nigh: Unperceived I would steal o'er thy cheek of down, And kiss thy soft lips uncheck'd by a frown.