I would that I were A dying tone, To dwell on thine ear Though the music were gone: I would charm thy heart with my latest breath, On the wings of the morning to thee I would fly, My heart is bound With a viewless chain, I see no wound,— But I feel its pain. Break my prison, and set me free! Bondage, though sweet, hath no charms for me. Yet no!e'en in fetters my fond heart will dwell, Since thy shadow floats o'er it, and hallows its cell! LOVE SYMPATHIES. There are ten thousand tones and signs Involuntary sparks of thought Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought, And form a strange intelligence Alike mysterious and intense; Which link the burning chain that binds, Without their will, young hearts and minds, Conveying, as the electric wire, We know not how, the absorbing fire. BYRON. LOVE. There is a love so fond, so true, No art the magic tie can sever; 'Tis ever beauteous, ever new ;— Its chain once link'd is link'd for ever. There is a love, but passion's beam, Too fond, too warm, too bright to last,— The frenzy of a fever'd dream, That burns a moment, then is past. 'Tis like the lightning's lurid glare, There is a love whose feeling rolls The meeting of congenial souls, Of hearts whose currents flow in one. It is a blessing that is felt But by united minds that flow, As sunbeams into sunbeams melt, To light a frozen world below. There is a love that o'er the war Of jarring passion pours its light, It is a love best known to those Who hand in hand, amidst the strife Together have withstood their foes, Together shared the storms of life. It is so true, so fix'd, so strong, It parts not with the parting breath; In the soul's flight 'tis borne along, And holds the heart's strings e'en in death. 'Tis never quench'd by sorrow's tide; No, 'tis a flame caught from above, A tie that death cannot divide; 'Tis the bright torch of wedded love. But there is one love, not of earth, Though sullied by the streaming tear It is a star of heavenly birth, And only shines unshaken there. 'Tis when this clay resigns its breath, That rising from the bed of death, M. A. BROWNE. Oh there are looks and tones that dart An instant sunshine to the heart; As if the soul that moment caught Some treasure, it through life had sought As if the very lips and eyes, Predestined to have all our sighs, And never be forgot again, Sparkled and spoke before us then. So beam'd on me thy speech and tone When first o'er me they breathed and shone; New, as if brought from other spheres, Yet welcome as if loved for years. Then come with me-if thou hast known Come! if the love thou bear'st for me But if for me thou dost forsake Then, fare thee well!-I'd rather make Where thawing suns begin to shine, Than trust to love so false as thine! T. MOORE. LOVE NURSED BY SOLITUDE. Young Love, thou art belied: they speak of thee, And couple with thy mention misery; Talk of the broken heart, the wasted bloom, The spirit blighted, and the early tomb; |