Till Hymen brought his love-delight'd hour,
There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy

bower !
In vain the viewless seraph ling'ring there,
At starry midnight charm'd the silent air ;
In vain the wild-bird carol'd on the steep,
To hail the sun, slow wheeling from the deep;
In vain, to soothe the solitary shade,
Aërial notes in mingling measure play'd ;
The summer wind that shook the spangled tree,
The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee ;
Still slowly pass'd the melancholy day,
And still the stranger wist not where to stray ;
The world was sad ! — the garden was a wild !
And Man, the hermit, sigh'd — till Woman smiled !

CAMPBELL.

O Love, first learn’d in a lady's eyes,
Lives not alone immured in the brain ;
But, with the motion of all elements,
Courses as swift as thought in every power;
And gives to every power a double power,
Above their functions and their offices.
It adds a precious feeling to the eye ;
A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind :
A lover's ears will hear the lowest sound,
When the suspicious head of theft is stopt.-

For valour, is not love a Hercules,
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides ?
Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair :
And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods
Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.
Never durst poet touch a pen to write,
Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs :
O! then his lines would ravage savage ears,
And plant in tyrants mild humility.
From women's eyes this doctrine I derive:
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;
They are the books, the arts, the academes,
That show, contain, and nourish all the world;
Else, none at all in aught proves excellent.

SHAKSPERE.

THE CONFESSION. There is a language by the virgin made, Not read but felt, not utter'd but betray'd, A mute communion, yet so wondrous sweet, Eyes must impart what tongue can ne'er repeat. 'Tis written on her cheeks and meaning brows; In one short glance whole volumes it avows ; In one short moment tells of many days, In one short speaking silence all conveys.

Joy, sorrow, love, recounts, - hope, pity, fear,
And looks a sigh, and weeps without a tear.
Oh ! 'tis so chaste, so touching, so refined,
So soft, so wistful, so sincere, so kind !
Were

eyes melodious, and could music shower
From orient rays new striking on a flower,
Such heavenly music from that glance might rise,
And angels own the music of the skies.

E. S. BARRÉT.

A ROYAL BRIDE.

Too proud For less than absolute command, too soft For aught but gentle tender thought; her hair Cluster'd as from an orb of gold, cast out A dazzling and o'erpowering radiance, save Here and there on her white neck reposed, In a soothed brilliance, some thin wandering tress. The azure flashing of her eye was fringed With virgin meekness, and her tread that seemed Earth to disdain, as softly fell on it As the light dew shower on a tuft of flowers.

MILMAN.

THE TWO FOUNTAINS.

I saw, from yonder silent cave,

Two fountains running side by side; The one was Memory's limpid wave,

The other cold Oblivion's tide. “Oh! Love,” said I, in thoughtless dream,

As o'er my lips the Lethe pass'd, “ Here, in this dark and chilly stream,

Be all my pains forgot at last."

But who could bear that gloomy blank,

Where joy was lost as well as pain ? Quickly of Memory's fount I drank,

And brought the past all back again ;
And said, “Oh! Love, whate'er my lot,

Still let this soul to thee be true :
Rather than have one bliss forgot,
Be all my pains remember'd too!”

T. MOORE.

Oh! if thou lov'st, And art a woman, hide thy love from him Whom thou dost worship; never let him know How dear he is ; flit like a bird before him,Lead him from tree to tree, from flower to flower ; But be not won, or thou may’st, like that bird, When caught and caged, be left to pine neglected, And perish in forgetfulness.

LANDON.

LOVE'S BONDAGE.

Mysterious Love! Thy presence is around me, and I feel All its o’ermastering influence. A chain A viewless chain - binds

my stern spirit down To more than woman's gentleness. A spell, As 'twere of voiceless music, through my soul Steals with a soft delight unfelt before. I strive to break this thraldom, and arouse The vigour of my mind ;— but Love's own breath, Like the sweet south upon th’ Eolian lyre, Sweeps o'er my heartstrings. I'm again subdued, And all my efforts sink into -a sigh !

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LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.

Oh! the days are gone when Beauty bright

My heart's chain wove; When

my

dream of life from morn till night
Was love, still love !