New hope may bloom, And days may come, young dream. No! there's nothing half so sweet in life As Love's young dream ! Though the bard to purer fame may soar, When wild youth's past ; To smile at last; A joy so sweet His soul-felt flame, The one loved name. Oh! that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot Which first love traced; On Memory's waste ! 'Twas morning's winged dream, On life's dull stream ! T. MOORE. SONNET. Let me not to the marriage of true minds taken. SHAKSPERE. Look through mine eyes with thine. True wife, Round my true heart thine arms entwine, My other dearer life in life, Look through my very soul with thine. any years, May those kind eyes for ever dwell ! They have not shed a many tears, Dear eyes ! since first I knew them well. TENNYSON. w WOMAN'S LOVE. Oh! woman's love is a holy light, Which when once kindled cannot die; To quench the deathless flame may try. may And never from its idol turns. A tear its weapon is (beware - to part;— Its sepulchre—a broken heart ! HER NAME. When, ye With more than Jewish reverence as yet kind stars, ah! when will it be fit line; So bold as yet no verse of mine has been, that gem on any Nor, till the happy nuptial muse be seen, Shall any stanza with it shine. Rest, mighty name ! till then ; for thou must be Laid down by her, ere taken up by me. Then all the fields and woods shall with it ring ; Then Echo's burden it shall be ; And all the rivers murmur,—thee : Then every wind the sound shall upwards bear, Cowley. THE BRIDE. Nay, 'tis not The grace of her meek, bending, snowy neck The flowing outline of proportion'd limbs Moving with health’s elastic lightness, blent With all that nameless suavity of air That marks high birth ; 'tis not, alone, a face Whose features are all symmetry ; an eye In whose ethereal blue Love sits enshrined, A spirit in a star ; cheeks eloquent In changeful blushes, as her sweetest lips In the harmonious utterance of pure thoughts : 'Tis not all these — the palpable ornaments Of the material mould,- Love's pageantry Floating o'er beauty's surface.No, no! it is not these that win my heart ; But 'tis the pure intelligence of mind That, like some inborn light, beams from her soul; The virtuous thoughts that clothe her like a garment; The chastity, the candour, and the meekness, That, through her parted hair, look from a brow And features, where the seal of heaven is set ! J. BIRD. |