But as truly loves on to the close, As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turned when he (From "The Curse of Kehama."') THEY sin who tell us love can die. With Life all other passions fly, All others are but vanity. In heaven ambition cannot dwell, Nor avarice in the vaults of hell; Earthly, these passions of the earth, They perish where they had their birth. But Love is indestructible. Its holy flame forever burneth, From heaven it came, to heaven returneth; Too oft on earth a troubled guest, At times deceived, at times oppressed, It here is tried and purified, Then hath in heaven its perfect rest; It soweth here with toil and care, But the harvest-time of Love is there. Oh! when a mother meets on high The babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not then, for pains and fears, The day of woe, the watchful night, ROBERT SOUTHEY. "'TIS LIKE A TALE OF OLDEN TIME." H! 'tis like a tale of olden time, A Long, long ago; When the world was in its golden prime, And Love was lord below! Every vein of Earth was dancing With the Spring's new wine; 'Twas the pleasant time of flowers When I met you, love of mine! Ah! some spirit sure was straying Its red leaves' love lore, To the dainty, dainty core. But its beauties daily brightened, When I met you, Sweet, a-Maying, GERALD MASSEY. "HOLLOW IS THE OAK BESIDE." So every time when I would yield An hour to quiet, comes he still; And hunts up every sign concealed, And every outward sign of ill; And gives me his sad face's pleasures, For merriment's, or sleep's, or leisure's. THOMAS BURBIDGE. SONG OF EGLA. (From "Zophiel.") melting Blossoms, all around me sighing, Thou to whom I love to hearken, Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure; Tell to thee the high-wrought feeling, Paint to thee the deep sensation, Rapture in participation, Yet but torture, if compressed In a lone, unfriended breast. Absent still? Ah, come and bless me! MARIA GOWEN BROOKS. LOVE-LETTERS. S snowdrops come to a wintry world A Like angels in the night, And we see not the Hand who sent us them, To hearts that comfort need. For alone in the world, midst toil and sin, These still, small voices wake music within. They come, they come, these letters of love, To silence fear with thoughts of cheer, Blessing and being blest, That give to the weary rest: A mother looks out on the angry sea As he heareth the wind and the rain; Till it brings the thought, with a tear to her eye, Of a brother's vanished smile; And with hearts and eyes more full than all, Two lovers look forth for these blessings to fall! And they come, they come, these letters of love, Blessing and being blest, To silence fear with thoughts of cheer, Oh! never may we be so lonely in life, That never an olive branch comes to our ark hours. ROWLAND BROWN. SONG: FROM "SUPPER AT THE MILL." Oft have I woved sweat Littrice Whine. daylights & by candlelighti When we too were apart By Some better day come on арал And Al me tell her face to face "Maiden thon hast. How gently rock you poplars high Agedfind the Mach My es of primary Walte prawlins pole candles stored She sees them all ranch Lettice White I'll c'en go sit again toifles. Bendi her ironing beard!! Jean digelar |