To my room I went, and closed and lock'd the door, And cast myself down by my bed, And there, with many a blissful tear, I vow'd to love and pray'd to wed The maiden who had grown so dear; Thank'd God who had set her in my path; And promised, as I hoped to win, That I would never sully faith By the least selfishness or sin; Whatever in her sight I'd seem I'd really be; I ne'er would blend With my delight in her a dream 'Twould change her cheek to comprehend; And, if she wish'd it, would prefer Another's to my own success; And always seek the best for her, With unofficious tenderness. Rising, I breathed a brighter clime, And found myself all self above, And, with a charity sublime, I shone with something of her grace, Coventry Patmore. LEAVE THY HOME AND COME WITH ME. Dear, leave thy home and come with me, 'Tis not the weather nor the air, It is thyself that is so fair; Nor doth it rain when heaven lowers : One sun alone moves in the sky- THAT DROP OF BALM, If we consider the high abstraction of this feeling of love, its depth, its purity, its voluptuous refinement even in the meanest breast, how sacred and how sweet it is; this alone may reconcile us to the lot of humanity. That drop of balm turns the bitter cup to a delicious nectar and vindicates the ways of God to man. Hazlitt. THE STRENGTH MIRACULOUS OF We read together, reading the same book, Follow'd the eye that pass'd the page along With a low murmuring sound, that was not speech, Yet with so much monotony, More like a bee that in the noon rejoices, Than any custom'd mood of human voices. Then if some wayward or disputed sense Made cease awhile that music, and brought on A strife of gracious-worded difference, Each, in its own high freedom, set apart, Poised far away, beneath a vacant throne, Which, while on earth, had seem'd enough divine, The beauty of the spirit-bride, Who guided the rapt FlorentineThe depth of human reason must become As deep as is the holy human heart, Ere aught in written phrases can impart The might and meaning of that ecstasy To those low souls, who hold the mystery Of the unseen universe for dark and dumb. But we were mortal still; and when again We raised our bended knees, I do not say That our descending spirits felt no pain To meet the dimness of an earthly day; Yet not as those dishearten'd, and the more Debased, the higher that they rose before, But, from the exaltation of that hour, Out of God's choicest treasury bringing down New virtue to sustain all ill-new power To braid life's thorns into a regal crownWe pass'd into the outer world, to prove The strength miraculous of united love. Richard Monckton Milnes. THE PURE LOVER IS RAISED TO A If it be true that any beauteous thing Repose upon the eyes which it resembleth, 7. E. Taylor. LET'S NOT RUN AND WED IN HASTE. Pr'ythee, Chloe, not so fast, A LADYE LOVE. My Daphne's hair is twisted gold, On Daphne's cheek grow rose and cherry, SERENADE. Look out upon the stars, my love, Of blending shades and light; Sleep not! thine image wakes for aye Nay, lady! from thy slumbers break, Of darker nights a day Pinkney. A HEART SURPRISED TO UTTERANCE. Around a crag, That with its gloomy pines o'erhung the vale, Swept hunt and hunter out of sight and sound. They were alone; and, in the sudden ca!m, When round them came the murmur of the woods Upon a sweeping sigh of summer wind- To his quick heart grew still, and every leaf LOVE, THE ROOT OF HONOUR AND Such ones ill judge of love that cannot love, Ne natural affection faultless blame, For fault of few that have abused the same; For it of honour and all virtue is The root, and brings forth glorious flowers of fame, That crown true lovers with immortal bliss; The meed of them that love, and do not love amiss. Spenser. A LOVE-WILDERED AND IDOLATROUS SOUL. Well, in earnest, then. She laid her finger on him; and he felt Were being wrought from out of it. She spake; And his love-wilder'd and idolatrous soul Like a bird on a bough, high swaying in the wind. He look'd upon her beauty and forgot, As in a sense of drowning, all things else; And right and wrong seem'd one, seem'd nothing; she Was beauty, and that beauty everything. Weeps itself out upon a hill, and cried- Or change the action of thy loveliness, Blind me with kisses! I would ruin sight Would turn her brow to his and both be happy; Number'd among the constellations they! THE BLUSH OF TRUE LOVE. Bailey. Confusion thrill'd me then; and secret joy, Fast throbbing, stole its treasures from my heart, And, mantling upward, turn'd my face to crimson. Brooke. PLIGHTED TROTH. I'll no walk by the kirk, mother, What ails ye at the minister?— I trow it is na every day That siclike can be had. I dinna like his smooth-kaim'd hair, I dinna like a preacher, mother, Then ye'll gang down by Holylee— Ye'll aiblins meet the laird? I canna bide the laird, mother, Awa! awa! ye glaikit thing! Its a' that Geordie Young; The laird has no an e'e like him, Nor the minister a tongue! He's fleech'd ye out o' a' ye hae; For nane but him ye care; The faithu' heart will aye, mother, And how can folks gang bare, mother, Weel, lassie, walk ye by the burn, And walk ye slow and sly; My certie weel ye ken the gait That Geordie Young comes by! His plighted troth is mine, mother, If you knew his pure heart's truth, |