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She took the glass where Love's warm hands

A bright impervious vapor cast, She looks, but cannot see the sands,

Although she feels they ’re falling fast. But cold hours came, and then, alas !

She saw them falling frozen through, Till Love's warm light suffused the glass,

And hid the loos'ning sands from view!

DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY

DEATH AND CUPID. Ar! who but oft hath marvelled why

The gods, who rule above, Should e'er permit the young to die,

The old to fall in love?

What delight in some sweet spot
Combining love with garden plot,
At once to cultivate one's flowers
And one's epistolary powers !
Growing one's own choice words and fancies
In orange tubs, and beds of pansies;
One's sighs, and passionate declarations,
In odorous rhetoric of carnations ;
Seeing how far one's stocks will reach,
Taking due care one's flowers of speech
To guard from blight as well as bathos,
And watering every day one's pathos !
A letter comes, just gathered. We
Dote on its tender brilliancy,
Inhale its delicate expressions
Of balm and pea, and its confessions
Made with as sweet a maiden's blush
As ever morn bedewed on bush :
('T is in reply to one of ours,
Made of the most convincing flowers.)
Then, after we have kissed its wit,
And heart, in water putting it
(To keep its remarks fresh), go round
Our little eloquent plot of ground,
And with enchanted hands compose
Our answer, — all of lily and rose,
Of tuberose and of violet,
And little darling (mignonette);
Of look at me and call me to you
(Words, that while they greet, go through you);
Of thoughts, of flames, forget-me-not,
Bridewort, — in short, the whole blest lot
Of vouchers for a lifelong kiss, —
And literally, breathing bliss !

LEIGH HUNT.

Ah! why should hapless human kind

Be punished out of season? — Pray listen, and perhaps you 'll find

My rhyme may give the reason.

Death, strolling out one summer's day,

Met Cupid, with his sparrows; And, bantering in a merry way,

Proposed a change of arrows. “Agreed !" quoth Cupid. “I foresee

The queerest game of errors;
For you the King of Hearts will be,

And I'll be King of Terrors !"

And so `t was done ;- alas, the day

That multiplied their arts !Each from the other bore away

A portion of his darts.

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BARRY CORNWALL.

To paint that living light I see,

| Awake!-- soft dews will soon arise And fix the soul that sparkles there."

From daisied mead and thorny brake :

Then, sweet, uncloud those eastern eyes, His prayer as soon as breathed was heard ;

And like the tender morning break ! His pallet touched by Love grew warm,

Awake! awake! And painting saw her thus transferred

Dawn forth, my love, for Love's sweet sake! From lifeless flowers to woman's form. Still, as from tint to tint he stole,

Awake !— within the musk-rose bower The fair design shone out the more,

I watch, pale flower of love, for thee. And there was now a life, a soul,

Ah, come ! and show the starry hour Where only colors glowed before.

What wealth of love thou hid'st from me! Then first carnation learned to speak,

Awake! awake! And lilies into life were brought;

Show all thy love, for Love's sweet sake ! While mantling on the maiden's cheek,

Awake ! — ne'er heed though listening night Young roses kindled into thought :

Steal music from thy silver voice; Then hyacinths their darkest dyes

Uncloud thy beauty, rare and bright, Upon the locks of beauty threw ;

And bid the world and me rejoice! And violets transformed to eyes,

Awake! awake ! Inshrined a soul within their blue.

She comes at last, for Love's sweet sake. CHORUS Blest be Love, to whom we owe All that's bright and fair below; Song was cold and painting dim,

INVOCATION TO THE ANGEL. Till song and painting learned from him.

FROM "HEAVEN AND EARTH."

Samiasa!

I call thee, I await thee, and I love thee;
UP! QUIT THY BOWER.

Many may worship thee, that will I not; UP! quit thy bower! late wears the hour,

nur If that thy spirit down to mine may move thee, Long have the rooks cawed round the tower ;

Descend and share my lot ! O'er flower and tree loud hums the bee,

Though I be formed of clay, And the wild kid sports merrily.

And thou of beams The sun is bright, the sky is clear ;

More bright than those of day. Wake, lady, wake! and hasten here.

On Eden's streams,

Thine immortality cannot repay Up, maiden fair ! and bind thy hair,

With love more warm than mine And rouse thee in the breezy air !

My love. There is a ray The lulling stream that soothed thy dream In me, which, though forbidden yet to shine, Is dancing in the sunny beam.

I feel was lighted at thy God's and thine. Waste not these hours, so fresh, so gay : It may be hidden long : death and decay Leave thy soft couch, and haste away!

Our mother Eve bequeathed us, but my heart Up! Time will tell the morning bell

Defies it; though this life must pass away, Its service-sound has chiméd well ;

Is that a cause for thee and me to part ? The aged crone keeps house alone,

Thou art immortal ; so am I : I feel — Tho reapers to the fields are gone.

I feel my immortality o'ersweep Lose not these hours, so cool, so gay :

All pains, all tears, all time, all fears, and peal, Lo! while thou sleep'st they haste away!

Like the eternal thunders of the deep,
JOANNA BAILLIE. | Into my ears this truth, - “Thou liv'st forever !*

BYRON

THOMAS MOORE,

FOR LOVE'S SWEET SAKE.

FLY TO THE DESERT, FLY WITH ME. AWAKE !- the starry midnight hour Hangs charmed, and pauseth in its flight;

SONG OP NOURMAHAL IN "THE LIGHT OF THE HAREM." In its own sweetness sleeps the flower,

“Fly to the desert, fly with me, And the doves lie hushed in deep delight. Our Arab tents are rude for thee; Awake! awake!

But oh ! the choice what heart can doubt Look forth, my love, for Love's sweet sake! | Of tents with love or thrones without ?

“Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
Th' acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less
For flowering in a wilderness.
“Our sands are bare, but down their slope
The silvery-footed antelope
As gracefully and gayly springs
As o'er the marble courts of kings.
“Then come, — thy Arab maid will be
The loved and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.
“Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart,
As if the soul that minute caught
Some treasure it through life had sought;

As if ’t were fixed by magic there, —
And naming her, so long unnamed,
So long unseen, wildly exclaimed,
“O Nourmahal ! 0 Nourmahal !

Hadst thou but sung this witching strai:, I could forget — forgive thee all,

And never leave those eyes again."
The mask is off, - the charm is wrought, —
And Selim to his heart has caught,
In blushes, more than ever bright,
His Nourmahal, his Harem's Light !
And well do vanished frowns enhance
The charm of every brightened glance ;
And dearer seems each dawning smile
For having lost its light awhile ;
And, happier now for all her sighs,

As on his arm her head reposes,
She whispers him, with laughing eyes,

“Remember, love, the Feast of Roses !”

THOMAS MOORE.

“As if the very lips and eyes
Predestined to have all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and spoke before as then!

“So came thy every glance and tone,
When first on me they breathed and shone ;
New, as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if loved for years !

“Then fly with me, if thou hast known
No other flame, nor falsely thrown
A gem away, that thou hadst sworn
Should ever in thy heart be worn.

Come, if the love thou hast for me
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee,
Fresh as the fountain underground,
When first 't is by the lapwing found.

“But if for me thou dost forsake
Some other maid, and rudely break
Her worshipped image from its base,
To give to me the ruined place ;
" Then, fare thee well!- I'd rather make
My bower upon some icy lake
When thawing suns begin to shine,
Than trust to love so false as thine !"

COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD.
Come into the garden, Maud,

For the black bat, night, has flown !
Come into the garden, Maud,

I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,

And the musk of the roses blown.
For a breeze of morning moves,

And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves,

On a bed of daffodil sky, To faint in the light of the sun that she loves,

To faint in its light, and to die.
All night have the roses heard

The flute, violin, bassoon ;
All night has the casement jessamine stirred

To the dancers dancing in tune, -
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,

And a hush with the setting moon.
I said to the lily, “There is but one

With whom she has heart to be gay.'
When will the dancers leave her alone ?

She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,

And half to the rising day ;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone

The last wheel echoes away.
I said to the rose, “ The brief night goes

In babble and revel and wine.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those

For one that will never be thine ?
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose,

“For ever and ever mine !"

There was a pathos in this lay,

That even without enchantment's art Would instantly have found its way

Deep into Selim's burning heart; But breathing, as it did, a tone To earthly lutes and lips unknown ; With every chord fresh from the touchOf music's spirit, 't was too much ! Starting, he dashed away the cup,

Which, all the time of this sweet air, His hand had held, untasted, up,

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