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Of a love that shall not die

Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgment
Book unfold!

My steps are nightly driven,
By the fever in my breast,
To hear from thy lattice breathed
The word that shall give me rest.
Open the door of thy heart,

And open thy chamber door,
And my kisses shall teach thy lips
The love that shall fade no more
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgment
Book unfold!

BAYARD TAYLOR.

'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.

IS the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred,

No rosebud is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes,

Or give sigh for sigh!

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the stem;

Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o'er the bed

Where thy mates of the garden

Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,

When friendships decay, And from love's shining circle

The gems drop away! When true hearts lie wither'd, And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

THOMAS Moore.

GENTLEST GIRL.

ENTLEST girl,

Thou wert a bright creation of my thought, In earliest childhood-and my seeking soul Wander'd ill-satisfied, till one blest day Thine image pass'd athwart it-thou wert then A young and happy child, sprightly as life; Yet not so bright or beautiful as that Mine inward vision;-but a whispering voice

Said softly-This is she whom thou didst choose;
And thenceforth ever, through the morn of life,
Thou wert my playmate-thou my only joy,
Thou my chief sorrow when I saw thee not.—
And when my daily consciousness of life
Was born and died-thy name the last went up,
Thy name the first, before our Heavenly Guide,
For favor and protection. All the flowers
Whose buds I cherish'd, and in summer heats
Fed with mock showers, and proudly show'd their
bloom,

For thee I rear'd, because all beautiful
And gentle things reminded me of thee:
Yea, and the morning, and the rise of sun,
And the fall of evening, and the starry host,
If aught I loved, I loved because thy name
Sounded about me when I look'd on them.
DEAN ALFord.

THE PARTING KISS.

NE kind wish before we part,
Drop a tear and bid adieu :
Though we sever, my fond heart,
Till we meet, shall pant for you.

Yet, yet weep not so, my love,

Let me kiss that falling tear;
Though my body must remove,

All my soul will still be here.

All my soul, and all my heart,

And every wish shall pant for you; One kind kiss, then, ere we part, Drop a tear, and bid adieu.

ROBERT DODsley.

NO HEART WITHOUT ITS MATE.

'HE bard has sung, God never form'd a soul Without its own peculiar mate, to meet

Its wandering half, when ripe to crown the

whole

Bright plan of bliss, most heavenly, most complete!

But thousand evil things there are that hate

To look on happiness: these hurt, impede,

And, leagued with time, space, circumstance and fate, Keep kindred heart from heart, to pine, and pant,

and bleed.

And as the dove to far Palmyra flying

From where her native founts of Antioch beam, Weary, exhausted, longing, panting, sighing,

Lights sadly at the desert's bitter stream;

So many a soul, o'er life's dreary desert faring, Love's pure congenial spring unfound, unquaff'd, Suffers, recoils, then, thirsty, and despairing

Of what it would, descends and sips the nearest draught.

MARIA BROOKS.

ON AN OLD WEDDING-RING

THE DEVICE -Two hearts united.
THE MOTTO.-Dear love of mine, my heart is thine.
LIKE that ring-that ancient ring,
Of massive form, and virgin gold,
As firm, as free from base alloy

As were the sterling hearts of old.

I like it-for it wafts me back,

Far, far along the stream of time,

To other men, and other days,

The men and days of deeds sublime.

But most I like it, as it tells

The tale of well-requited love;
How youthful fondness persevered,
And youthful faith disdain'd to rove-
How warmly he his suit preferr'd,

Though she, unpitying, long denied,
Till, soften'd and subdued at la t,

He won his "fair and blooming bride."-

How, till the appointed day arrived,
They blamed the lazy-footed hours-
How, then, the white-robed maiden train
Strew'd their glad way with freshest flowers-
And how, before the holy man,

They stood, in all their youthful pride,

And spoke those words, and vow'd those vows, Which bind the husband to his bride:

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Pledge of devoted faithfulness,

Of heartfelt, holy love, the token: What varied feelings round it cling !-For these, I like that ancient ring.

66

GEORGE WASHINGTON DOANE.

EDWIN AND ANGELINA.

-

URN, gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way

To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray.

For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds immeasurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go."

"Forbear, my son," the hermit cries,
"To tempt the dangerous gloom;
For yonder phantom only flies
To lure thee to thy doom.

Here, to the houseless child of want,
My door is open still;

And though my portion is but scant,
I give it with good will.

Then turn to-night, and freely share
Whate'er my cell bestows;

My rushy couch and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.

No flocks that range the valley free,
To slaughter I condemn;
Taught by that power that pities me,
I learn to pity them.

But from the mountain's grassy side,
A guiltless feast I bring;

A scrip, with herbs and fruits supplied,
And water from the spring.

Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
All earth-born cares are wrong:
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."

Soft, as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell;

The modest stranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure,
The lonely mansion lay;
A refuge to the neighboring poor,
And strangers led astray.

Around, in sympathetic mirth,
Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket cherubs in the hearth,
The crackling faggot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart,

To soothe the stranger's woe; For grief was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spied,

With answering care opprest: "And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, "The sorrows of thy breast?

From better habitations spurn'd,
Reluctant dost thou rove?

Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?

Alas! the joys that fortune brings
Are trifling and decay;

And those who prize the paltry things
More trifling still than they.

And what is friendship but a name :
A charm that lulls to sleep!
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep.

And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair-one's jest,

On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest.

For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush,
And spurn the sex," he said:
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betray'd.

Surprised, he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view,
Like colors o'er the morning skies,
As bright,
as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms;
The lovely stranger stands confess'd
A maid in all her charms.

“And ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn," she cried,
"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
Where heaven and you reside.

But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray:
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.

My father lived beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he;

And all his wealth was mark'd as mine;

He had but only me.

To win me from his tender arms, Unnumber'd suitors came;

Who praised me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feign'd, a flame.

Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove :
Amongst the rest young Edwin be 'd,
But never talk'd of love.

In humblest, simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he:
Wisdom and worth were all he had;
But these were all to me.

The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of heaven refined,
Could naught of purity display,

To emulate his mind.

The dew, the blossoms of the tree,
With charms inconstant shine;
Their charms were his; but wɔe to me,
Their constancy was mine.

For still I tried each fickle art,
Importunate and vain;

And while his passion touch'd my heart
I triumph'd in his pain.

Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride;

And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he died!

But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay :
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.

And there, forlorn, despairing, hid,
I'll lay me down and die :
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I."

"Forbid it, Heaven!" the hermit cried, And clasp'd her to his breast: The wondering fair one turn'd to chide : 'Twas Edwin's self that prest!

"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here.
Restored to love and thee.

Thus let me hold thee to my heart,

And every care resign;
And shall we never, never part,

My life my all that's mine?

No, never from this hour to part,
We'll live and love so true;
The sigh that rends thy constant heart,
Shall break thy Edwin's too."

OLIVER GOLDSMIT

ALL FOR LOVE.

TALK not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory;

And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-andtwenty

Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled?

'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled :
Then away with all such from the head that is hoary-
What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory?
O Fame!-if I e'er took delight in thy praises,
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover
She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.
There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee;
Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee;
When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story,
I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.

LORD BYRON.

LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.

VER the mountains,

And under the waves,

Over the fountains,

And under the graves,
Under floods which are deepest,
Which Neptune obey,
Over rocks which are steepest,
Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place

For the glow-worm to lie,
Where there is no place

For the receipt of a fly,
Where the gnat dares not venture,
Lest herself fast she lay,

If Love come he will enter,
And find out the way.

If that he were hidden,

And all men that are,

Were strictly forbidden

That place to declare :
Winds that have no abidings,
Pitying their delay,

Would come and bring him tidings,

And direct him the way.

If the earth should part him,
He would gallop it o'er ;

If the seas should o'erthwart him,
He would swim to the shore.
Should his love become a swallow,
Through the air to stray,
Love will lend wings to follow,

And will find out the way.

There is no striving

To cross his intent, There is no contriving

His plots to prevent; The letter his heart's vows stating, No closed gates delay From the hand that is waiting; Love will find out the way.

WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER.

E have been friends together,

W

In sunshine and in shade ;

Since first beneath the chestnut trees
In infancy we play'd.

But coldness dwells within thy heart-
A cloud is on thy brow;
We have been friends together-
Shall a light word part us now?
We have been gay together;

We have laugh'd at little jests;
For the fount of hope was gushing,
Warm and joyous, in our breasts.
But laughter now hath fled thy lip,
And sullen glooms thy brow;
We have been gay together-

Shall a light word part us now?

We have been sad together

We have wept, with bitter tears,

O'er the grass-grown graves, where slumber'd
The hopes of early years.
The voices which are silent there
Would bid thee clear thy brow;
We have been sad together-
O! what shall part us now?

CAROLINE ELIZABETH NORTON.

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.

F all the girls that are so smart,
There's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land,
Is half so sweet as Sally :
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage-nets,

And through the streets does cry 'em, Her mother she sells laces long,

To such as please to buy 'em :
But sure such folks could ne'er beget
So sweet a girl as Sally!
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

Of all the days that's in the week,
I dearly love but one day;

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Y sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-hook,
And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook;
No more for Amynta fresh garland I wove;
For ambition, I said, would soon cure me of
love.

Oh, what had my youth with ambition to do?
Why left I Amynta? Why broke I my vow?
Oh, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook re-
store,

And I'll wander from love and Amynta no more.
Through regions remote in vain do I rove,
And bid the wide ocean secure me from love!
Oh, fool! to imagine that aught could subdue
A love so well-founded, a passion so true!

Alas! 'tis too late at thy feet to repine;
Poor shepherd, Amynta can never be thine :
Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain,
The moments neglected return not again.
SIR GILBERT ELLIOT.

BEN BOLT.

Do you mind the cabin of logs, Ben Bolt,
At the edge of the pathless wood,
And the button-ball tree with its motley limbs,
Which nigh by the door-step stood?
The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt,

The tree you would seek in vain;

And where once the lords of the forest waved,
Grows grass and the golden grain.

And don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt,
With the master so cruel and grim,
And the shaded nook in the running brook,
Where the children went to swim?
Grass grows on the master's grave, Ben Bolt,
The spring of the brook is dry,

And of all the boys who were schoolmates then,
There are only you and I.

There is change in the things I loved, Ben Bolt,
They have changed from the old to the new:
But I feel in the deeps of my spirit the truth,
There never was change in you.
Twelvemonths twenty have passed, Ben Bolt,
Since first we were friends-yet I hail
Thy presence a blessing, thy friendship a truth,
Ben Bolt, of the salt-sea gale.

THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.

LUCY.

HE dwelt among the untrodden ways,
Beside the springs of Dove,

A maid whom there were none to praise,
And very few to love.

A violet by a mossy stone,

Half hidden from the eye; Fair as a star when only one Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and oh,
The difference to me!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

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ON'T you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?
Sweet Alice whose hair was so brown,

Who wept with delight when you gave her a
smile,

And trembled with fear at your frown?

In the old churchyard in the valley, Ben Bolt,

In a corner obscure and alone,

They have fitted a slab of the granite so grey,

And Alice lies under the stone.

Under the hickory tree, Ben Bolt,

Which stood at the foot of the hill,

Together we've lain in the noonday shade,

And listen'd to Appleton's mill:

The mill-wheel has fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt,

The rafters have tumbled in,

And a quiet which crawls round the walls as you gaze, Has follow'd the olden din.

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