LOVE.

WHEN the tree of life is budding first,
Ere yet its leaves are green,

Ere yet, by shower and sunbeam nursed,
Its infant life has been,

The wild bees delighted touch may wring
The buds from off the tree,

As the gentle dip of the swallow's wing
Breaks the bubbles on the sea.

But when its open leaves have found
A home in the free air,

Pluck them, and there remains a wound
That ever rankles there.

The blight of hope and happiness

Is felt when fond ones part,
And the bitter tear that follows, is

The life blood of the heart.

When the flame of love is kindled first, 'Tis the fire-fly's light at even,

'Tis dim as the wandering stars that burst In the blue of the summer heaven.

A breath can bid it burn no more,

Or if, at times, its beams

Come on the memory, they pass o'er
Like shadows in our dreams.

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THE LADY'S YES.

But when that flame hath blazed unto

A being and a power,

And smiled in scorn upon the dew

That fell in its first warm hour,

'Tis the flame that curls round the martyr's head, Whose task is to destroy;

'Tis the lamp on the altars of the dead,

Whose light is not of joy!

Then crush, even in their hour of birth,
The infant buds of Love,

And tread his growing fires to earth,
Ere 'tis dark in clouds above;
Cherish no more a cypress tree
To shade thy future years,

Nor nurse a heart-flame that may be
Quenched only with thy tears.

HALLECK.

THE LADY'S YES.

"YES!" I answered you last night;
"No" this morning, sir, I say!

Colours seen by candle-light,

Will not look the same by day.

When the tabors played their best,
Lamps above and laughs below-
Love me, sounded like a jest,
Fit for yes, or fit for no!

Call me false, or call me free-
Vow, whatever light may shine,
No man on thy face shall see
Any grief for change on mine.

Yet the sin is on us both

Time to dance is not to wooWooer light makes fickle trothScorn of me recoils on you!

Learn to win a lady's faith

Nobly, as the thing is high;

Bravely, as for life and death-
With a loyal gravity.

Lead her from the festive boards,
Point her to the starry skies,
Guard her, by your truthful words,
Pure from courtship's flatteries.

By your truth she shall be true-
Ever true as wives of yore-
And her YES, once said to you,

Shall be YES for evermore.

BARRETT.

THE WARRIOR.

His foot's in the stirrup,

His hand's on the mane

He is up and away,

Shall we see him again? He thinks on his ladye-love,

Little he heeds

The levelling of lances,
Or rushing of steeds:
He thinks on his true love,

And rides in an armour

Of proof, woven sure

By the spells of his charmer.

How young and how comely

Lo! look on him now,

How steadfast his eye,

And how tranquil his brow!

The gift of his ladye-love
Glitters full gay,

As, down like the eagle,

He pours on his prey.

Go, sing it in song;

And go, tell it in storyHe went in his strength,

And returned in his glory.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

KISSING.

O KISS! which dost those ruddy gems impart, Or gems or fruits of new found Paradise,

Breathing all bliss and sweetness to the heart; Teaching dumb lips a nobler exercise:

O kiss! which souls, even souls, together ties, By links of Love, and only Nature's art:

Now fain would I paint thee to all men's eyes, Or of thy gifts, at least, shade out some part! But SHE forbids; with blushing words, she says She builds her fame on higher-seated praise. But my heart burns, I cannot silent be!

Then since, dear Life! you fain would have me peace;

And I, mad with delight, want wit to cease; Stop you my mouth, with still, still kissing me.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

WE PARTED IN SADNESS.

WE parted in sadness, but spoke not of parting; We talk'd not of hopes that we both must re

sign,

I saw not her eyes, and but one tear-drop starting,

Fell down on her hand as it trembled in mine: