The pair inspired by rosy love, Foretaste the joys of heaven above! Their hearts are bless'd, and what to them If o'er the hour the tempest lower, They reck not the fate of its bursting wrath. Alas! if Love do not reveal His warmth to stamp the marriage seal, The wedded lord and hapless bride : Far off upon his trembling wing; The wither'd breast shall know no rest From the scorpion care, and his poison'd sting. J. BIRD. THE SAILOR'S FAREWELL. Farewell! Farewell! the voice you hear, The accents which I scarce could form The timid eye I dared not raise,— The hand that shook when press'd to thine, Must point the guns upon the chase, Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. To all I love, or hope, or fear, SCOTT. Love, like the grave, levels earth's vain distinctions, NEELE. THE RETREAT OF LOVE. By heavenly feet thy paths are trod,— Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne To which the steps are mountains; where the god Is a pervading life and light, so shown Not on those summits solely, nor alone In the still cave and forest; o'er the flower His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown, His soft and summer breath, whose tender power Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour. All things are here of him; from the black pines That are his shade on high, and the loud roar Of torrents, where he listeneth; to the vines Which slope his green path downward to the shore, Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore, Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood, The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood, Offering to him and his a populous solitude. A populous solitude of bees and birds, And fairy-form'd and many-colour'd things, Who worship him with notes more sweet than words. And innocently open their glad wings, Fearless and full of life: the gush of springs, And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end. He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore, And make his heart a spirit; he who knows That tender mystery will love the more, For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes, And the world's waste, have driven him far from those, For 'tis his nature to advance or die; He stands not still, but or decays, or grows Into a boundless blessing, which may vie With the immortal lights, in its eternity. wwwwwwww BYRON. THE LOVE OF LATER YEARS. They err who deem Love's brightest hour in blooming youth is known : Its purest, tenderest, holiest power in after life is shown, When passions chasten'd and subdued to riper years are given, And earth and earthly things are view'd in light that breaks from Heaven. H It is not in the flush of youth, or days of cloudless mirth, We feel the tenderness and truth of Love's devoted worth ; Life then is like a tranquil stream which flows in sunshine bright, And objects mirror'd in it seem to share its sparkling light. 'Tis when the howling winds arise, and life is like the ocean, Whose mountain billows brave the skies, lash'd by the storm's commotion, When lightning cleaves the murky cloud, and thunderbolts astound us, 'Tis then we feel our spirits bow'd by loneliness around us. Oh! then, as to the seaman's sight the beacon's twinkling ray Surpasses far the lustre bright of summer's cloudless day, E'en such, to tried and wounded hearts in manhood's darker years, The gentle light true love imparts, mid sorrows, cares, and fears. |