Oh! most ador'd! Oh! most regretted love!
Oh! joys that never must again be mine,
And thou, lost hope, farewell! - Vainly I rove,
For never shall I reach that land divine,
Nor ever shall thy beams celestial shine
Again upon my sad unheeded way!

seals.

Mrs. Tighe's Psyche.

Oh you, for whom I write! whose hearts can melt At the soft thrilling voice whose power you prove, You know what charm, unutterably felt, Attends the unexpected voice of Love! Above the lyre, the lute's soft notes above, With sweet enchantment to the soul it steals, And bears it to Elysium's happy grove; You best can tell the raptures Psyche feels When love's ambrosial lip the vows of Hymen Mrs. Tighe's Psyche. Oh! have you never known the silent charm That undisturb'd retirement yields the soul, Where no intruder might your peace alarm, And tenderness have wept without control, While melting fondness o'er the bosom stole ? Did fancy never, in some lonely grove, Abridge the hours which must in absence roll! Those pensive pleasures did you never prove, Oh, you have never lov'd! You know not what is love! Mrs. Tighe's Psyche. Man may despoil his brother man of all That's great or glittering-kingdoms fall-hosts yield

Friends fail- slaves fly- and all betray, and,

And, in its stead, a heaviness of heart-
A weakness of the spirit-listless days,
And nights inexorable to sweet sleep,
Have come upon me.

Byron's Heaven and Earth.
Even

Alas what else is love but sorrow?
He who made the earth and love, had soon to grieve
Above its first and best inhabitants.

Byron's Heaven and Earth.

My Adah! let me call thee mine, Albeit thou art not: 't is a word I cannot

Part with, although I must from thee.

Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose,
Who never feel the void, the wandering thought
That sighs o'er visions-such as mine hath
wrought.
Byron's Giaour.
Yes, love indeed is light from heaven,
A spark of that immortal fire
With angels shar'd, by Alla given,
To lift from earth our low desire.
Devotion wafts the mind above,
But heaven itself descends in love;
To wean from self each sordid thought;
A feeling from the god-head caught,
A ray of him who form'd the whole :
A glory circling round the soul!

Love will find its way

Byron's Giaour.

Byron's Giaour.

Let none think to fly the danger,

For soon or late love is his own avenger.

Byron.

And sterner hearts alone can feel The wound that time can never heal.

Byron's Giaour.

Thus passions fire and woman's art,
Can turn and tame the sternest heart;
From these its form and tone are ta'en,
And what they make it, must remain,
But break-before it bend again.

And he was mourn'd by one whose quiet grief, Less loud, outlasts a people's for their chief. Vain was all question ask'd her of the past, And vain e'en menace silent to the last;

--

Upon his hand she laid her own—
Light was the touch, but it thrill'd to the bone,
And shot a chillness to his heart,
Which fix'd him beyond the power to start.
Byron's Siege of Corinth.
Yes it was love-if thoughts of tenderness,
Tried in temptation, strengthen'd by distress,
Unmov'd by absence, firm in every clime,
And yet-oh more than all! untired by time,
Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile,
Could render sullen were she near to smile,
Nor could fire, nor sickness fret to vent
rage
On her one murmur of his discontent;
Which still would meet with joy, with calmness

part,

Lest that his look of grief should reach her heart;
Which nought removed, nor menaced to remove
If there be love in mortals—this was love!

Byron's Corsair.

Why did she love him? curious fool! be still —
Is human love the growth of human will?
To her he might be gentleness; the stern
Have deeper thoughts than your dull eyes discern,
And when they love, your smilers guess not how
Beats the strong heart, though less the lips avow.
Byron's Lara
All the stars of heaven,
The deep blue moon of night, lit by an orb
Which looks a spirit, or a spirit's world-
The hues of twilight-the sun's gorgeous coming-
His setting indescribable, which fills
My eyes with pleasant tears as I behold
Him sink, and feel my heart float softly with him
Along the western paradise of clouds-
The forest shade- the green bough-the bird's
voice,

The vesper bird's—which seems to sing of love,
And mingles with the song of cherubim,
As the day closes over Eden's walls—
All these are nothing, to my eyes and heart,
Like Adah's face: I turn from earth to heaven
To gaze on it.

Byron's Cain.

The all-absorbing flame Which, kindled by another, grows the same, Wrapt in one blaze; the pure, yet funeral pile, Where gentle hearts, like Bramins, sit and smile. Byron. With thee, all toils are sweet; each clime hath charms; -sca alike.

Earth

- our world within our arms.
Byron's Bride of Abydos.
Holy and fervent love! had earth but rest
For thee and thine, this world were all too fair!
How could we thence be wean'd to die without
despair?
Mrs. Hemans's Poems
They sin who tell us love can die :
With love all other passions fly,
All others are but vanity;
In heaven ambition cannot dwell,
Nor avarice in the vaults of hell;

Earthly these passions of the earth,
They perish where they have their birth,
But Love is indestructible;

Its holy tlame for ever burneth,
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.

Souther

-

It is a fearful thing To love as I love thee; to feel the world The bright, the beautiful, joy-giving world A blank without thee. Never more to me Can hope, joy, fear, wear different seeming. Now, I have no hope that does not dream for thee; I have no joy that is not shar'd by thee; I have no fear that does not dread for thee; All that I once took pleasure in my lute, Is only sweet when it repeats thy name; My flowers, I only gather them for thee; The book drops listless down, I cannot read, Unless it is to thee; my lonely hours Are spent in shaping forth our future lives, After my own romantic fantasies.

'He is the star round which my thoughts revolve Lahe satellites.

The rosy lips may cease to smile on you; The kindly beaming eye grow cold and strange, The heart still warmly beat, and not for you. Mrs. Norton,

Oh! love, love well, but only once! for never shall the dream

Of youthful hope return again on life's dark rolling stream.

Into my heart a silent look

Flash'd from thy careless eyes,
And what before was shadow, took

The light of summer skies.
The first-born love was in that look;
The Venus rose from out the deep
Of those inspiring eyes.

Mrs. Norton

Bulwer's Poems.

Miss Landon's Poems.

Simms's Poems.

True love is at home on a carpet,

And mightily likes his ease,—

And starves beneath shady trees.

His foot's an invisible thing, And his arrow is tipp'd with a jewel, And shot from a silver string.

Percival.

Mrs. Whitman.

LOVERS.

Thus warred he long time against his will,
Till that through weakness he was forc'd at last
To yield himself unto the mighty ill,
Which as a victor proud gan ransack fast
His inward parts, and all his entrails wast,
That neither blood in face, nor life in heart,
It left, but both did quite dry up and blast,
As piercing leven, which the inner part
Of every thing consumes, and calcineth by art.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.

She greatly gan enamoured to wax,
And with vain thoughts her falsed fancy vex:
Her fickle heart conceived hasty fire,
Like sparks of fire that fall in slender flex,
That shortly burnt into extreme desire,
And ransack'd all her veins with passion entire.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.
Sad, sour, and full of fancies frail
She grew, yet wist she neither how nor why;
She wist not (silly maid) what she did aile,
Yet wist she was not well at ease perdy,
Yet thought it was not love but some melancholy.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.
Nor aught it mote the noble maid avail,
Nor slake the fury of her cruel flame,
But that she still did waste, and still did wait,
That through long languor, and heart burning
brame,

She shortly like a pined ghost became.

Spenser's Fairy Queen. The gnawing envy, the heart fretting fear, The vain surmises, the distrustful shows, The false reports that flying tales do bear, The doubts, the dangers, the delays, the woes, The feigned friends, the unassured foes, With thousands more than any tongue can tell, Do make a lover's life a witch's hell.

Spenser's Hymn in honour of Love. The rolling wheel, that runneth often round, The hardest steel in tract of time doth tear; And drizzling drops, that often do redound, Firmest flint doth in continuance wear: Yet cannot I, with many a dropping tear, And long entreaty, soften her hard heart, That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to hear, Or look with pity on my painful smart: But when I plead, she bids me play my part; And when I weep, she says tears are but water; And when I sigh, she says I know the art; And when I wail, she turns herself to laughter; So do I weep and wail, and plead in vain, While she as steel and flint doth still remain.

Spenser.

Now it is about the very hour That Silvia, at friar Patrick's cell, should meet me She will not fail; for lovers break not hours, Unless it be to come before their time; So much they spur their expedition.

Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Pr'ythee why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?
Pr'ythee why so pale?

Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move,
This cannot take her;

If of herself she will not Jove,
Nothing can make her :-
The devil take her.

Sir John Suckling.