But there is one love not of earth,
Though sullied by the streaming tear, It is a star of heavenly birth,
And only shines unshaken there.
'Tis when this clay resigns its breath,
And the soul quits its frail abode,
That rising from the bed of death,
This love is pure-the love of God.
OH! saw ye e'er creature so queenly, so fine,
As this dainty, aërial darling of mine;
With a toss of her mane that is glossy as jet,
With a dance and a prance, and a sportive curvet,
She is off-she is stepping superbly away,
Her dark, speaking eyes full of pride and of play.
Oh! she spurns the dull earth with a graceful disdain,
My fearless, my peerless, my loved Lady Jane.
Her silken ears lifted when danger is nigh,
How kindles the night in her resolute eye;
Now stately she paces, as if to the sound
Of a proud, martial melody pealing around-
Now pauses at once, 'mid a light caracole,
To turn on her master a look full of soul-
Now, fleet as a fairy, she speeds o'er the plain,
My dashing, my darling, my own Lady Jane.
Give her rein-let her go! like a shaft from the bow,
Like a bird on the wing she is glancing, I trow,
Light of heart, lithe of limb, with a spirit all fire,
Yet swayed and subdued to my idlest desire;
Though daring, yet docile-and sportive, but true,
Her nature's the noblest that ever I knew:
Oh! she scorns the dull earth, in her joyous disdain,
My beauty, my glory, my gay Lady Jane!
"Leave me not!" was still
The burden of their music; and I knew
The lay which Genius, in its loneliness,
Its own still world amid the o'erpeopled world,
Hath ever breathed to Love.
They crown me with the glistening crown
Borne from a deathless tree;
I hear the pealing music of renown-
Oh, Love! forsake me not;
Mine were a long dark lot,
Bereft of thee!
They tell me that my soul can throw
A glory o'er the earth;
From thee, from thee is caught that golden glow,
Shed by thy gentle eyes,
It gives to flower and skies
A bright new birth!
Thence gleams the path of morning
Over the kindling hills a sunny zone! Thence to its heart of hearts the rose is burning With lustre not its own!
Thence every wood-recess
Is fill'd with loveliness,
Each bower to ring-doves and dim violets known.
I see all beauty by the ray
That streameth from thy smile; Oh! bear it, bear it not away;
Can that sweet light beguile?
Too pure, too spirit-like it seems,
To linger long by earthly streams;
I clasp it with th' alloy
Of fear midst quivering joy,
Yet I must perish if the gift depart―
Leave me not, Love! to mine own beating heart!
The music from my lyre
With thy swift step would flee;
The world's cold breath would quench the starry fire In my deep soul-a temple fill'd with thee; Seal'd would the fountains lie,
The waves of harmony,
Which thou alone canst free!
Like a shrine 'mid rocks forsaken,
Whence the oracle hath fled;
Like a harp which none might waken
But a mighty master dead;
Like the vase of a perfume scatter'd,
Such would my spirit be,
So mute, so void, so shatter'd,
Bereft of thee !
Leave me not, Love! or if this earth
Yield not for thee a home,
If the bright summer-land of thy June birth
Send thee a silvery voice that whispers "Come!"
Then, with the glory from the rose,
With the sparkle from the stream,
With the light thy rainbow-presence throws
Over the poet's dream;
With all the Elysian hues
Thy pathway that suffuse,
With joy, with music, from the fading grove,
Take me, too, heavenward, on thy wing, sweet Love!
THE SWEETEST HOUR IN TWENTY-FOUR.
THERE is an hour, more sweet to me,
Than all the rest in twenty-four,
'Tis when from worldly cares I flee,
To meet the maiden I adore.
Just as the star of eve doth glisten,
And bird and bee their slumbers take,
Then doth my love appear and listen,
To that pure vow I ne'er can break.
And, when in after years we stray,
And gaze on that bright star of eve.
As side by side we wend our way,
I'll say thou didst my vows believe!
Oh, sweet and glorious satisfaction,
To know as time doth onward roll,
The look, the form, the prospect, changing,
It cannot, cannot change the soul.
THE BRIDE'S CONFESSION.
A SUDDEN thrill passed through my heart,
Wild and intense-yet not of pain-
I strove to quell quick-bounding throbs,
And scanned the sentence o'er again,
It might have been full idly penned
By one whose thoughts from love were free,
And yet, as if entranced, I read-
"Thou art most beautiful to me."
Thou didst not whisper I was loved;
There were no gleams of tenderness,
Save those my trembling heart would hope
That careless sentence might express.
But while the blinding tears fell fast,
Until the words I scarce could see,
There shone, as through a wreathing mist-
"Thou art most beautiful to me."
To thee?-I cared not for all eyes,
So I was beautiful in thine!
A timid star, my faint, sad beams
Upon thy path alone should shine.
Oh, what was praise, save from thy lips?
And love should all unheeded be,
So I could hear thy blessed voice
Say, "Thou art beautiful to me."
And I have heard those very words-
Blushing beneath thine earnest gaze-
Though thou perchance hadst quite forgot
They had been said in bygone days:
While clasped hand and circling arm
Then drew me nearer still to thee,
Thy low voice breathed upon mine ear-
"Thou, love, art beautiful to me."
And, dearest, though thine eyes alone
May see in me a single grace,
I care not, so thou e'er canst find
A hidden sweetness in my face..
And if, as years and cares steal on,
Even that lingering light must flee, What matter, if from thee I hear"Thou art still beautiful to me!"
LOVE SYMPATHIES.
THERE are ten thousand tones and signs
We hear and see, but none defines-
Involuntary sparks of thought
Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought,
And form a strange intelligence
Alike mysterious and intense;
Which link the burning chain which binds,
Without their will, young hearts and minds,
Conveying, as the electric wire,
We know not how, the absorbing fire.
AH! let our love be still a folded flower,
A pure, moss rosebud, blushing to be seen,.
Hoarding its balm and beauty for that hour
When souls may meet without the clay between!
Let not a breath of passion dare to blow
Its tender, timid clinging leaves apart;
Let not the sunbeam, with too ardent glow,
Profane the dewy freshness at his heart!
Ah! kcep it folded like a sacred thing—
With tears and smiles its bloom and fragrance nurse; Still let the modest veil around it cling,
Nor with rude touch its pleasing sweetness curse.
Be thou content, as I, to know, not see,
The glowing life, the treasured wealth withinTo feel our spirit flower still fresh and free,
And guard its blush, its smile, from shame and sin!
Ah, keep it holy! once the veil withdrawn-
Once the rose blooms-its balmy soul will fly,
As fled of old in sadness, yet in scorn,
Th' awakened god from Psyche's daring eye!
THAT is the hour, beloved of Heaven,
When plighted faith is purely given;
When lovers blending heart with heart,
And, silent, mingling hand with hand,
Before God's sacred altar stand,
No more in life to part;
Then lowly kneel them down to pray,
Should ever burn with equal sway,
Till love with life expire.
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