I would that I were

A dying tone,

To dwell on thine ear

Though the music were gone:

I would charm thy heart with my latest breath,
And yield thee pleasure e'en in my death.
I would I might pass from this living tomb,
Into the violet's sweetest perfume;

On the wings of the morning to thee I would fly,
And mingle my soul with thy sweeter sigh.

My heart is bound

With a viewless chain,

I see no wound,—

But I feel its pain.

Break my prison, and set me free!

Bondage, though sweet, hath no charms for me. Yet no!e'en in fetters my fond heart will dwell, Since thy shadow floats o'er it, and hallows its cell!

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 that binds,

Without their will, young hearts and minds, Conveying, as the electric wire,

We know not how, the absorbing fire.

BYRON.

LOVE.

There is a love so fond, so true,

No art the magic tie can sever; 'Tis ever beauteous, ever new ;—

Its chain once link'd is link'd for ever.

There is a love, but passion's beam,

Too fond, too warm, too bright to last,—

The frenzy of a fever'd dream,

That burns a moment, then is past.

'Tis like the lightning's lurid glare,
That streams its blaze of fatal light,
Flames for an instant through the air
Then sinks away in deepest night.

There is a love whose feeling rolls
In pure unruffled calmness on,-

The meeting of congenial souls,

Of hearts whose currents flow in one.

It is a blessing that is felt

But by united minds that flow, As sunbeams into sunbeams melt, To light a frozen world below.

There is a love that o'er the war

Of jarring passion pours its light,
And sheds its influence like a star
That brightest burns in darkest night.

It is a love best known to those

Who hand in hand, amidst the strife Together have withstood their foes, Together shared the storms of life.

It is so true, so fix'd, so strong,

It parts not with the parting breath;

In the soul's flight 'tis borne along,

And holds the heart's strings e'en in death.

'Tis never quench'd by sorrow's tide;

No, 'tis a flame caught from above,

A tie that death cannot divide;

'Tis the bright torch of wedded love.

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.

M. A. BROWNE.

Oh there are looks and tones that dart

An instant sunshine to the heart;

As if the soul that moment caught

Some treasure, it through life had sought

As if the

very lips and eyes,

Predestined to have all our sighs,

And never be forgot again,

Sparkled and spoke before us then.

So beam'd on me thy speech and tone

When first o'er me they breathed and shone;

New, as if brought from other spheres,

Yet welcome as if loved for years.

Then come with me-if thou hast known
No other flame, nor rudely thrown
A gem away, which thou hadst sworn
Should ever in thy breast be worn.

Come! if the love thou bear'st for me
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee;
Fresh as the fountain under ground
When first 'tis by the lapwing found.

But if for me thou dost forsake
Some other maid, and rudely break
Her worshipp'd image from its base,
To give to me the ruin'd place—

Then, fare thee well!-I'd rather make
My bower upon some icy lake

Where thawing suns begin to shine,

Than trust to love so false as thine!

T. MOORE.

LOVE NURSED BY SOLITUDE.

Young Love, thou art belied: they speak of thee, And couple with thy mention misery;

Talk of the broken heart, the wasted bloom,

The spirit blighted, and the early tomb;