New hope may bloom,

And days may come,

Of milder, calmer beam;

But there's nothing half so sweet in life

As Love's young dream.

No! there's nothing half so sweet in life
As Love's young dream!

Though the bard to purer fame may soar,
When wild youth's past;

Though he win the wise, who frown'd before,
To smile at last;

He 'll never meet

A joy so sweet

In all his noon of fame,

As when first he sung to woman's ear

His soul-felt flame,

And at every close she blush'd to hear
The one loved name.

Oh! that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot
Which first love traced;

Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot
On Memory's waste!

'Twas odour fled

As soon as shed,

'Twas morning's winged dream,

'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream!

Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream!

wwwwwwm

T. MOORE.

SONNET.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

Oh no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out e'en to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

SHAKSPERE.

Look through mine eyes with thine. True wife,

Round my true heart thine arms entwine, My other dearer life in life,

Look through my very soul with thine. Untouch'd with any shade of years,

May those kind eyes for ever dwell! They have not shed a many tears,

Dear eyes

! since first I knew them well.

TENNYSON.

WOMAN'S LOVE.

Oh! woman's love is a holy light,

Which when once kindled cannot die;
Though time, and treachery, and slight,
To quench the deathless flame may try.
Like ivy, when it grows 'tis seen
To wear an everlasting green;
Like ivy, too, 'tis found to cling
Too often round a worthless thing.
O woman's love! at times it may

Seem cold and clouded; but it burns
With an undeviating ray,

And never from its idol turns.

Its sunshine is a smile; a frown

The heavy cloud that weighs it down;

Of woman's tears, there's danger there :) —
Its sweetest place on which to rest,

A constant and confiding breast;

Its joy to meet; its death to part;

Its sepulchre-a broken heart!

With more than Jewish reverence as yet

Do I the sacred name conceal;

When, ye kind stars, ah! when will it be fit
This gentle mystery to reveal!

When will our love be named, and we possess
That christening as a badge of happiness?

So bold as yet no verse of mine has been,
To wear that gem on any line;

Nor, till the happy nuptial muse be seen,
Shall any stanza with it shine.

Rest, mighty name! till then; for thou must be
Laid down by her, ere taken up by me.

Then all the fields and woods shall with it ring;
Then Echo's burden it shall be ;

Then all the birds in several notes shall sing,
And all the rivers murmur,-thee:

Then every wind the sound shall upwards bear,

And softly whisper 't to some angel's ear.

COWLEY.

The grace

THE BRIDE.

Nay, 'tis not

of her meek, bending, snowy neck

The flowing outline of proportion'd limbs
Moving with health's elastic lightness, blent
With all that nameless suavity of air

That marks high birth; 'tis not, alone, a face
Whose features are all symmetry; an eye
In whose ethereal blue Love sits enshrined,
A spirit in a star; cheeks eloquent

In changeful blushes, as her sweetest lips
In the harmonious utterance of pure thoughts:
'Tis not all these

the palpable ornaments

Of the material mould,- Love's pageantry
Floating o'er beauty's surface.

No, no! it is not these that win my heart;

But 'tis the pure intelligence of mind

That, like some inborn light, beams from her soul;

The virtuous thoughts that clothe her like a garment;

The chastity, the candour, and the meekness,

That, through her parted hair, look from a brow
And features, where the seal of heaven is set!

J. BIRD.