LOVE'S LAST EVENING. Oh! that word was, how sad a word it is!-SHAKSPERE. Dost thou recall it ?-'twas a glorious eve! Thou dost know how many years, How long and well my soul has worshipp'd thee, my mind made itself a solitude Till For only thee to dwell in,— and thou wert -We will not speak of that; but oh! that eve (Ere it had cross'd my heart, or thine, to think How it has haunted me, with all the sounds I deem'd thy love was boundless ; -oh! the queen, The eastern queen, who melted down her pearl, Our young and ardent spirits burnt away, like the lonely flower Flung forth to wither on the wind, that wastes Sound, light, and perfume, gone-and gone for ever! Ah, me! for aught that ever I could read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth: But either it was different in blood, Or else misgrafted in respect of years; Or else it stood upon the choice of friends: Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth; So quick bright things come to confusion! SHAKSPERE. Le véritable amour ne peut exister sans l'estime ; mais l'estime la plus parfaite ne suffit pas pour l'amour. Cette passion si douce et si violente, source de plaisirs et de peines, de tourmens et de délices, cette flamme qui consume, et fait vivre, ne s'allume jamais qu'une fois. Les ames pures savent l'immoler à la vertu, et donner ensuite au devoir tout ce qui dépend encore d'elles: mais cet attrait, ce charme irrésistible, cet élan rapide de toutes les pensées, de tous les sentimens vers un seul objet, ces craintes terribles, ces vives espérances, et ces profondes douleurs pour un regard de colère, et ces ravissemens inexprimables pour un serrement de main, on ne les éprouve plus; ils sont passés avec le premier amour. Le cœur n'en est plus susceptible. C'est le lis coupé sur sa tige; la plante vit encore, mais ne produit plus de fleurs. FLORIAN. LOVE'S DARING. Oh, never did achievement rival Love's, To match its treasure! Talk of height, breadth, depth,― There is no measure for the lover's passion, No bounds to what 'twill do ! SHERIDAN KNOWLES. THE FAREWELL. Farewell, fair Rosebud of the isles! Brief was the blessing of thy smiles, The sleep of beauty, tell With what impassion'd tenderness The minstrel breathes farewell! Oh! tell her she's my sheltering tree, That midst the desert saves. This heart itself a desert bare As that my footstep knows; One only rose left blooming there, And she that virgin rose. ISHMAEL FITZADAM. wwwwwwww MERCENARY LOVE DESPISED. Lady, Ye who have dwelt upon the sordid land, How we, the wild sons of the ocean, mock At men who fret out life with care for gold. to see Love bought and sold, and all the heaven-roof'd temple Of God's great globe, the money change of Mam mon! I dream of love, enduring faith, a heart When the Great Father calls his children home; |