The balmiest of the month of June! A glow-worm fallen, and on the marge remounting Shines and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet fountain. O ever-ever be thou blest! For dearly, Asra, love I thee! This brooding warmth across my breast, Fount, tree and shed are gone, I know not whither, The shadows dance upon the wall, By the still dancing fire-flames made; And now they slumber, moveless all! And now they melt to one deep shade! But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee: I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee! Thine eyelash on my cheek doth play'Tis Mary's hand upon my brow! But let me check this tender lay Which none may hear but she and thou! Like the still hive at quiet midnight humming, Murmur it to yourselves, ye two beloved women! FIRST ADVENT OF LOVE. O FAIR is Love's first hope to gentle mind! NAMES. I ASKED my fair one happy day, By what sweet name from Rome or Greece; Lalage, Neæra, Chloris, Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris, Arethusa or Lucrece. "Ah!" replied my gentle fair, 66 Beloved, what are names but air? Choose thou whatever suits the line; Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, Only, only call me Thine." DESIRE. WHERE true Love burns Desire is Love's pure LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP OPPOSITE. HER attachment may differ from yours in degree, Gives no accord to Love, however refin'd. Love, that meets not with Love, its true nature revealing, Grows asham'd of itself, and demurs: If you cannot lift hers up to your state of feeling, You must lower down your state to hers. NOT AT HOME. THAT Jealousy may rule a mind I know; but ne'er expect to find She has a strange cast in her ee, Ask for her and she'll be denied :- TO A LADY, OFFENDED BY A SPORTIVE OBSERVATION THAT NAY, dearest Anna! why so grave? I HAVE heard of reasons manifold What outward form and feature are He seeth with the heart. LINES SUGGESTED BY THE LAST WORDS OF BERENGARIUS. OB. ANNO DOM. 1088. No more 'twixt conscience staggering and the Pope REFLECTION ON THE ABOVE. Lynx amid moles! had I stood by thy bed, All are not strong alike through storms to steer death And dungeon torture made thy hand and breath Inconstant to the truth within thy heart? That truth, from which, through fear, thou twice. didst start, Fear haply told thee, was a learned strife, Or not so vital as to claim thy life: And myriads had reached Heaven, who never knew Where lay the difference 'twixt the false and true! Ye, who secure 'mid trophies not your own, Judge him who won them when he stood alone, |