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57. Oh nature! though blessed and bright are thy rays,
O'er the brow of creation enchantingly thrown,
Yet faint are they all to the lustre that plays
In a smile from the heart that is dearly our own!

58. Love was, to his impassion'd soul,

Not, as with others, a mere part

Of his existence, but the whole,
The very life-breath of his heart!

59. To feel that we adore

To such refin'd excess,

MOORE.

MOORE's Loves of the Angels.

That, tho' the heart would burst with more,

We could not live with less.

MOORE.

60. Oh! there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream.

MOORE.

61. O, that hallow'd form is ne'er forgot, Which first love trac'd;

Still it, lingering, haunts the greenest spot

In memory's waste.

62. Tell him, for years I never nurs'd a thought
That was not his; that on his wandering way,
Daily and nightly, pour'd a mourner's prayer.
Tell him, even now that I would rather share
His lowliest lot-walk by his side, an outcast
Work for him, beg with him—live upon the light
Of one kind smile from him, than wear a crown.

MOORE.

BULWER'S Lady of Lyons.

63. Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold
The loathsome prostitution of a hand
Without a heart. Love sacrifices all things
To bless the thing it loves.

BULWER'S Lady of Lyons.

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65. Dear art thou to me now as in that hour,

When first love's wave of feeling, spray-like, broke
Into bright utterance, and we said we lov'd!

BAILEY'S Festus.

66. Lo! all the elements of love are here —
The burning blush, the smile, the sigh, the tear.

67. Love?

BAILEY'S Festus.

I will tell thee what it is to love:

It is to build with human thoughts a shrine,
Where Hope sits brooding like a beauteous dove-
Where time seems young, and life a thing divine;
Yes, this is love—the steadfast and the true,

The immortal glory which hath never set;

The best, the brightest boon the heart e'er knew -
Of all life's sweets, the very sweetest yet!

CHARLES SWAIN.

ES. Friendship's young bloom may pass away,
As dreams depart the sleeper's mind;

The hopes of life's maturer day

May fade, and leave no trace behind.
But early love can never die

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That fairest bud of spring's bright years;
"T will still look green in memory,
When time all other feeling sears.

69. Like the lone bird that flutters her pinion,
And warbles in bondage her strain,

I have struggled to fly thy dominion,
But find that the struggle is vain.

GEORGE P. MORRIS.

70. Oh, sigh not for love, if you wish not to know
Every torment that waits on us mortals below;—
If you
fain would avoid all the dangers and snares
That attend human life, and escape all its cares.

71. No, thou wert not my first love,

I'd lov'd before we met,

And learn'd to shed the bitter tear

Of anguish and regret.

MISS L. E. LANDON.

72. Love! thou art not a king alone,
Both slave and king thou art!
Who seeks to sway must stoop to own
The kingdom of the heart.

73. Our wretchedness very

74.

75.

grows

The New Timon.

dear to us,

The New Timon.

When suffering for one we love.

So gaze met gaze,

And heart saw heart, translucid through the rays.
One same, harmonious, universal law,

Atom to atom, star to star can draw,

And heart to heart! Swift darts, as from the sun,

The strong attraction, and the charm is done!

To say he lov'd,

The New Timon.

Was to affirm what oft his eye avouch'd,
What many an action testified; and yet,
What wanted confirmation of his tongue.

76. Love is a star, whose gentle ray

J. SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

Beams constant o'er our lonely way;
Love is a gem, whose pearly light
Oft charms us in the darkest night.

Saturday Courier.

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77. Oh! would that love were ever still the same

Unchang'd, unbiass'd, constant and sincere ;
Would that the heart, that owns a sacred flame,
Might never dim its brightness with a tear!
But human hearts, alas! too often show
That love may sometimes banquet upon wo.

DAWES' Geraldine.

78. Love not, love not—the thing you love may change,
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you;
The kindly beaming eye grow cold and strange,
The heart still warmly beat, and not for you.

79. Ere yet my boyhood's years had flown,
I gaz'd on thee as some fair star,
And wildly worshipp'd as it shone
Above my humble world afar.
But while I gaz'd and still ador'd,

On bolder wings wrapt Fancy soar'd,

MRS. NORTON.

To make that bright and blissful sphere mine own.

80. I dare not linger near thee, as a brother,

FRY'S Leonora.

I feel my burning heart would still be thine;

How could I hope my passionate thoughts to smother,
When yielding all the sweetness to another

Which should be mine!

MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY.

81. For love, at first, is but a dreamy thing,
That slily nestles in the human heart,
A morning lark, which never plumes his wing
Till hopes and fears, like lights and shadows, part.
MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY.

82. Love drew your image on "my heart of hearts,"
And memory preserves it beautiful.

MRS. OSGOOD.

83. Sincere! When day and night fail to succeed

When the stars shall all fall, and the earth cease to move-
When the wolf and the lambkin together shall feed,
And truth turn to error-then, then doubt my love!
But, as long as cold chills us—as long as fire burns
As long as his spots to the leopard adhere —
As long as the needle to its dear North pole turns-
As long as there's Truth- call it not insincere!

84. That love is sordid which doth need

Gold's filthy dust its fires to feed:

That acts a higher, nobler part,

Which comes, unfetter'd, from the heart.

J. T. WATSON.

J. T. WATSON.

LUST.

1. Call it not Love, for love to heaven is fled,
Since sweating Lust on earth usurps her name;
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame.

SHAKSPEARE.

2. Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,
But Lust's effect is tempest after sun;
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain,
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done;
Love surfeits not - Lust, like a glutton, dies;
Love is all truth-Lust full of foulest lies.

SHAKSPEARE.

3. But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree
Laden with blooming gold, doth need the guard
Of dragon-watch, with unenchanted eye,
To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit
From the rash hand of bold Incontinence.

MILTON'S Comus.

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