LOVE AGAINST LOVE.

Mainly, has man been so much less

Than fits his fellowship with thee.
High thoughts had shaped the foolish brow,
The coward had grasp'd the hero's sword,
The vilest had been great, hadst thou,
Just to thyself, been worth's reward:
But lofty honours undersold

Seller and buyer both disgrace;
And favour that makes folly bold

Puts out the light in virtue's face.

COVENTRY PATMORE.

7

LOVE AGAINST LOVE.

S unto blowing roses summer dews,

AS

Or morning's amber to the tree-top choirs, So to my bosom are the beams that use

To rain on me from eyes that love inspires. Your love, vouchsafe it, royal-hearted few,

And I will set no common price thereon; Oh! I will keep as heaven its holy blue,

Or night her diamonds, that dear treasure won.

But aught of inward faith must I forego,

Or miss one drop from Truth's baptismal hand, Think poorer thoughts, pray cheaper prayers, and grow Less worthy trust, to meet your heart's demand? Farewell! Your wish I for your sake deny;

Rebel to love in truth to love am I.

DAVID A. Wasson.

FULNESS OF LOVE.

F I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange

I'

And be all to me? Shall I never miss Home-talk and blessing, and the common kiss That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange, When I look up, to drop on a new range

Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Filled by dead eyes too tender to know change?
That's hardest! If to conquer love, has tried,
To conquer grief tries more . . . as all things prove,
For grief indeed is love and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love-
Yet love me wilt thou? Open thine heart wide,
And fold within the wet wings of thy dove.

-

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

A

AT THE CHURCH GATE.

LTHOUGH I enter not,

Yet round about the spot
Ofttimes I hover:

And near the sacred gate,
With longing eyes I wait,

Expectant of her.

AT THE CHURCH GATE.

The Minster bell tolls out

Above the city's rout

And noise and humming:

They 've hushed the Minster bell:

The organ 'gins to swell:

She's coming, she's coming!

My lady comes at last,

Timid, and stepping fast,

And hastening hither,

With modest eyes downcast:

She comes-she's here - she's past —
May Heaven go with her!

Kneel, undisturb'd, fair Saint!
Pour out your praise or plaint
Meekly and duly;

I will not enter there,

To sully your pure prayer
With thoughts unruly.

But suffer me to pace
Round the forbidden place,

Lingering a minute,

Like outcast spirits who wait

And see through heaven's gate
Angels within it.

WILLIAM M. THACKERAY.

9

G

PALABRAS CARIÑOSAS.

SPANISH AIR.

OOD-NIGHT! I have to say good-night To such a host of peerless things! Good-night unto that fragile hand All queenly with its weight of rings; Good-night to fond, uplifted eyes, Good-night to chestnut braids of hair, Good-night unto the perfect mouth, And all the sweetness nestled there The snowy hand detains me, then I'll have to say Good-night again!

But there will come a time, my love,
When, if I read our stars aright,
I shall not linger by this porch
With my adieus. Till then, good-night!
You wish the time were now? And I.

You do not blush to wish it so?

You would have blushed yourself to death
To own so much a year ago

What, both these snowy hands! Ah, then

I'll have to say Good-night again!

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

A NICE CORRESPONDENT.

II

SILENT NOON.

OUR hands lie open in the long fresh grass,

YOUR

-

The finger-points look through like rosy blooms : Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and

glooms

Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass.
All round our nest, far as the eye can pass,
Are golden kingcup-fields with silver edge
Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorn-hedge.
'Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass.

Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragon-fly
Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky:—
So this wing'd hour is dropt to us from above.
Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower,
This close-companioned inarticulate hour
When twofold silence was the song of love.

DANTE G. ROSSETTI.

A NICE CORRESPONDENT.

'HE glow and the glory are plighted

TH

To darkness, for evening is come;
The lamp in Glebe Cottage is lighted,
The birds and the sheep-bells are dumb.
I'm alone, for the others have flitted
To dine with a neighbor at Kew;
Alone, but I'm not to be pitied-

I'm thinking of you!