love poem

Oft Jove , they say, descended from above,
And to his Arms receiv'd some mortal Love:
Once let his Godship's Rule inverted be;
Let mortal Arms enclose Divinity.

It seems to me as I think of her,
That my youth has come again:
I hear the breath of summer stir
The leaves in the old refrain:
" Oh! my Lady-love! oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be?
I will seek my Love, with the wings of a dove,
And pray her to love but me. "

The flower-kissed meadows all once more
Are green with grass and plume;
The apple-trees again are hoar
With fragrant snow of bloom.
Oh! my Lady-love, Oh, my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.

BY FREDERICK W. THOMAS .

'T is said that absence conquers love!
But, oh! believe it not;
I 've tried, alas! its pow'r to prove,
But thou art not forgot.
Lady, though fate has bid us part,
Yet still thou art as dear —
As fixed in this devoted heart,
As when I clasp'd thee here.

I plunge into the busy crowd,
And smile to hear thy name;
And yet, as if I thought aloud,

There is that in my heart that will not let me sleep;
There is that beneath my heart that cries without a voice.
I was not alone in the summer:
In the winter I was all alone.
The ashes on my hearth are red, but not with fire.

Many times he kissed me on the eyes,
And many, many times upon the mouth.
And he said to me: " Thou art mine. "
And to him I said: " I am thine. "
The ashes on my hearth are red, but not with fire.

Then when I had waited many days
He came to me, and all the bells were ringing.

Come all ye tender Nymphs and sighing Swains,
Hear how our Thyrsis, Daphnis death complains
In Notes more sweet he doth his Sorrows tell,
Than the harmonious mournful Philomel .
With his sad Airs let all our Griefs combine,
And sighing Eccho in the Consort joyn;
Till o'er the pittying Plains the Tidings spread,
Pans Darling Daphnis to Eliziums fled:
Daphnis the tunefull'st Youth we knew among,
The softening Swains till gentle Thyrsis Sung.
Thyrsis , whose Muse of all our blooming Grove,

O IT shines so brightly —
O I saw it shine,
I will pluck the floweret,
And it shall be mine.

No! it was no floweret,
'Twas my cherish'd one —
And he shone so brightly,
For with love he shone.

I

Shall we then downcast fare with mournful eyes,
Wear veils of cyprus, swathe ourselves in black,
Because those high-hearted Venturers came not back
To homely solace, from their great emprise?
Shall we, made small by sorrow, send regret
To dog their radiant course, who now are sped
On errands of immortality and fled
Beyond our finitude of toil and fret?

Shall we not rather, knowing them so far

BY THOMAS H. SHREVE .

Mine be the joy which gleams around
The hearth where pure affections dwell —
Where love enrobed in smiles is found,
And wraps the spirit with its spell.

I would not seek excitement's whirl,
Where Pleasure wears her linsel crown,
And Passion's billows upward curl,
'Neath Hatred's darkly gathering frown.

The dearest boon from heaven above,

BY JAMES H. PERKINS .

It is not learning's borrowed gleam,
It is not beauty's holier light,
It is not wealth, that makes thee seem
So lovely in our sight.

The worth may leave Potosi's ore,
Golconda's diamond lose its sheen,
But thine is the exhaustless store
Of innocence serene.

The beauty of the eye must fade,
The beauty of the cheek decay,

Lo! a maid the hemp is weeding
In her master's garden-ground,
And a lark, towards her speeding,
Sings, " Why look so sadly round? "
" Well may I be sad, " she said,
" Well be sad, thou gentle lark!
They my lover have convey'd
To yon castle-dungeon dark:
Had I but a pen to write —
Some sweet words of love I'd send him —
Thou, kind lark! shouldst take thy flight,
And with my kind thoughts attend him.
But I have no pen to treat him
With my love — so gentle bird!
With thy softest music greet him,