There be three things real in all the earth:
Mother-love, Death, and a Little Child's mirth.

I saw it ripen, saw it redden
Upon the garden tree —
And who shall gather thee, sweet maiden!
O, who shall gather thee.

I cannot reach so high, sweet maiden!
I cannot reach so high —
Will distance love's delusions deaden?
Farewell! — I go — I'll try.

No wonder now, if mistes beclowde our day,
Sith late our earth lakes her celestiall Ray;
And Phaebus murnes his priest, and all his quire,
In sables wrapt, weep out their sacred fire;
Farewell, of Latin Muses greatest praise,
Whether thou read graue proses, or did raise
Delight and wonder by a numbrous straine;
Farewell, Quintilian once more dead againe;
With ancient Plautus, Martiall combined,
Maro and Tullie, here in one enshrined.
Bright Ray of learning, which so cleare didst streame,
Farewell, soule which so many soules did frame.

Sylvia, forbear the Youth to blame,
Who would have fain with you been bless'd;
The Youth who realy felt a Flame,
Strong as the Words in which express'd;
Who than your Wishes could have been more kind,
And so remain'd as long as Love could bind.

Well you remember how he strove,
How at your Feet he sighing lay,
How many Times you scorn'd his Love,
E'er he receiv'd the dreadful Nay:
But Fire itself, against a Marble Stone,
Will by Degrees do as his Love has done.

Had but your Lips or Eyes betray'd

O mother! thou art chang'd since erst
Thy love thine infant daughter nurst;
Sweet songs that infant daughter heard —
Another babe is now preferr'd.

When I was weak and young and small,
O! thou wert love and kindness all;
Now if a youth but speak to me,
I hear reproachful words from thee.

R EPROACH me not — my mother, now!
But let me take the marriage vow —
At love's soft name my bosom sighs,
And love is bursting from mine eyes.

Long aeons since, in leafy woodlands sweet,
Diana, weary with the eager chase,
Was wont to seek full oft some trysting-place
Loved of her rosy train; some cool retreat
Of crystal springs, deep-bowered from the heat
Of sultry noon, wherein each subtle grace
Of snowy form and radiant flower-face,
Narcissus-like, goddess and nymph might greet.
Diana long hath fleeted 'yond the main;
The founts which erst she loved are all bereft;
No more 'mid violet-banks her feet are set;
Silent her silvern bugle, fled her train;

The shepherdess within a sunny grove,
In the black wood, a shepherd — watch'd their sheep,
" O come to me, sweet love!
Come hither! thou shalt keep
Joy in my bosom treasur'd deep. "

BY JAMES H. PERKINS .

Oh! merry, merry be the day,
 And bright the star of even—
For 't is our duty to be gay,
And tread in holy joy our way;
 Grief never came from Heaven,
My love—
 It never came from Heaven.

Then let us not, though woes betide,
 Complain of Fortune's spite, love;
As rock-encircled trees combine,
And nearer grow, and closer twine,
 So let our hearts unite,
My love—
 So let our hearts unite.

And though the circle here be small

Oh, Love is full of high disdains,
And Passion sharp with bitter pains:
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Love is a rose that holds a bee,
Which stings and dies; but what care we?
The rose remains!

I

When I was young, and wanton, wide-eyed Life
Teased me from sleeping, Love himself did come
Me to console and learn to dream awake.
With heavenly toys my pillow he bestrewed,
Gifts of Dame Venus in his babyhood —
The little mirror that had held her face;
A golden shoe that Pegasus had cast,
One of her dove's bright plumes, an irised edge
Broke from the shell she lay in at her birth:
A rose kissed open by immortal lips.
All night I with the pretty baubles played,
Then asked his name, not knowing him who he was.