But I will speak a fair bower into being,
With tender, timid, wistful words and low,
And tune my soul-until, with Heaven agreeing,
It chords with music to which blossoms grow.
And they-the flowers, and I will pray together,
While thou, for "Love's sweet sake," shall join the prayer,
Till all sweet influences of balmy weather,
And lovely scenery make us good and fair.
And ever to our purer aspirations,
A lovelier light and bloom the flowers shall take; With rarer grace shall glow our soul's creations, With mellower music every echo wake.
"We meet in paradise!" To hallowed duty, Here with a loyal and heroic heart,
Bind we our lives-that so divinest beauty
May bless that heaven, where naught our souls can part.
MITHER, BLAME ME NOT FOR LOVING.
MITHER, blame me not for loving,
Wherefore thus sae cruel be?
'Deed I canna frown on Jamie,
When he comes a wooing me,
For I know his bosom's beating
Ever with affection kind,
And, were I to cast him from me,
I might ne'er his equal find.
Then, mither, blame me not for loving,
Wherefore thus sae cruel be?
"Deed I canna frown on Jamie,
When he comes a wooing me.
Though your courting days are over,
You those days remember still;
Know too, that at length when married,
'Twas not, mither, 'gainst your will.
Would you wish your daughter happy,
You can now that bliss impart;
Force me not my hand to give then,
Where I cannot give my heart.
Then, mither, blame me not for loving,
Wherefore thus sae cruel be?
'Deed I canna frown on Jamie,
When he comes a wooing me.
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
BELIEVE me, 'tis no pang of jealous pride
That brings these tears I know not how to hide;
I only grieve because-because-I see
Thou find'st not all thy heart demands in me.
I only grieve that others, who care less
For thy dear love, thy lightest wish may bless;
That while to them thou'rt nothing—all to me -
They may a moment minister to thee!
Ah! if a fairy's magic might were mine,
I'd joy to change with each new wish of thine;
Nothing to all the world beside I'd be,
And everything thou lovest, in turn to thee!
Pliant as clouds, that haunt the sun-god still,
I'd catch each ray of thy prismatic will;
I'd be a flower-a wild, sweet flower I'd be-
And sigh my very life away for thee!
I'd be a gem, and drink light from the sun,
To glad thee with, if gems thy fancy won;
Were birds thy joy, I'd light with docile glee
Upon thy hand, and shut my wings for thee!
Could a wild wave thy glance of pleasure meet,
I'd lay my crown of spray-pearls at thy feet;
Or could a star delight thy heart, I'd be
The happiest star that ever looked on thee!
If music lured thy spirit, I would take
A tune's aërial beauty for thy sake;
And float into thy soul, so I could see
How to become all melody to thee.
The weed, that by the garden blossom grows,
Would, if it could, be as glorious as the rose:
It tries to bloom-its soul to light aspires;
The love of beauty every fibre fires.
And I-no luminous cloud floats by above,
But wins at once my envy and my love-
So passionately wild this thirst in me,
To be all beauty and all grace to thee!
Alas! I am but woman, fond and weak,
Without even power my proud, pure love to speak;
But oh! by all I fail in, love not me
For what I am, but what I wish to be!
LIGHTER than the sunbeam's ray,
Dawning on the sea,
Graceful as a moonlight fay,
Was she who won all hearts away-
Lauralie!
Tresses bright of golden hair,
Flowing wild and free,
Down her cheek beyond compare,
Nestling in her bosom fair-
Lauralie!
By the heaven within her eyes,
Plainly might you see,
She had stolen their glorious dyes
From the laughing summer skies-
Lauralie!
Less beautiful than good and kind,
Pure as snow was she:
All gentle thoughts dwelt in her mind,
By innocence and truth refined-
Lauralie!
A tall knight came, with bearing bold, And tender vows breathed he;
Alas! a tale too often told,
He won her heart, his love waned cold-
Lauralie!
He brought a fair aud haughty bride
From o'er the sea;
And as he feasted at her side,
A maiden sought his feet and died-
Lauralie!
Now both the broken-hearted sleep
Beneath the linden tree;
Above the sod the wild vines creep,
And maidens seek the spot to weep:
Lauralie!
But he the false one!-knows not rest,
Dishonoured now is he;
His faithless bride has left his breast; Oh, well are all thy wrongs redressed, Lauralie!
A maniac wild, he smiles no more,
But wanders by the sea,
And mutters, 'mid the tempest's roar,.
The name he traces on the shore-
Lauralie!
THE RETREAT OF LOVE..
-By heavenly feet thy paths are trod,-
Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne
To which the steps are mountains; where the god
Is a prevading life and light,-so shown
Not on those summits solely, nor alone
In the still cave and forest; o'er the flower
His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown,
His soft and summer breath, whose tender power
Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour.
All things are here of him; from the black pines
That are his shade on high, and the loud roar
Of torrents, where he listeneth; to the vines
Which slope his green path downward to the shore,
Where the bow'd waters meet him and adore,
Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood,
The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar,
But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood,
Offering to him and his a populous solitude.
A populous solitude of bees and birds,
And fairy-form'd and many-colour'd things,
Who worship him with notes more sweet than words.
And innocently open their glad wings,
And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend
Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings
The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend,
Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end.
He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore,
And make his heart a spirit; he who knows
That tender mystery will love the more,
For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes
And the world's waste, have driven him far from those,
For 'tis his nature to advance or die!
He stands not still, but he decays, or grows
Into a boundless blessing, which may vie With the immortal lights, in its eternity.
THERE is a love so fond, so true, No art the magic tie can sever! 'Tis ever beauteous, ever new:
Its chain once link'd is link'd for ever.
There is a love, but passion's beam,-
Too fond, too warm, too bright to last,—
The frenzy of a fever'd dream,
That burns a moment, then is past.
'Tis like the lightning's lurid glare,
That streams its blaze of fatal light,
Flames for an instant through the air,
Then sinks away in deepest night.
There is a love whose feeling rolls
In pure unruffled calmness on,—
The meeting of congenial souls,
Of hearts whose currents flow in one.
It is a blessing that is felt
But by united minds that flow, As sunbeams into sunbeams melt, To light a frozen world below.
There is a love that o'er the war
Of jarring passion pours its light,
And sheds its influence like a star
That brightest burns in darkest night.
It is a love best known to those
Who hand in hand amidst the strife Together have withstood their foes, Together shared the storms of life.
It is so true, se fix'd, so strong,
It parts not with the parting breath;
In the soul's flight 'tis borne along,
And holds the heart's strings e'en in death.
'Tis never quench'd by sorrow's tide:No, 'tis the flame caught from above,— A tie that death can not divide ;—
'Tis the bright torch of wedded love.
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