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LVIII.

Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea ;

The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; But 0 too fond, when have I answered thee?

Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: what answer should I give?

I love not hollow cheek or faded eye:

Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die ! Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live;

Ask me no more.

Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal'd:

I strove against the stream and all in vain :

Let the great river take me to the main ! No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield;

Ask me no more.

A. Tennyson.

LIX.

There be none of Beauty's daughters

With a magic like Thee:
And like music on the waters

Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull’d winds seem dreaming :

And the midnight moon is weaving

Her bright chain o'er the deep,
Whose breast is gently heaving

As an infant's asleep
So the spirit bows before thee
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.

Byron.

They know not my heart who believe there can be
One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee;
Who think, while I see thee in beauty's young hour,
As pure as the morning's first dew on the flower,
I could harm what I love-as the sun's wanton ray
But smiles on the dew-drop to waste it away.
No-beaming with light as those young features are;
There's a light round thy heart which is lovelier far:
It is not that cheek—'tis the soul dawning clear
Through its innocent blush makes thy beauty so dear;
As the sky we look up to, tho' glorious and fair,
Is looked up to the more, because Heaven lies there!

T. Moore.

LXI.

CHASTELARD'S SONG.

Après tant de jours, après tant de pleurs,
Soyez secourable à mon âme en peine.
Voyez comme Avril fait l'amour aux fleurs ;
Dame d'amour, dame aux belles couleurs,
Dieu vous a fait belle, Amour vous fait reine.
Rions, je t'en prie; aimons je le veux.
Le temps fuit et rit et ne revient guère
Pour baiser le bout de tes blonds cheveux,
Pour baiser tes cils, ta bouche et tes yeux;
L'amour n'a qu'un jour auprès de sa mere.

A. C. Swinburne.

LXII.

A CHAIN.

The bond that links our souls together;
Will it last through stormy weather?
Will it moulder and decay
As the long hours pass away?.
Will it stretch if Fate divide us,
When dark and weary hours have tried us ?
Oh, if it look too poor and slight
Let us break the links to-night!

It was not forged by mortal hands,
Or clasped with golden bars and bands;
Save thine and mine, no other eyes
The slender link can recognize :
In the bright light it seems to fade-
And it is hidden in the shade;
While Heaven nor Earth have ever heard,
Or solemn vow, or plighted word.

Yet what no mortal hand could make,
No mortal power can ever break;
What words or vows could never do,
No words or vows can make untrue ;
And if to other hearts unknown
The dearer and the more our own,
Because too sacred and divine
For other eyes, save thine and mine.

And see, tho' slender, it is made
Of Love and Trust, and can they fade?
While, if too slight it seem, to bear
The breathings of the summer air,
We know that it could bear the weight
Of a most heavy heart of late,
And as each day and hour flew,
The stronger for its burthen grew.

And, too, we know and feel again
It has been sanctified by pain,
For what God deigns to try with sorrow
He means not to decay tomorrow;
But thro’ that fiery trial last
When earthly ties and bonds are past;
What slighter things dare not endure
Will make our Love more safe and pure.

Love shall be purified by Pain,
And Pain be soothed by Love again :
So let us now take heart and go
Cheerfully on thro' joy and woe:
No change the summer sun can bring,
Or the inconstant skies of spring,
Or the bleak winter's stormy weather,
For we shall meet them, Love, together!

Miss Procter.

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