L

IKE an island in a river,

Art thou, my love, to me ;
And I journey by thee ever
With a gentle ecstasie.

I arise to fall before thee,

I come to kiss thy feet;
To adorn thee and adore thee,
Mine only one! my sweet!

And thy love hath power upon me,
Like a dream upon a brain;

For the loveliness which won me,

With the love, too, doth remain. And

my life it beautifieth

Though love be but a shade, Known of only ere it dieth,

By the darkness it hath made.

PHILIP JAMES BAILEY.

THE TREASURE-SHIP.

Y heart is freighted full of love,
As full as any argosy,.

With gems below and gems above,
And ready for the open sea ;

For the wind is blowing summerly.

Full strings of nature's beaded pearl,
Sweet tears! composed in amorous ties

And turkis-lockets, that no churl
Hath fashioned out mechanic-wise,

But all made up of thy blue eyes.

And girdles wove of subtle sound,
And thoughts not trusted to the air,
Of antique mould,-the same as bound,

In Paradise, the primal pair,

Before Love's art and niceness were.

And carcanets of living sighs;

Gems that have dropped from Love's own stem,

And one small jewel that I prize

The darling gaud of all of them-
I wot, so rare and fine a gem
Ne'er glowed on Eastern anadem.

I've cased the rubies of thy smiles,
In rich and triply-plated gold;
But this no other wealth defiles,
Itself, itself can only hold-
The stealthy kiss on Maple-wold.

RICHARD, LORD HOUGHTON.

I.

EEK not the tree of silkiest bark

And balmiest bud,

To carve her name while yet 'tis dark

Upon the wood.

The world is full of noble tasks,

And wreaths hard won :

Each work demands strong hearts, strong hands,

Till day is done.

II.

Sing not that violet-veinèd skin,

That cheek's pale roses,

The lily of that form wherein

Her soul reposes:

Forth to the fight, true man, true knight;

The clash of arms

Shall more prevail than whispered tale

To win her charms.

SEEK NOT THE TREE of silkieST BARK. 95

The warrior for the True, the Right,
Fight's in Love's name:

The love that lures thee from that fight
Lures thee to shame :

The love which lifts the heart, yet leaves

The spirit free,

That love, or none, is fit for one

Man-shaped, like thee.

AUBREY DE VERE.