Valley and wood, without her cuckoo- | When I look up, to drop on a new range Cry, "Speak once more-thou lovest!" That's hardest. If to conquer love has tried, Say thou dost love me, love me, love Yet love me-wilt thou? Open thine Yet I wept for it! this, . . . the paper's light, Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quail'd As if God's future thunder'd on my past. This said, I am thine,-and so its ink has paled heart wide, And fold within the wet wings of thy dove. FIRST time he kiss'd me, he but only kiss'd The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And ever since, it grew more clean and white, Slow to world-greetings, quick with its "Oh, list," When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here, plainer to my sight, Than that first kiss. The second pass'd in height The first, and sought the forehead, and half miss'd, Half falling on the hair. Oh, beyond meed! That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown, With sanctifying sweetness, did precede. With lying at my heart that beat too In perfect, purple state; since when, in I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for right; I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seem'd to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, "I long woo'd your daughter,—my suit you denied ; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; And now am I come, with this lost love of mine To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely, by far, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God That would gladly be bride to the young choose, I shall but love thee better after death. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. LOCHINVAR. Lochinvar." The bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up, He quaff'd off the wine and he threw down the cup. OH, young Lochinvar is come out of the She look'd down to blush, and she look'd West, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best, up to sigh, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her And save his good broadsword he weapons He took her soft hand ere her mother had none, He rode all unarm'd and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young So stately his form, and so lovely her While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, And the bridemaidens whisper'd, ""Twere better by far For a laggard in love and a dastard in To have match'd our fair cousin with (For the poor craven bridegroom said So light to the saddle before her he never a word), “Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord They'll have fleet steeds that follow," Lochinvar?" quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the My heart it said na, and I look'd for Jamie Netherby clan; back; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they But hard blew the winds, and his ship was rode and they ran; a wrack: There was racing and chasing on Cannobie His ship was a wrack-Why didna Jamie Lee, dee? But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did Or, why am I spared to cry, Wae is me! they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in My father urged me sair-my mother didna speak, war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young But she looked in my face till my heart Lochinvar? SIR WALTER SCOTT. AULD ROBIN GRAY. was like to break; They gied him my hand-my heart was in the sea And so Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, when I hadna been his wife a week but only the kye's come hame, When a' the weary warld to rest are four, When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door, I saw my Jamie's ghaist, for I cou'dna think it he, Till he said, "I'm come hame, love, to marry thee!" Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought Oh sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say But saving ae crown-piece, he had naething I gied him ae kiss, and bade him gang beside; awa' To make the crown a pound, my Jamie I wish that I were dead, but I'm na like to dee; gaed to sea; And the crown and the pound, they For, though my heart is broken, I'm but were baith for me! young, Wae is me! spin; He hadna been gane a twelvemonth and I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to a day, When my father brake his arm, and the I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be Said, "Jeanie, oh! for their sakes, will ye O Mary! dear departed shade! no marry me?" Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? That sacred hour can I forget, Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love? Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace; Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thickening, green, The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twined amorous round the raptured scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be press'd, The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, And fondly broods with miser care! Time but the impression deeper makes, As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary, dear departed shade! Where is thy blissful place of rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? ROBERT BURNS. THE LADY'S YES. "YES," I answer'd you last night; "No," this morning, sir, I say: Colors seen by candle-light Will not look the same by day. When the viols play'd their best, Lamps above and laughs below, Love me sounded like a jest, Fit for yes or fit for no. Call me false or call me free, Vow, whatever light may shine,— No man on your face shall see Any grief for change on mine. Yet the sin is on us both; Time to dance is not to woo; Wooing light makes fickle troth, Scorn of me recoils on you. Learn to win a lady's faith Nobly, as the thing is high, Lead her from the festive boards, LADY CLARE. IT was the time when lilies blow, I trow they did not part in scorn: Lovers long betroth'd were they: They two will wed the morrow morn: God's blessing on the day! "He does not love me for my birth, Nor for my lands so broad and fair; He loves me for my own true worth, And that is well," said Lady Clare. In there came old Alice the nurse, Said, "Who was this that went from thee?" "It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, "To-morrow he weds with me." "The old earl's daughter died at my breast; "Falsely, falsely have ye done, O mother," she said, "if this be true, "If I come dress'd like a village maid, Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, Oh, and proudly stood she up! "If I'm a beggar born," she said, "I will speak out, for I dare not lie. Pull off, pull off the brooch of gold, And fling the diamond necklace by." "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, "Nay now, what faith?" said Alice the nurse, "The man will cleave unto his right." "And he shall have it," the lady replied, "Though I should die to-night." "Yet give one kiss to your mother, dear! "Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear, My mother dear, if this be so, And lay your hand upon my head, And bless me, mother, ere I go." She clad herself in a russet gown, She was no longer Lady Clare: The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had Leapt up from where she lay, And follow'd her all the way. Down stepp'd Lord Ronald from his tower: Her heart within her did not fail: He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn: "If you are not the heiress born, ALFRED TENNYSON. LOVE NOT ME FOR COMELY LOVE not me for comely grace, For those may fail, or turn to ill, AUTHOR UNKNOWN. THE LOVELINESS OF LOVE. It is not beauty I demand, A crystal brow, the moon's despair, Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand, Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair: Tell me not of your starry eyes, Your lips that seem on roses fed, |