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IMMORTALITY OF LOVE.

O my love's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I;

And I will love thee still my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will love thee still my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee well, my only love!

And fare thee well awhile! And I will come again, my love, Though it were ten thousand mile. ROBERT BURNS.

IMMORTALITY OF LOVE.

They sin who tell us love can die,
With life all other passions fly,
All others are but vanity;

In heaven ambition cannot dwell,
Nor avarice in the vaults of hell;

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Earthly these passions of the earth,
They perish where they have their birth;
But love is indestructible:

Its holy flame forever burneth;

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.
Too oft on earth a troubled guest,

At times deceived, at times oppressed,
It here is tried and purified,

Then hath in heaven its perfect rest:
It soweth here with toil and care,
But the harvest-time of love is there.
Oh! when a mother meets on high
The babe she lost in infancy,
Hath she not then, for pains and fears,
The day of woe, the watchful night,
For all her sorrow, all her tears,
An overpayment of delight.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

CUPID SWALLOWED.

T'other day, as I was twining
Roses, for a crown to dine in,
What, of all things, midst the heap,
Should I light on, fast asleep,
But the little desperate elf,
The tiny traitor,-Love himself!

By the wings I pinch'd him up

Like a bee, and in a cup

Of my wine I plunged and sank him;

And what d'ye think I did?-I drank him!

TWO SIDES OF IT.

Faith, I thought him dead. Not he!
There he lives with tenfold glee;
And now this moment, with his wings
I feel him tickling my heart-strings.
LEIGH HUNT.

PASSAGE FROM MIRANDOLA.

My own sweet love! O my dear peerless wife!
By the blue sky and all the crowding stars,
I love you better-oh, far better than
Woman was ever loved. There is not an hour,
Of day or dreaming night but I am with thee;
There's not a wind but whispers of thy name,
And not a flower that sleeps beneath the moon
But in its hues or fragrance tells a tale of thee.
BARRY CORNWALL.

TWO SIDES OF IT

HE.

If you were but in love with me

As I, dear, am with you—

Think how your heart would grieve to see

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Each cherished hope untrue;

And think how dark the world would seem
At the sad ending of your dream!

SHE.

If you were not in love with me
As I am not with you,
Imagine how you'd long to flee
As I now yearn to do-

Think, think, oh think! how bored you'd be If you were not in love with me.

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.

Oh! the days are gone when Beauty bright My heart's chain wove!

When my dream of life, from morn till night,
Was love, still love!
New hope may bloom,
And days may come
Of milder, calmer beam,

But there's nothing half so sweet in life
As Love's young dream!

Oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life
As Love's young dream!

Though the bard to purer fame may soar,
When wild youth's past;

Though he win the wise, who frowned before

To smile at last;

He'll never meet

A joy so sweet,

In all his noon of fame,

MAID OF ATHENS.

As when first he sang to woman's ear
His soul-felt flame,

And, at every close, she blushed to hear
The one loved name!

Oh! that hallowed form is ne'er forgot
Which first love traced;

Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot
On memory's waste!
'Twas odor fled

As soon as shed;

'Twas morning's wingéd dream; "Twas a light that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream!

Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream.

THOMAS MOORE.

MAID OF ATHENS.

Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear my vow before I go,
My dearest life, I love thee.

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By those tresses unconfined,
Wooed by each Egean wind;

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