IMMORTALITY OF LOVE. O my love's like the melodie That's sweetly played in tune. And I will love thee still my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. ROBERT BURNS. IMMORTALITY OF LOVE. They sin who tell us love can die, In heaven ambition cannot dwell, 79 Its holy flame forever burneth; From heaven it came, to heaven returneth. At times deceived, at times oppressed, Then hath in heaven its perfect rest: But the harvest-time of love is there. Hath she not then, for pains and fears, The day of woe, the watchful night, An overpayment of delight. ROBERT SOUTHEY. CUPID SWALLOWED. T'other day, as I was twining The tiny traitor,-Love himself! By the wings I pinch'd him up 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! 81 PASSAGE FROM MIRANDOLA. My own sweet love! O my dear peerless wife! Woman was ever loved. There is not an hour, 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 Each cherished hope untrue; And think how dark the world would seem SHE. If you were not in love with me 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 Oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life Though the bard to purer fame may soar, Though he win the wise, who frowned before 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 And, at every close, she blushed to hear Oh! that hallowed form is ne'er forgot Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot "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, By those tresses unconfined, 83 |