I sought for no bewildering lure
Thy senses to beguile,

But checked the woman-playfulness,
The witching tone and smile.

With household look and household word,
And frank as maidens meet,

I dared with earnest, homely truth,
Thy manliness to greet.

For oh! so much of truth was mine,
So much of love beside,

I wished in simple maidenhood
To be thy chosen bride.

Alas! the russet robe no more
Of humble life may tell,

And thou dost say the velvet gear
Becomes my beauty well.

'Twas thy dear hand upon my brow
That bound each sparkling gem,
But dearer far its slightest touch
Than all the wealth of them.

Oh! tell me not of gorgeous robes
Nor bind the jewels there;
And tell me not with those cold eyes
That I am wondrous fair.

I will not chide, I will not blame,
And yet the thought is here,
The thought so fraught with bitterness
It yieldeth me no tear.

I gave thee tenderness too deep

Too deep for aught but tears;

And thou would'st teach the world's cold rule,

Which learned, the heart but seres.

I gave thee all the soul's deep trust

Its truth by sorrow tried;

Nay, start not thou! what hast thou given?

Alas! 'tis but thy pride.

Give back, give back the tenderness

That blessed my simple love,

And call me, as in those dear days,

Thine own, thy gentle dove!

STANZAS WITH A BRIDAL RING.

THE young Moon hides her virgin heart Within a ring of gold;

So doth this little circlet all

My bosom's lave unfold,

And tells the tale that from my lips
Seems ever half untold.

I

Like the rich legend of the east
That never finds a close,
But winds in linked sweetness on,
And lengthens as it goes,
Or like this little cycle still
Returneth whence it flows.

And still as in the elfin ring
Where fairies dance by night,
Shall the green places of the heart
Be kept for ever bright,
And hope within this magic round
Still blossom in delight.

THE OLD LOVE.

THE old love-the old love-
It hath a master spell,

And in its home-the human heart-
It worketh strong and well:
Ay, well and sure it worketh,
And casteth out amain
Intrusive shapes of evil-
A sullen, spectral train:
The serpent, Pride, is crested,
And Hate hath lips of gall;
But the old love-the old love -
'Tis stronger than them all!

Years, weary years have vanished,
Lady, since whispers wrought,
The work that sundered you and me,
With words that poison thought:

Ah! lasting is the sorrow

Of a deep and hidden wound,
When with the coming morrow,
No healing balm is found;
And easy, 'tis with words to hide
The stricken spirit's yearning,
And wear a look of icy pride

When the heart within is burning!

Oh, 'tis a bitter, bitter thing,
Beneath God's holy sky,

To fill that sentient thing, the heart,
With strife and enmity!

Yea, woe to those who plant the sec

That yieldeth naught but doleTo those who thus do murder

God's image in the soul!

Yet silently and softly

The dews of mercy fall:

And the old love-the old love

It triumphs over all.

It was but yestereven

A vision light and free,

From the old and happy dream-land,

Came gliding down to me:

A vision, lady, of the past,
The cottage far away,
Where you and I together
Oft sat at close of day-
Where you and I together

Oft watched the starlit skies,
And the soul of gentle kindness
Beamed on me from your eyes.

And there were gentle voices,
Like some remembered song,
And there were hovering shadows,
A pale and beauteous throng!
They seemed like blessed angels,
Those kindly memories-

That floated on their beaming wings,
To steep the soul in peace!

They smiled upon me softly,
Though ne'er a word was spoke-
And then the golden past came back,
And then-my proud heart broke !.

And, lady, from the vision

I wistful rose to pray,
That unto rolling love might be:
The victory alway:

Oh, many are its cruel foes

A host well armed and strong,
And that fair garnished chamber,
Hath been their dwelling long :
But the old love-the old love-
It hath a master spell,

And in its home-the human heart.
It worketh sure and well!.

WOMAN'S HEART.

SAY, what is Woman's Heart? A thing
Where all the deepest feelings spring;
A harp whose tender chords reply
Unto the touch in harmony;

A world whose fairy scenes are fraught
With all the colour'd dreams of thought;
A bark that still will blindly move
Upon the treach'rous seas of love.

What is its love? A ceaseless stream,
A changeless star, and endless dream;
A smiling flower that will not die,
"A beauty and a mystery;"

Its storms as light as April showers,.
Its joys as bright as April flowers;
Its hopes as sweet as summer air,
And dark as winter its despair.

What are its hopes? Rainbows that throw
A radiant light where'er they go,.
Smiling when heaven is overeast,
Yet melting into storms at last;

I

Bright cheats, that come with siren words, Beguiling it like summer birds,

That stay while nature round them blooms,
But flee away when winter comes.

What is its hate? A passing frown,
A single weed 'mid blossoms sown,
That cannot flourish there for long;
A harsh note in an angel's song,
A summer cloud, that all the while
Is lighten'd by a sun-beam's smile;
A passion that scarce hath a part
Amidst the gems of woman's heart.
And what is its despair? A deep
Fever, that leaves no tears to weep.;
A woe that works with silent power,
As canker-worms destroy a flower;
A viper that shows not it wakes,
Until the heart it preys on breaks;
A mist that robs a star of light,
And wraps it up in darkest night.

AFFECTION.

FROM youth's early day,
To life's fading ray,
Love still is the source of delight,
And its lustre divine

The brighter doth shine,
The darker affliction's sad night.

When the tempest of woe

O'er the bosom shall blow,

And the heart is o'erwhelmed with fears,

'Tis affection alone

For hard fate can atone,

And change into smiles all our tears.

In the moment of death, When life's parting breath Shall fade like the taper in gloom, Affection's sweet smile

Can that moment beguile,

And illumine the path to the tonib!