SONNET.

LOVE in thy heart like living waters rose,

Thine own self lost in the abounding flood; So that with thee joy, comfort, thy life's good, Thy youth's delights, thy beauty's freshest rose, Were trash thy unregretful bounty chose Before loved feet for softness to be strewed. Such were thy mortal temperings. Above those Perfect, unstained, celestial, the clear brood Of thy divine affections rose; white congress, With brows devout, and upward-winging eyes, At whose graced feet sacred Humility lies; Truthfulness, Patience, Wisdom, Gentleness, Faith, Hope, and Charity, the golden three, And Love which casts out fear,-this was the sum of thee.

WILLIAM CALDWELL ROSCOE.

A

So

TO MY MOTHER.

S Winter, in some mild autumnal days,

Breathes such an air as youngest Spring discloses, age in thee renews an infant's grace,

And clothes thy cheek in soft November roses.
Time hath made friends with Beauty in thy face,
And, since the wheeling Fates must be obeyed,
White rime upon thy gracious head he lays,
But whispers gently not to be afraid ;

And tenderly, like one that leads the blind,

He soothes thy lingering footsteps to the gate,
While that great Angel, who there keeps his state,
Smiles to behold with what slow feet he moves.
Move slower, gentlier yet, O Time! or find
A way to fix her here, bound by our filial loves.
WILLIAM CALDWELL Roscoe,

LOVE ON EARTH.

WHAT wonder man should fail to stay

A nursling wafted from above,

The growth celestial come astray,
That tender growth whose name is Love.

It is as if high winds in heaven

Had shaken the celestial trees,

And to this earth below had given
Some feathered seeds from one of these.

O perfect love that 'dureth long!

Dear growth that, shaded by the palms,
And breathed on by the angels' song,
Blooms on in heaven's eternal calms !

How great the task to guard thee here,
Where wind is rough and frost is keen,
And all the ground with doubt and fear

Is chequered, birth and death between!

Space is against thee-it can part;
Time is against thee-it can chill;
Words they but render half the heart;
Deeds—they are poor to our rich will.

JEAN INGELOW.

TO A FRIEND.

WHEN we were idlers with the loitering rills,

The need of human love we little noted;

Our love was Nature; and the peace that floated
On the white mist, and dwelt upon the hills,
To sweet accord subdued our wayward wills.
One soul was ours, one mind, one heart devoted,
That, wisely doting, asked not why it doted,
And ours the unknown joy which knowing kills.
But now I find how dear thou wert to me;
That man is more than half of nature's treasure,
Of that fair beauty which no eye can see,

Of that sweet music which no ear can measure :
And now the streams may sing for others' pleasure,
The hills sleep on in their eternity.

HARTLEY COLERIDGE.

THE REVELATION.

N idle poet, here and there,

ΑΝ

Looks round him, but, for all the rest,

The world, unfathomably fair,

Is duller than a witling's jest.

Love wakes men, once a lifetime each;
They lift their heavy lids and look ;
And, lo, what one sweet page can teach
They read with joy, then shut the book.

And some give thanks, and some blaspheme,
And most forget: but, either way,
That, and the Child's unheeded dream,
Is all the light of all their day.

COVENTRY PATMORE.

WHAT WERE I, LOVE.

WHAT were I, Love, if I were stripped of thee,

If thine eyes shut me out whereby I live,

Thou who unto my calmer soul dost give
Knowledge, and truth, and holy mystery,
Wherein truth mainly lies for those who see
Beyond the earthly and the fugitive,
Who in the grandeur of the soul believe,
And only in the Infinite are free?

Without thee I were naked, bleak, and bare

As yon dead cedar on the sea-cliff's brow;
And Nature's teachings, which come to me now
Common and beautiful as light and air,
Would be as fruitless as a stream which still
Slips through the wheel of some old ruined mill.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

192

ETERNAL LOVE.

LEAVE me, O love which reachest but to dust,

And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things; Grow rich in that which never taketh rust; Whatever fades but fading pleasure brings. Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be, Which breaks the clouds and opens forth the light That doth both shine and give us sight to see. Oh, take fast hold let that light be thy guide

In this small course which birth draws out to death, And think how evil becometh him to slide,

Who seeketh heaven and comes of heavenly breath. Then farewell, world, thy uttermost I see:

Eternal Love, maintain thy love in me!

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.