and truthfully fixed! Perennial of life, which grows up under every climate, how small would the sum of man's happiness be without thee! No coldness, no neglect, no harshness, no cruelty, can extinguish thee! Like the fabled lamp in the sepulchre, thou sheddest thy pure light in the human heart, when everything around thee there, is dead for ever!

Carleton.

Her Joyous Love.

And who the first that, springing on the strand,
Leap'd like a nereid from her shell to land,
With dark but brilliant skin, and dewy eye
Shining with love, and hope, and constancy?
Neuha-the fond, the faithful, the adored-
Her heart on Torquil's like a torrent pour'd:
And smiled, and wept, and near, and nearer clasp'd,
As if to be assured 'twas him she grasp'd:
Shudder'd to see his yet warm wound, and then,
To find it trivial, smiled and wept again.
She was a warrior's daughter, and could bear
Such sights, and feel, and mourn, but not despair.
Her lover lived-nor foes nor fears could blight
That full-blown moment in its all delight:

Joy trickled in her tears, joy fill'd the sob

That rock'd her heart till almost heard to throb :
And paradise was breathing in the sigh

Of nature's child in nature's ecstasy.

Byron.

The Inheritor of Love's Kingdom.

Ye gentle Ladies! in whose soveraine powre,
Love hath the glory of his Kingdom left,
And th' Hearts of men, as your eternall dowre,
In yron chaines of Liberty bereft
Delivered hath unto your hands by gift,
Be well aware how ye the same doe use,
That Pride doe not to Tyranny you lift
Least if men you of cruelty accuse,

He from you take that chiefdome which ye doe abuse.

Spenser.

Lovable for Herself.

We love a girl for very different things than understanding. We love her for her beauty, her youth, her mirth, her confidingness, her character, with its faults, caprices, and God knows what other inexpressible charms; but we do not love her understanding. Her mind we esteem (if it is brilliant), and it may greatly elevate her in our opinion; nay more, it may enchain us when we already love. But her understanding is not that which awakens and inflames our passions.

Her Love Letters.

Her letters too,

Though far between, and coming fitfully

Like broken music, written as she found

Goethe.

Or made occasion, being strictly watch'd,
Charm'd him through every labyrinth till he saw
An end, a hope, a light breaking upon him.

Strength of her Maternal Love.

Tennyson.

There is something in sickness that breaks down the pride of manhood, that softens the heart, and brings it back to the feelings of infancy. Who that has languished even in advanced life, in sickness and despondency,—who that has pined on a weary bed, in the neglect and loneliness of a foreign land-but has thought on the mother "that looked on his childhood," that smoothed his pillow, and administered to his helplessness? Oh! there is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son that transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame, and exult in his prosperity; and if adversity overtake him, he will be the dearer to her by misfortune; and if disgrace settle upon his name, she will still love and cherish him; and if all the world beside cast him off, she will be all the world to him.

Washington Irving.

Love Paramount in.

O, speak not lightly of

A lady's love! It is her paramount,

Especial jewel, over which keep guard
All things most rare in her tenacious sex.
Its radiant truth, its fragrant chastity;
Its goodness of the 'haviour of the heavens ;
Its modesty-enchantment of all these-
Setting them off with veil, more rare and rich,
Than ever needle broider'd o'er the loom.

Her Power in Love.

To his eye

J. S. Knowles.

There was but one beloved face on earth,

And that was shining on him; he had look'd
Upon it till it could not pass away;

He had no breath, no being, but in hers;
She was his voice; he did not speak to her,
But trembled on her words; she was his sight,
For his eye follow'd hers, and saw with hers,
Which colour'd all his objects ;-he had ceased
To live within himself; she was his life,
The ocean to the river of his thoughts,
Which terminated all upon a tone,

A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow,
And his cheek change tempestuously.

Her Refined Love.

The kiss so guiltless and refined

That Love each warmer wish forbore; Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind,

Ev'n passion blush'd to plead for more.

Byron.

The tone, that taught me to rejoice,

When prone, unlike thee, to repine ;

The song, celestial from thy voice,

But, sweet to me, from none but thine.

Byron.

Reflective Power of her Love.

As a looking-glass, if it is a true one, faithfully represents the face of him that looks in it, so a wife ought to fashion herself to the affection of her husband; not to be cheerful when he is sad, nor sad when he is cheerful.

Pure Love for, by a rejected Suitor.

Well, thou art happy, and I feel,
That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.

Erasmus.

Thy husband's blest, and 'twill impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot;
But let them pass-oh, how my heart
Would hate him, if he loved thee not!
When late I saw thy favourite child,

I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when th' unconscious infant smiled,
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.

I kiss'd it, and repress'd my sighs,
Its father in its face to see;
But then, it had its mother's eyes,

And they were all to love and me.