The sound of Love still rings within my ears,
Still from my eyes in silence flow sweet tears,
Nor night nor day can give my anguish rest;
Love charms have fixed one thought within my breast.
O winged fancies, are your wings in vain,
Have you no strength to fly from me again?

All have heard the grim old legend of the ship that ever sailed
Round the Cape, for ever baffled, labouring on though nought availed;
Ghostly bark that ever struggled through the wild encircling deep,
Phantom sails that flashed on sailors startled from their midnight sleep.

Sudden, through the pitchy darkness loomed the great ship — gaunt it gleamed
Guided by the death-pale pilot, when the lurid lightning beamed:
For one moment there it glittered — then it vanished in the gloom,
Working out through nights eternal its eternity of doom

Give me that rose!
It rests, it blows,
Next to your heart, my sweet.
That flower to which such favour has been shown
Amid Song's deathless flowers shall win a throne
From which to watch the baffled years retreat;
Give me that rose!

Give me that rose:
Our moment goes;

Fair is love whose footstep wanders
'Mid the sunny meads of spring;
Love that smiles and laughs and ponders
While the swallow's on the wing;
Fair and tender,
Full of splendour,
Full of thoughts the roses bring
— — Full of dreams the roses bring.

Sweet is love when fervent summer
Fills the fields with flowers and fruit;
When strong passion, swift-winged comer,
Wakes wild echoes with his lute;
Songs of sweeter

What adds a beauty to the rose?
The thought that, when the night-wind blows,
The petals white or petals pink
At his cold touch may fail and shrink.
This gives its beauty to the flower —
That it but blooms and lives one hour.
The sun gives charm. What gives it more?
The Shadow waiting at the door.

The sweetest hour may swiftly pass:
Brown are these blades, that once were grass.
Blue eyes, gold hair, they are but shows;
Death takes them, as it takes the rose.
Love draws such eager passionate breath

O charity! thou heav'nly grace,
All-tender, soft, and kind,
A friend to all the human race,
To all that's good inclin'd!

The man of charity extends
To all his helping hand;
His kindred, neighbors, foes, and friends,
His pity may command.

He aids the poor in their distress;
He hears when they complain;
With tender heart delights to bless,
And lessen all their pain.

The sick, the pris'ner, deaf, and blind,
And all the sons of grief,
In him a benefactor find;
He loves to give relief.

Am IDSUMMER S ONNET

In Winter gifts at Learning's feet we fling:
The sunshine finds us, but through poets' pages;
The stars gleam, but the stars of bygone ages;
Spenser wreathes Winter with the bloom of Spring
The birds are silent, but the poets sing:
In Shelley's verse the undying Summer glows;
At Keats' touch smiles again the frost-nipped rose,
And Virgil rules mid-winter like a king.

" How sweet the world can be! "

I.

The world was sweet to some, love,
'Twas sweet perhaps to thee,
Long years before we met, love,
And just as blue the sea.
But never till we met, love,
Were all things sweet to me;
I never, never, knew, love,
How sweet this world can be!

II.

No doubt the sea was blue, love,
And white the white may-tree —
But I, I never knew, love,

The Night was dark, the rain fell fast,
The wind made sullen moan;
Too oft the wine cup round had passed
And I was all alone.
Yet Love was victor; I to Moschus came
And drenched and shivering called on his dear name.

But none gave answer: such return
He renders to my love.
How long, dear God! for thou didst learn
Thyself these pains to prove.
Ah would that he in grief might wander so
And ne'er a door for place of refuge know.

THOU WAST A BLOSSOM

Thou wast a blossom by the deep
Still rivers that in heaven sleep;
Thou wast a white bud then:
Thou camest forth to fling thine arms
And all thy flower-sweet countless charms
Around the hearts of men.

Who loveth thee, he loves indeed
For many a year without love's meed,
For who can win a flower?
But when the sweet day comes, he takes
A bride more pure than bloom that shakes