Star of my Love! I hail again
Thy light on Nights calm, dark, blue, stream,
An absence grief and care and pain
Are as a half forgotten dream:
For she is here whose glances seem
To purify the earth from stain
And lend a more celestial beam
To Heaven and all it's glorious train —
O how our souls with rapture teem!
Star of my Love!

Star of my Love! the holiest shrine

Star of my Love! how brightly burns
Thy mild, pure, tranquil flame, tonight,
Though thousands from their chrystal urns
Are pouring floods of silver light,
In thine alone I take delight,
For one who in my absence mourns
Gazes upon thee in thy flight
And every look I give returns
And therefore dost thou seem so bright
Star of my Love!

Star of my Love! while thus on high

Here all is heartless, hollow, loud
Vain glittering shew and empty sound:
Society's a lonesome crowd,
Pleasure, the same dull tedious round.

One heart to love — one life to press —
One friend to trust — in some wild glen
Were less a waste, O! ten times less,
Than this vast solitude of men.

( OF JAMES LOWELL PUTNAM, IN ATHENÆUM GALLERY .)

A CALM , sweet face, with earnest eyes
And thoughtful brow, full-arched above it,
A mouth whose graveness won surprise,
Whose tender sweetness made one love it;
A face that told how souls aspire
That look beyond to-day's revealing;
A boy, with all of manhood's fire, —
A man, with all of boyhood's feeling.

They told his life, his honored name,

With the robin for poet-laureate,
And the mayflowers for her train,
And her innocence for her robe of state,
The baby began her reign.

The pretty head with its curly crown
Knows nothing of royal woes;
For love is softer than eider-down,
And yieldeth her sweet repose.

There are loyal and loving hearts alone
In the wee one's fair domain;
And they make the robin's song their own,
For he singeth, " Vive la Reine! "

THIS is the baby I love!
The baby that cannot talk;
The baby that cannot walk;
The baby that just begins to creep;
The baby that's cuddled and rocked to sleep;
Oh, this is the baby I love!

This is the baby I love!
The baby that's never cross;
The baby papa can toss;
The baby that crows when held aloft;
The baby that's rosy and round and soft!
Oh, this is the baby I love!

This is the baby I love!
The baby that laughs when I peep
To see is it still asleep;

LOVE SUPREME

You ask what love is? It is this, my own:
To hold all women pure because of you,
Yet give heart reverence unto you alone,
And for your sake be steadfast, brave, and true.

What a dainty life the milkmaid leads!
When over the flowery meads
She dabbles in the dew,
And sings to her cow;
And feels not the pain
Of love or disdain:
She sleeps in the night though she toils in the day,
And merrily passeth her time away.

What a dainty life the milkmaid leads!
When over the flowery meads
She dabbles in the dew,
And sings to her cow;
And feels not the pain
Of love or disdain:
She sleeps in the night though she toils in the day,
And merrily passeth her time away.

I will confesse
With Cheerfulnesse,
Love is a thing so likes me,
That let her lay
On me all day,
Ile kiss the hand that strikes me.

I will not, I,
Now blubb'ring, cry,
It (Ah!) too late repents me,
That I did fall
To love at all,
Since love so much contents me.

No, no, Ile be
In fetters free;
While others they sit wringing
Their hands for paine;
Ile entertaine
The wounds of love with singing.

With Flowers and Wine,

I PRAY thee leave, love me no more,
Call home the Heart you gave me,
I but in vaine that Saint adore,
That can, but will not save me:
These poore halfe kisses kill me quite;
Was ever man thus served?
Amidst an Ocean of Delight,
For Pleasure to be sterved.

Shew me no more those Snowie Brests
With Azure Riverets branched,
Where whilst mine Eye with Plentie feasts,
Yet is my Thirst not stanched.
O Tantalus , thy Paines ne'er tell,
By me thou art prevented;
'Tis nothing to be plagu'd in Hell,