CONTEMPLATING A HOUSEHOLD GOD .

 Domestic Love! not in proud palace halls
 Is often seen thy beauty to abide;
 Thy dwelling is in lowly cottage walls,
 That in the thickets of the woodbine hide;
 With hum of bees around, and from the side
 Of woody hills some little bubbling spring,
 Shining along through banks with harebells dyed;
 And many a bird to warble on the wing,
When Morn her saffron robe o'er heaven and earth doth fling.

 O! love of loves!—to thy white hand is given
 Of earthly happiness the golden key!

Farewell false Love, thou Oracle of Lyes.
A mortall Foe, an Enymy to reste,
An envious Boy, from whence all cares aryse,
A Bastard borne, a Beast with rage posseste.
A way of Error, a Temple full of Treason,
In all effectes, contrary unto reason.
A poisoned Serpent, coverde all with flowres,
Mother of Sighes, and murtherer of repose.
A Sea of Sorrows, whence ar drawn such showres,
As moisture lends to every grief that growes.
A Poole of guile, a Neste of Deepe Decaipte
A guilded hooke, that holdes a poisoned Bayte.

Most welcome love, thow mortall foe to lies. /
thow roote of life, and ruiner of debate
An Impe of heaven, that troth to vertue ties. /
A soone of choise, that bastard lustes doth hate. /
A waye to fasten fancy most to reason
In all effects, and enemy most to treason. /

A flowre of faith, that will not vade for smart.
mother of trust, and murderer of our woes. /
In sorowes Seas, a Cordiall to the hart
that medcyne gives to every grief that growes
A skoole of witt, a nest of sweet conceit
A percynge eye, that findes a gilt disceit

As the Moon with starry Chitra dwells in azure skies above,
In his lonesome leafy cottage Rama dwelt in Sita's love,

And with Lakshman strong and valiant, quick to labour and obey,
Tales of bygone times recounting Rama passed the livelong day.

And it so befell, a maiden, dweller of the darksome wood,
Led by wand'ring thought or fancy once before the cottage stood,

Surpa-nakha, Raksha maiden, sister of the Raksha lord,
Came and looked with eager longing till her soul was passion-stirred!

" Dearly loved, devoted Sita! daughter of a royal line,
Part we now, for years of wand'ring in the pathless woods is mine,

For my father, promise-fettered, to Kaikeyi yields the sway,
And she wills her son anointed, — fourteen years doth Rama stray,

But before I leave thee, Sita, in the wilderness to rove,
Yield me one more tender token of thy true and trustful love!

Serve my crowned brother, Sita, as a faithful, duteous dame,
Tell him not of Rama's virtues, tell him not of Rama's claim,

With his wedded sons and daughters and his guard in bright array,
To the famed and fair Ayodhya, Dasa-ratha held his way,

And they reached the ancient city decked with banners bright and brave,
And the voice of drum and trumpet hailed the home-returning brave,

Fragrant blossoms strewed the pathway, song of welcome filled the air,
Joyous men and merry women issued forth in garments fair,

And they lifted up their faces and they waved their hands on high,
And they raised the voice of welcome as their righteous king drew nigh.

LOVE AND LIFE

Thy hand I press,
And am not much afraid:
Though danger lie in wait in every glade,
Thou, Love, hast might to comfort and caress
My helplessness.

The way is steep;
But thou wilt soothe its pain;
And when at last the utmost height we gain,
To the soft shelter of thy wings I'll creep,
And sleep — and sleep.

The way is long;
But though I wearied be,

LOVE AND DEATH

A MOMENT , Death! — only a moment more!
She is my all; have pity! stay thy hand!
Behold, a fearful suppliant I stand! —
Take not away what thou canst not restore!

At thy approach the birds have ceased to sing,
The roses of my lintel droop and pine,
The genial sun itself doth coldly shine,
And in thy shadow all seems darkening.

That thou art merciless, as men declare,

Immortal Love, too high for my possessing, —
Yet, lower than thee, where shall I find repose?
Long in my youth I sang the morning rose,
By earthly things the heavenly pattern guessing!
Long fared I on, beauty and love caressing,
And finding in my heart a place for those
Eternal fugitives; the golden close
Of evening folds me, still their sweetness blessing.

Oh, happy we, the first-born heirs of nature,
For whom the Heavenly Sun delays his light!
He by the sweets of every mortal creature
Tempers eternal beauty to our sight;

" AN evil thing is honor, " once of old
The saddest of Italian shepherds sang,
And on his mouth the immortal lyric sprang
That through all ages pours the age of gold:
" Not that the earth untilled her harvests rolled,
The rose no thorn, the serpent had no fang,
The seAno furrow, nowhere ever rang
The battle, but that love was uncontrolled. "

The reminiscence of all lost desire
That love-defrauded hearts dream on for aye,
Hangs in the words, and rises from the lyre,
Whose ecstasy fails not unto this day.