And the truth beholding,

With a kiss divine

EXCELLENT wretch! Perdition catch my soul, But I do love thee !

Stop my rough mouth's scolding ?Bless you, Valentine!

WILLIAM SHAKSPERE.

Othello.

If, should times grow harder,

We have lack of pelf,

Little in the larder,

Less upon the shelf; Will you, never tearful,

Make your old gowns do, Mend my stockings, cheerful,

And pay visits few ? Crave nor gift nor donor

Old days ne'er regret, Seek no friend save Honour, Dread no foe but Debt; Meet ill-fortune steady,

Hand to hand with mine,

Like a gallant lady,—

Will you, Valentine?

Then, whatever weather

Come, or shine, or shade,

We'll set out together,
Not a whit afraid.
Age is ne'er alarming,-
I shall find, I ween,

You at sixty charming

As at sweet sixteen:

Let's pray, nothing loath, dear,

That our funeral may

Make one date serve both, dear,

As our marriage day.
Then, come joy or sorrow,
Thou art mine,-I thine.
So we'll wed to-morrow,
Dearest Valentine.

AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX,
GENTLEMAN."

Thirty Years. (Macmillan.)

[So] they that are to love inclined, Swayed by chance, not choice or art, To the first that's fair, or kind,

Make a present of their heart; 'Tis not she that first we love, But whom dying we approve.

EDMUND WALLER,

SONG.

As drooping fern for dewdrops,
For flowers the bee,
Wave-weary birds for woodlands,
Long I for thee.

As rivers seek the ocean,
Tired things their nest,

As storm-worn ships their haven,
Seek I thy breast.

JOHN TODHUNter.
Forest Songs. (K. Paul.)

I HEAR thy voice, I see thy smile,

I look upon thy folded hair;
Ah! while we dream not they beguile,
Our hearts are in the snare.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

CALIFORNIA MADRIGAL.

ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.

Oн, come, my beloved! from thy winter abode, From thy home on the Yuba, thy ranch over

flowed;

For the waters have fallen, the winter has fled, And the river once more has returned to its bed.

Oh, mark how the spring in its beauty is near! How the fences and tules once more reappear! How soft lies the mud on the banks of yon slough

By the hole in the levee the waters broke through!

All Nature, dear Chloris, is blooming to greet
The glance of your eye, and the tread of your feet;
For the trails are all open, the roads are all free,
And the highwayman's whistle is heard on the lea.

Again swings the lash on the high mountain trail, And the pipe of the packer is scenting the gale ; The oath and the jest ringing high o'er the plain, Where the smut is not always confined to the grain.

Once more glares the sunlight on awning and roof, Once more the red clay's pulverized by the hoof, Once more the dust powders the "outsides" with red,

Once more at the station the whiskey is spread.

Then fly with me, love, ere the summer's begun, And the mercury mounts to one hundred and one; Ere the grass now so green shall be withered and

sear,

In the spring that obtains but one month in the year.

BRET HARte. Poetical Works. (Routledge.)

Now gallants gay in pride of youth,
Say, would you win the fair one's ear?
Your votive pray'r be short and sooth,

And whisper low, and she will hear.
The matin bell may loudly tell

The bridal morn, when all may hear;
But at the time of vesper chime—
Oh! whisper low in beauty's ear.

SAMUEL LOver.
Poetical Works. (Routledge.)

(He) Oh! then when we shall have lost
All the rainless nights and days,
May there come the icy frost

That shall harden all the ways,
And the path o'er hill and lea,
So that when the moon may show
Us the way we have to go,
You at whiles may climb the stiles
Along with me.

(She) No. For when the icy side

Of the knap is hard as steel,
Then I fear that I may slide,

And fall back from on my heel,
Though for all that, we may see
That with shoes more roughly soled,

And with steps that better hold
You some night, when it is light,
May come to me.

(He) Oh! As if I wished to rub My two elbows in a crowd, And would seek a talking club To hear voices high and loud. 'Tis but you I care to see.

(She) I might see you at the gate,

And it might not be too late,
By the green old ivy screen,
To talk with me.

WILLIAM BARNES.

A TALK.

(He) THOUGH the summer goes too soon, And the winter comes too quick,

Yet the bird sings out a tune,

Up above the thatched rick,

And 'tis dry below the tree.

So a little longer yet,

Even though the sun be set, You can rove up in the grove Along with me.

LOVE me, lady, dearly,

If you'll be so good; Though I don't see clearly On what ground you should.

C. S. CALVERLEY. Fly Leaves. (Bell.)

Sure, I thought, this stately maiden.

Struts her hour with dainty art, But behind this masquerading

Keeps, I'll swear, a guileless heart. Let me look into thine eye,

Through thine eye into thy soul, Of deep thoughts and fancies high The living-ciphered book unroll! I am sick of polished faces,

Smiles tricked out for fashion's mart; Worth a thousand practised graces,

Show me, show me, maid, thy heart! J. S. BLACKIE. Lyrical Poems. (D. Douglas, Edinburgh.)

SELF-EVIDENT.

WHEN other lips and other eyes
Their tales of love shall tell,
Which means the usual sort of lies

You've heard from many a swell; When, bored with what you feel is bosh, You'd give the world to see

A friend whose love you know will wash, O, then remember me !

When Signor Solo goes his tours,
And Captain Craft's at Ryde,
And Lord Fitzpop is on the moors,
And Lord knows who beside;
When to exist you feel a task,
Without a friend at tea,
At such a moment I but ask
That you'll remember me.

J. R. PLANCHÉ. Songs and Poems. (Chatto and Windus.)

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LET ME LOOK INTO THINE EYE!

LET me look into thine eye,
Through thine eye into thy soul,
Draw the curtain from the sky,
Where the living pictures roll!
I am weary of smooth faces,

Looks that play a pretty part,
Shallow smiles and gay grimaces;
Show me, show me, maid, thy heart!

When in gay saloon I found thee

Sailing proudly, like a queen,
With a host of fops around thee,

Through the fair and flaunting scene;

YOUR eyes, my love, are brightly blue,
And brightly golden are your tresses,
Your very looks are billets doux,
That go at once to their addresses.

H. S. LEIGH.
Gillott and Goosequill.

(British and Colonial Publishing Co.)

LOVE AND NURSING.

(From "The Widow Mysie.")

O HEAVEN! in what strange Enchanter's den Learnt she the spells wherewith she conquer'd

men?

When to that chamber she had won her way,
The old man's cheeks grew brighter every day;
She smooth'd the pillows underneath his head,
She brought sweet music round about his bed;
She made the very mustard-blisters glow
With fire as soft as youthful lovers know;
The very physic bottles lost their gloom
And seem'd like little fairies in the room;
The very physic, charm'd by her, grew fine,
Rhubarb was nectar, castor-oil was wine.
Half darkly, dimly, yet with secret flame,
That titillated up and down his frame,
The grim old man lay still, with hungry eye
Watching her thro' the room on tiptoe fly ;-
She turn'd her back-his cheek grew dull and dim!
She turn'd her face-its sunshine fell on him!

Better and better every day grew he,
Colder and colder grew his nurse to me,
Till up he leapt, with fresh new life astir,
And only sank again-to kneel to her!

ROBERT BUCHANAN.
Poetical Works, Vol. II.

I LOVE the broad bright world of snow, And every strange device

Which makes the woods a frozen show, The rivers hard and still; but oh,

Ne'er loved a heart of ice!

T. B. READ.

UPON A DELAYING LADY.

COME, Come away,

Or let me go ;

Must I here stay
Because you're slow,
And will continue so;
-Troth, lady, no.

I scorn to be

A slave to state;

And since I'm free,

I will not wait,
Henceforth at such a rate,
For needy fate.

If you desire

My spark should glow,

The peeping fire

You must blow;

Or I shall quickly grow To frost, or snow.

ROBERT HERRICK.

LET not you and I inquire

What has been our past desire;
On what shepherds you have smiled,
Or what nymphs I have beguiled;
Leave it to the planets too,
What we shall hereafter do;

For the joys we now may prove,
Take advice of present love.

EDMUND WALLER.

LINES SUGGESTED BY THE FOURTEENTH OF FEBRUARY.

ERE the morn the East has crimsoned, When the stars are twinkling there, (As they did in Watts's hymns, and

Made him wonder what they were :) When the forest-nymphs are beading Fern and flower with silvery dew-My infallible proceeding

Is to wake, and think of you.

When the hunter's ringing bugle
Sounds farewell to field and copse,
And I sit before my frugal

Meal of gravy-soup and chops:
When (as Gray remarks) "the moping
Owl doth to the moon complain,"
And the hour suggests eloping-

Fly my thoughts to you again.

May my dreams be granted never?
Must I aye endure affliction
Rarely realized, if ever,

In our wildest works of fiction?
Madly Romeo loved his Juliet ;
Copperfield began to pine

When he hadn't been to school yetBut their loves were cold to mine.

Give me hope, the least, the dimmest,
Ere I drain the poisoned cup:
Tell me I may tell the chymist

NOT to make that arsenic up!
Else the heart must cease to throb in
This my breast; and when, in tones
Hushed, men ask, "Who killed Cock Robin?”
They'll be told, "Miss Clara J-s."

C. S. CALVERLEY. Verses and Translations. (Deighton, Bell, and Co.)

[By kind permission of the Author, and of Messrs. Deighton, Bell, and Co.]

But should that bliss be still denied,

Still fortune frown above me, Thou'lt be my choice-though not my bride, Then love me, dearest! Love me!

SAMUEL LOVER. Poetical Works. (Routledge.)

"Love not! love not!" ah, false song! Oh, but 'tis the spelling's wrong! Viewed with K before the N Everything is altered then!

K left out, the "not," you'll find,

N ever could be one to bind !

Oh, these words of ours! why not

Turn the "love not!" to "love-knot"?

No sentiments in which we were not sharers
(Think what a host of rubbish that would spare us);
The summer months no milder than the rest are,
For e'en when winter comes, no cold nor'-wester
Shall roughly visit that soft cheek, sweet girl,
No air e'er brush that ere hair out of curl;
Whereof, perhaps, the wonder's not so great,
Because there is no heir to the estate.
Dost like the picture, love, or are you bored?
F. TALFOUKD.

Pluto and Proserpine. (French.)

Pluto (embarrassed). In the Isle of Skye.

Thy days all cloudless sunshine shall remain,
For on our pleasure we will ne'er draw rein:
At noon we'd sit beneath the vine-arched bowers,
And, losing all our calculating powers,
Think days but minutes-reckoning by ours;
Darkness shall be at once with light replaced,
When my hand lights on that light taper waist;
Our friends should all true constant lovers be
(So we should not be bored with company);
Love's Entertainments only would we seek,
And sending up to Mudie's once a week,
No tales that were not Lover's we'd bespeak,

A SENSIBLE LOVER.

I NEVER-never did desire

A maiden blest with "eyes of fire ;"
Because such flaming things mayhap
Might singe, if not consume, a chap.

I never did a liking show

For maid whose "bosom was of snow ;"
Because frost-bitten one might be,
From hugging such a girl as she.
The maid with lips "like cherries ripe"
Has never been my passion's type;—
Because, when autumn time had come,
You'd have to pick 'em-which is rum!
Nor is the maid, who boasts a cheek
"Just like a peach," the one I seek:

I never be the truth revealed-
Enjoy a peach that isn't peeled.

The maid whose brow is "ivory white"
Would never give my heart delight:
Although its good for paper-knives,

I don't like ivory in wives.

One taste I with the poets share-
I like a maid "with golden hair ;”—
But would she let me-deuce is in't!—
Shave it, and send it to the Mint !

My notion of a girl is this-
A girl that one may hug and kiss;
No ivory, or gold, or snow,

Or fire, or peach, or cherry!-No!
But just a girl-as girls now go.

THOMAS HOOD THE YOUNGER.
Poems Humorous and Pathetic.
(Chatto and Windus.)