Oh you, for whom I write! whose hearts can melt
At the soft thrilling voice whose power you prove,
You know what charm, unutterably felt,
Attends the unexpected voice of Love!
Above the lyre, the lute's soft notes above,
With sweet enchantment to the soul it steals,
And bears it to Elysium's happy grove;
You best can tell the raptures Psyche feels
When love's ambrosial lip the vows of Hymen
seals.
Mrs. Tighe's Psyche.

Oh! have you never known the silent charm
That undisturb'd retirement yields the soul,
Where no intruder might your peace alarm,
And tenderness have wept without control,
While melting fondness o'er the bosom stole?
Did fancy never, in some lonely grove,
Abridge the hours which must in absence roll!
Those pensive pleasures did you never prove,
Oh, you have never lov'd! You know not what is
love!
Mrs. Tighe's Psyche.
Man may despoil his brother man of all
That's great or glittering-kingdoms fall-hosts
yield-

Friends fail- slaves fly-and all betray, and,

more

Than all, the most indebted - but a heart
That loves without self-love! "Tis here! now
prove it.
Byron's Sardanapalus.

Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose,
Who never feel the void, the wandering thought
such as mine hath
That sighs o'er visions.
Byron's Giaour.

wrought.
Yes, love indeed is light from heaven,
A spark of that immortal fire
With angels shar'd, by Alla given,
To lift from earth our low desire.
Devotion wafts the mind above,
But heaven itself descends in love;
A feeling from the god-head caught,
To wean from self each sordid thought;
A ray
of him who form'd the whole :

it;

And, in its stead, a heaviness of heartA weakness of the spirit-listless days, And nights inexorable to sweet sleep,

Have come upon me.

Byron's Heaven and Earth.
Even

Alas' what else is love but sorrow?
He who made the earth and love, had soon to grieve
Above its first and best inhabitants.

Byron's Heaven and Earth.

My Adah! let me call thee mine, Albeit thou art not: 'tis a word I cannot

Part with, although I must from thee.

Love will find its way

Byron's Giaour.

For soon or late love is his own avenger.

And sterner hearts alone can feel The wound that time can never heal.

Thus passions fire and woman's art, Can turn and tame the sternest heart; From these its form and tone are ta'en, And what they make it, must remain, But break-before it bend again.

Upon his hand she laid her own—
Light was the touch, but it thrill'd to the bone,
And shot a chillness to his heart,
Which fix'd him beyond the power to start.
Byron's Siege of Corinth.
Yes it was love—if thoughts of tenderness,
Tried in temptation, strengthen'd by distress,
Unnov'd by absence, firm in every clime,
And yet-oh more than all! untired by time,
Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile,
Could render sullen were she near to smile,
Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to vent
On her one murmur of his discontent;
Which still would meet with joy, with calmness
part,

Lest that his look of grief should reach her heart;
Which nought removed, nor menaced to remove
If there be love in mortals-this was love!

Byron's Corsair.

Why did she love him? curious fool! be still-
Is human love the growth of human will?
To her he might be gentleness; the stern
Have deeper thoughts than your dull eyes discern,
And when they love, your smilers guess not how
Beats the strong heart, though less the lips avow.
Byron's Lara
All the stars of heaven,
The deep blue moon of night, lit by an orb
Which looks a spirit, or a spirit's world-
The hues of twilight-the sun's gorgeous coming-
His setting indescribable, which fills
My eyes with pleasant tears as I behold
Him sink, and feel my heart float softly with him
Along the western paradise of clouds-
The forest shade-the green bough—the bird's

voice,

The vesper bird's- which seems to sing of love,
And mingles with the song of cherubim,
As the day closes over Eden's walls
All these are nothing, to my eyes and heart,
Like Adah's face: I turn from earth to heaven
To gaze on it.

Earth

Byron's Cain.

The all-absorbing flame Which, kindled by another, grows the same, Wrapt in one blaze; the pure, yet funeral pile, Where gentle hearts, like Bramins, sit and smile. Byron. With thee, all toils are sweet; each clime hath charms; -sea alike. -our world within our arms. Byron's Bride of Abydos. Holy and fervent love! had earth but rest For thee and thine, this world were all too fair! How could we thence be wean'd to die without Mrs. Hemans's Poems They sin who tell us love can die : With love all other passions fly, All others are but vanity; In heaven ambition cannot dwell, Nor avarice in the vaults of hell; Earthly these passions of the earth, They perish where they have their birth, But Love is indestructible;

despair?

Its holy tiame for ever burneth,
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.

Souther

It is a fearful thing To love as I love thee; to feel the worldThe bright, the beautiful, joy-giving world A blank without thee. Never more to me Can hope, joy, fear, wear different seeming. Now, I have no hope that does not dream for thee; I have no joy that is not shar'd by thee; J have no fear that does not dread for thee; All that I once took pleasure in my lute, Is only sweet when it repeats thy name; My flowers, I only gather them for thee; The book drops listless down, I cannot read, Unless it is to thee; my lonely hours Are spent in shaping forth our future lives, After my own romantic fantasies.

He is the star round which my thoughts revolve Lake satellites.

Miss Landon's Poems.

Simms's Poems.

LOVERS.

Thus warred he long time against his will,
Till that through weakness he was forc'd at last
To yield himself unto the mighty ill,
Which as a victor proud gan ransack fast
His inward parts, and all his entrails wast,

That neither blood in face, nor life in heart,
It left, but both did quite dry up and blast,
As piercing leven, which the inner part
Of every thing consumes, and calcineth by art.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.

She greatly gan enamoured to wax,
And with vain thoughts her falsed fancy vex:
Her fickle heart conceived hasty fire,
Like sparks of fire that fall in slender flex,
That shortly burnt into extreme desire,
And ransack'd all her veins with passion entire.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.
Sad, sour, and full of fancies frail
She grew, yet wist she neither how nor why;
She wist not (silly maid) what she did aile,
Yet wist she was not well at ease perdy,
Yet thought it was not love but some melancholy.
Spenser's Fairy Queen.
Nor aught it mote the noble maid avail,
Nor slake the fury of her cruel flame,
But that she still did waste, and still did wait,
That through long languor, and heart burning
brame,

She shortly like a pined ghost became.

Spenser's Fairy Queen. The gnawing envy, the heart fretting fear, The vain surmises, the distrustful shows, The false reports that flying tales do bear, The doubts, the dangers, the delays, the woes, The feigned friends, the unassured foes, With thousands more than any tongue can tell, Do make a lover's life a witch's hell.

Spenser's Hymn in honour of Love. The rolling wheel, that runneth often round, The hardest steel in tract of time doth tear; And drizzling drops, that often do redound, Firmest flint doth in continuance wear: Yet cannot I, with many a dropping tear, And long entreaty, soften her hard heart, That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to hear, Or look with pity on my painful smart: But when I plead, she bids me play my part; And when I weep, she says tears are but water; And when I sigh, she says I know the art; And when I wail, she turns herself to laughter; So do I weep and wail, and plead in vain, While she as steel and flint doth still remain.

Spenser.

Humbled with fear and awful reverence,
Before the footstool of his majesty,
Throw thyself down, with trembling innocence,
Nor dare look up with corruptible eye
On the dread face of that great deity,
For fear, lest if he chance to look on thee,
Thou turn to nought, and quite confounded be.
Spenser

Lovers' eyes more sharply sighted be
Than other men's, and in dear love's delight
See more than any other eyes can see.

Spenser
Lovers and madmen have such soothing brains,
Such sharp fantasies, that they apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.

Shaks. Midsummer Night's Dream Such as I am, all true lovers are; Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, Save, in the constant image of the creature That is belov'd.

Shaks. Twelfth Night

Now it is about the very hour That Silvia, at friar Patrick's cell, should meet me She will not fail; for lovers break not hours, Unless it be to come before their time; So much they spur their expedition.

Shaks. Two Gentlemen of Verona

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Pr'ythee why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail ?
Pr'ythee why so pale?
Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move,

This cannot take her;

If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her :-
The devil take her.

Sir John Suckling.