XCV.

MEMORIES, THE FOOD OF LOVE.

When shall we come to that delightful day,

When each can say to each, ' Dost thou remember?'' Let us fill urns with rose-leaves in our May,

And hive the thrifty sweetness in December! For who may deem the throne of love secure,

Till o'er the Past the conqueror spreads his reign ? That only land where human joys endure,

That dim elysium where they live again!

Swelled by a thousand streams the deeps that float

The bark on which we risk our all, should be: A rill suffices for the idler's boat;

It needs an ocean for the argosy.

The heart's religion keeps, apart from time,

The sacred burial-ground of happy hours; The Past is holy with the haunting chime

Of dreamy Sabbath bells from distant towers. Oft dost thou ask me, with that bashful eye,

If I shall love thee evermore as now! Feasting as fondly on the sure reply,

As if my lips were virgin of the vow. Sweet does that question, Wilt thou love me?' fall

Upon the heart that has forsworn its will : But when the words hereafter we recall,

• Dost thou remember?' shall be sweeter still.

Sir E. Bulwer Lytton.

XCVI.

What time the mighty moon was gathering light
Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise,
And all about him rolled his lustrous eyes ;
When, turning round a cassia, full in view
Death, walking all alone beneath a yew,
And talking to himself, first met his sight:
“You must begone,” said Death, “these walks are mine."
Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight;
Yet ere he parted said, “This hour is thine:
Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree
Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath,
So in the light of great eternity
Life eminent creates the shade of death;
The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall,
But I shall reign for ever over all.”

A. Tennyson.

XCVII.

I would we had not met again!

I had a dream of thee,
Lovely, tho' sad, on desert plain,

Mournful on midnight sea.

What though it haunted me by night

And troubled thro' the day?
It touched all things with spirit-light,

It glorified my way!

Oh! what shall now my faith restore

In holy things and fair?
We met—I saw thy soul once more

The world's breath had been there!

Yes! it was sad on desert-plain,

Mournful on midnight sea, Yet would I buy with life again

That one deep dream of thee!

Mrs. Hemans. XCVIII.

When we two parted

In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on thy brow-
It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-

Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well ;Long, long shall I rue thee,

Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met-

In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee

After long years,
How should I greet thee?-

With silence and tears.

Lord Byron. XCIX.

They met but once, in youth's sweet hour,

And never since that day
Hath absence, time, or grief had power

To chase that dream away.
They've seen the suns of other skies,

On other shores have sought delight; But never more, to bless their eyes,

Can come a dream so bright! They met but once,-a day was all

Of Love's young hopes they knew; And still their hearts that day recall,

As fresh as then it flew.

Sweet dream of youth! oh, ne'er again

Let either meet the brow
They left so smooth and smiling then,

Or see what it is now.
For, Youth, the spell was only thine;

From thee alone the enchantment flows,
That makes the world around thee shine

With light thyself bestows.
They met but once,-oh, ne'er again

Let either meet the brow
They left so smooth and smiling then,

Or see what it is now.

T. Moore.