A MADRIGAL.

(From the Spanish.)

ESTLE closely, little hand,
Closely, warmly clasped in mine!
While across this evening land

Fainter grows the sunset-shine,
And a low breeze thrills the pine,
Then serenely dies away
Past the stranded wreck of day;
Linger, little hand, in mine!

Whisper, voice of liquid tone,
Whisper in thy captive's ear;
Of all voices Earth has known,

Thine is sweetest, Love, to hear;
Heaven therein seems strangely near,
Since it hath the fall and rise
Of the rills of Paradise

On the soul's enraptured ear!

Tremble, oh! thou tender breast,
But for joy that, borne apart,
Love hath built for love a nest
In his deep entranced heart.
There, my gentler self, thou art,
(While for thy pure-thoughted sake
All the songs of Eden wake)

Sheltered, tranquil and apart.
Flutter nigh me, timorous lips,

Coy as bird-wings poised for flight;
Ah! but twilight's half eclipse
Slowly melteth into night;
Then ye faltering lips alight,
Soft as dew-falls of the South,
On a softly answering mouth.

Surely veiled by gracious night,
Hidden with the flickering flush
Of his own delicious blush,
Love may kiss, and kiss aright!

PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE.

"OH, HAD MY LOVE NE'ER SMILED ON ME."

(From The Duenna.")

H, had my love ne'er smiled on me,
I ne'er had known such anguish;
But think how false, how cruel she,
To bid me cease to languish!
To bid me hope her hand to gain,
Breathe on a flame half perished;
And then with cold and fixed disdain,
To kill the hope she cherished!

Not worse his fate, who on a wreck,
That drove as winds did blow it,
Silent had left the shattered deck,
To find a grave below it;
Then land was cried-no more resigned,
He glowed with joy to hear it;
Not worse his fate, his woe, to find
The wreck must sink ere near it.

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.

SERENADE.

(From The Pirate.")

OVE wakes and weeps, while Beauty sleeps!

O for music's softest numbers,

To prompt a theme for Beauty's dream,
Soft as the pillow of her slumbers!

Through groves of palm sigh gales of balm,
Fire-flies on the air are wheeling;
While through the gloom comes soft perfume,
The distant beds of flowers revealing.

O wake and live! No dream can give
A shadowed bliss the real excelling;
No longer sleep; from lattice peep,
And list the tale that Love is telling!
SIR WALTER SCOTT.

D

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

WE

Then most I pine for thee;

Bend on me then thy tender eyes,

As stars look on the sea;

For thoughts, like waves that glide by night,
Are stillest when they shine;

Mine earthly love lies hushed in light,
Beneath the heaven of thine.

There is an hour when holy dreams

Through slumber fairest glide,
And in that mystic hour it seems
Thou shouldst be by my side.

My thoughts of thee too sacred are
For daylight's common beam;
I can but know thee as my star,
My angel, and my dream!
When stars are in the quiet skies,
Then most I pine for thee;

Bend on me then thy tender eyes,
As stars look on the sea.

SIR EDWARD BULWER, LORD LYTTON.