Be there richer flowers in June's broad bowers,
Yet Spring's first snowdrop who must not love?
Let the tempest threat, and the pale sun set,
Still the snowdrop smiles in the leafless grove,
With trustful love.

Ne'er yet hath thy bosom known passion's revealings,
Yet never was maid born for love, if not thou!
All woman's affections, all fond gentle feelings,

Lie shrined in that bosom, and dawn from that brow. In the duskiest shade of the forest glade

Full often the tenderest blossoms bloom:

And the modest grace of that angel face,

'Neath love's sunny spell shall fresh magic assume, Chasing far doubt and gloom.

But O, may I hope that my image may ever

Be traced on the shrine of that innocent heart? May I hope to be worthy of thee? Alas, never!

And should I then, silent and hopeless, depart?
The wide pale cloud, which is morning's shroud,
Doth often usher a glorious day :

O, thus may sweet love all thy being move,
And the darkness of doubt pass in air away!
Canst thou love me? Say!

P

VI.

CANZONETTE OF THE ACCEPTED.

LONG as wide earth hath flow'rs to spare
I'll garlands plait for thee, most fair!
Long as Spring's songsters chant their glee,
I'll trill my notes of love to thee.

O, should not love have tenderer lays
Than any bird that wings on high?
For hath not thy beauty dearer rays
Than the verdant earth, or the azure sky?
O, therefore list, loved maiden mine,
O, hear me swear, by thy truth divine,
To tell thy charms till the stars have set,
That the nightingale

I boast not, sweet, for love hath power

To kindle dead hearts in his magic hour,

And the woods and the skies and the stars lie mute,

As charm'd by the lover's plaintive lute.

A breezelet comes from the distant west

That swells with a sigh his happy pain,

And echo afar, with a tender unrest,

Seems to linger with love on the murmuring strain
O, therefore list, sweet mistress mine,

And hear me swear by thy truth divine,

To tell thy charms till the stars have set,

That the nightingale

May hush her tale

To list to the praise of my violet,

My maiden, maiden violet.

VII.

ONE OF LOVE'S TRIFLES.

"THE Danube, or the Rhine,

Friend, which of these is fairest ?

Thus ask'd the loved one mine,

In her magic rarest.

The Danube seems a maid

Who shrinks from this gazing earth, And strays in the wild wood shade And recks not of fond free mirth.

The Rhine is a laughing fair,

Who from pleasure to pleasure flies,

And, free from all sorrow or care,

She smiles on the grapes and the skies.

The Danube seems to weep,

But her grief is like starlit night;

The Rhine in joy would leap,
Beneath the sun's broad light,

Joy and sorrow, which is fairest ?

Tender shade, or the frolic sunshine?

Both have charms; and their magic thou sharest,
For these and all graces are thine.
Yes, choice of my heart,
Beloved as thou art,

The Rhine's bright gladness, the Danube's sweet sadness,
Both these are thine.

VIII.

SONG OF THE HAPPY LOVER.

EARTH's orb is rich in meads, gardens, and bowers:

Which is the brightest of all her fresh flowers?
Maiden forms beautiful, countless, we see,
Which is the fairest? No two hearts agree!

Is it bright Ada, whose eyes of deep hue

Shine like a mirror, where archness peeps through?
Whose snowy neck, nobly, gracefully bending,
Pride of a goddess with love's wiles seems blending?

Is it fair Mina, wild Germany's maid,

With orbs like blue violets sprung in the shade?
Whose soft yielding arms are as tender and white
As the snowdrops of spring, which each zephyr can blight?

Is it Isaura, young daughter of Rome,

Who is stately and tall as the fanes of her home?
Whose proud form is fashion'd for empire and love,
And claims adoration like angels above.

Or thou, nameless One! framed of courage and fear,
As the dew on the rose seems a smile and a tear,

Who canst silence the bold when those meek eyes look grave, And, in sweetest terrors, dost vanquish the brave!

Blossoms more gorgeous the wide earth may show,
But they win not the heart to as tender a glow :
Gay troops beam star-like from east and from west,
Still the soul murmurs, "My own is the best!"

IX.

THE BRIDE'S DOUBT.

THE world in love's mirror seeing
For truth, too, from thee I call.

O, I but in thee have being,

And thou hast eyes for all!

A beam of light,

A bird's swift flight,

A flower can woo thy gaze from mine:

Thus rov'st thou still

With heedless will,

And leav'st my heart to pine!