ONE HEART'S ENOUGH FOR ME. 95

'Tis like a dream when one awakes

This vision of the scenes of old;

'Tis like the moon, when morning breaks, 'Tis like a tale round watch-fires told.

God of our fathers, in whose sight

The thousand years that swept away
Man, and the traces of his might,
Are but the break and close of day, -

Grant us that love of truth sublime,
That love of goodness and of thee,
Which makes thy children, in all time,
To share thine own eternity.

ONE HEART'S ENOUGH FOR ME.

AUGUSTE MIGNON.

ONE heart's enough for me
One heart to love, adore
One heart's enough for me;
O, who could wish for more?
The birds that soar above,

And sing their songs on high,

Ask but for one to love,

And therefore should not I?

One pair of eyes to gaze,
One pair of sparkling blue,
In which sweet love betrays
Her form of fairest hue;

96

WOMAN'S LOVE.

One pair of glowing cheeks,
Fresh as the rose and fair,
Whose crimson blush bespeaks
The health that's native there.

One pair of hands to twine
Love's flowers fair and gay,
And form a wreath divine,
Which never can decay;
And this is all I ask,

One gentle form and fair-
Beneath whose smiles to bask,

And learn love's sweetness there.

WOMAN'S LOVE.

ANON.

MAN knows not love such love as woman feels.

In him it is a vast devouring flame –

Resistless fed in its own strength consumed. In woman's heart it enters step by step, Concealed, disowned, until its gentler ray Breathes forth a light, illumining her world. Man loves not for repose; he wooes the flower To wear it as the victor's trophied crown; Whilst woman, when she glories in her love, More like the dove, in noiseless constancy, Watches the nest of her affection till

'Tis shed upon the tomb of him she loves.

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.

97

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.

HOOD.

ONE more unfortunate,

Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements;
Whilst the wave constantly

Drips from her clothing;

Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing. —

Touch her not scornfully!
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly,
Not of the stains of her;
All that remains of her
Now is pure womanly.

Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny,

Rash and undutiful;