Divulsus querimoniis

Supremâ citiùs solvet amor die.1

And say, without our hopes, without our fears,
Without the home that plighted love endears,
Without the smile from partial beauty won,
Oh! what were man?

a world without a sun.2

Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour,
There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower.
In vain the viewless seraph, lingering there
At starry midnight, charm'd the silent air;
In vain the wild bird carol'd on the steep,
To hail the sun, slow-wheeling from the deep;
In vain to soothe the solitary shade,
Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd;

The summer wind that shook the spangled tree,'
The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee.
Still slowly pass'd the melancholy day,

And still the stranger wist not where to stray.
The world was sad the garden was a wild
And man, the hermit, sigh'd — till woman smiled.3

For only those can paint the wild delight,

When kindred souls by some rare chance unite;
When each to meet another self has sigh'd,
And sought, for ever baffled and denied,
The heart's dull void, and idle space, to fill
With something, still unfound, regretted still.
But should we find, as onward we pursue,
Whom the soul chose, allied by nature too;
Whate'er our keen ambition hoped before,
The pomp of power, or mines of golden ore,

1 Horace.

2 Campbell.

3 Idem.

With all of honour, and with all of joy,
Were, to that treasure, but an idle toy.'

Love, in their bloom and beauty's flower,
O'er-canopied their nuptial bed,

And never, from that blissful hour,
The world, with all its woe, had power

To dim the flame that Hymen fed.
Adversity but served to bind,

In closer union, mind with mind;
Bade, each from each, the pang remove,

And drew from grief the balm of love."

There's a bliss above all that the minstrel has told,
When two that are link'd in one heavenly tie,
With hearts never changing, and brow never cold,
Love on, through all ills, and love on, till they die.
One hour of a passion, so sacred, is worth
Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss ;
And oh!—if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this it is this.3

With one fair spirit for my minister,
That I might all forget the human race,
And, hating no one, love but only her!
Ye elements!-in whose ennobling stir
I feel myself exalted-can ye not
Accord me such a being? — Do I err

In deeming such inhabit many a spot?

Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot.

With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath charms, Earth, sea, alike our world within our arms.

1 Bland's Oxford Prize Poem.

2 Sotheby (Constance de Castile). 4 Childe Harold.

3 Moore.

Aylet the loud winds whistle o'er the deck,
So that those arms cling closer round my neck;
The deepest murmur of this life shall be

No sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee!1

O sole, in whom my thoughts find all repose,
My glory, my perfection; glad I see
Thy face and morn returned.2

Borne by my steed, or wafted by my sail,
Across the desert, or before the gale,

Bound where thou wilt, my barb, or glide, my prow;
But be the star, that guides the wanderer, thou!
Thou, my Zuleika, share and bless my bark,
The dove of peace and promise to mine ark;
Or, since that hope denied in worlds of strife,
Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life,
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray.3

Her sympathy with me in my afflictions will make her virtues shine with greater lustre, as stars in the darkest nights, and assure the envious world that she loves me, not my fortunes.

The less I may be blessed with her company, the more I will retire to God and my own heart, whence no malice can banish her. My enemies may envy, but they can never deprive me of the enjoyment of her virtues, while I enjoy myself.4

My letter is already so long-but 'tis as if I were bewitched to-night, I can't end for my life; but

1 Bride of Abydos. 2 Par. Lost.

3 Bride of Abydos. + Charles I. to Queen Henrietta, EIKON BAZIAIKH, 38, 89.

I

will force myself now, beseeching God to bless you, and keep you from all dangers whatsoever, and send us a happy meeting again here upon earth, and at last a joyful and blessed one in heaven, in his good time. Farewell; do but continue to love me, and forgive the taking up so much of your time to your poor wife, who deserves more pity than any creature did, and who loves you a great deal too much for her own ease, though it can't be more than you deserve.'

What refreshment and delight, to sit down to address these lines to the object of my every thought! I will begin with telling you I am well; for that, it is my happiness to know, my adored first wishes to hear; and I will next tell myself (and trust in Heaven that my hopes don't deceive me) that this letter will find you and all our little angels in perfect health; them in joyful, you in serene and happy, spirits.

I wait with longing impatience for the groom's return, with ample details of you and yours. Send me, my sweetest life, a thousand particulars of all those little great things which to those, who are blessed as we, so far surpass in excellence and exceed in attraction all the great little things of the busy, restless world.2

God knows when I shall have time to write to the children, but kiss them kindly from me.

1 From Queen Mary II. to William III. See Dalrymple, ii. App. X. 2 See in Lord Chatham's Correspondence, i. 457., the beautiful letter from which this is an extract.

You cannot imagine how I am pleased with the children; for, having nobody but their maid, they are so fond of me, that when I am at home they will be always with me, kissing and hugging me. I shall say no more, only beg that you will love me always as well as I love you; and then we cannot but be happy.'

In that kind voice, familiar, dear,

Which tells of confidence, of home —
Of habit, that hath drawn hearts near,
Till they grow one of faith sincere,

And all that love most loves to hear!
A music, breathing of the past,

The present, and the time to be,
Where hope and memory, to the last,
Lengthen out life's true harmony! 2

Quand le Providence réunit à ce lien si cher tout le prestige de l'amour; quand l'enfant, qu'on chérissoit comme le sien, est encore l'image de l'objet qu'on aime; quand on retrouve dans l'âme qu'il est si doux de développer, celle qu'il est doux de reconnoître; quel bonheur peut exister au-delà de cette intime réunion des sentimens les plus faits pour le cœur de l'homme ?3

Perfect esteem, enlivened by desire
Ineffable, and sympathy of soul;

Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will,

1 From the great Duke of Marlborough to Sarah, his Duchess.

See Life by Coxe.

2 Moore (Loves of the Angels).

3 Madame de Staël (Pauline).