He that loves, unloved again,

Hath better store of love than brain.1

But we'll grow auld together, and never find

The loss of youth, when youth grows on the mind.2 One joy shall make us smile, one sorrow mourn ; one age go with us; one hour of death shall close our eyes; and one cold grave shall hold us happy.— Say but you hate me not!-Oh!-Speak! — Give but the softest breath to that enchanting word! 3

Wheresoever Providence shall dispose of the most valuable thing I know, I shall ever follow you with my sincerest wishes, and my best thoughts will be continually waiting upon you, when you neither hear of me nor them; your own guardian angels

4

cannot be more constant nor more silent.5

Love! a passion which has caused the change of empires; a passion which has inspired heroism, and subdued avarice; a passion which he, who never felt never was happy; and he, who laughs at, never deserves to feel."

Camp. Brit. Poets, iv. 403. 3 Love makes a Man.

2 Allan Ramsay. 4 Sic in orig.

5 Pope (Letters to several Ladies), xix. 6 Johnson, iv. 396. Bosw. Croker's ed.

CHAP. VIII.

MARRIAGE.

Now thou art mine! - for ever mine,

With life to keep, and scarce with life resign.'
I can express no kinder sign of love

Than this fond kiss. - O Lord, that lend'st me life,

Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!

For thou hast given me in this beauteous face
A world of earthly blessings to my soul,

If sympathy of love unite.2

Je veux, avec excès, vous aimer et vous plaire.3

Je ne veux en ce monde choisir

Plus grand honneur que vous donner plaisir.*

Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie,

By that pretty white hand o' thine,

And by a' the lowing stars in heaven,
That thou would aye be mine!
And I have sworn by my God, my Jeanie,
And by that kind heart o' thine,

By a' the stars sown thick owre heaven,
That thou shalt aye be mine!

Then foul fa' the hands that wad loose sic band,
And the heart that wad part sic love;
But there's nae hand can loose my band
But the finger o' God above.

1 Byron.
3 De Staël.

2 Second Part of King Henry VI.
4 Ronsard to Mary Queen of Scots.

Tho' the wee, wee cot maun be my bield,

An' my claithing e'er sae mean,

I wad lap me up rich i̇' the faulds of luve,
Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean!

Her white arm wad be a pillow for me,

Fu' safter than the down,

An' luve wad winnow owre us his kind, kind wings,

An' sweetly I'd sleep an' soun.

Come here to me then, lass o' my luve,

Come here and kneel wi' me,

The morn is fu' o' the presence o' my God,

And I canna pray but1 thee.

And thou maun speak o' me to thy God,
And I will speak o' thee.2

Hail! wedded love-mysterious law, true source
Of human offspring, sole propriety,

The paradise of all things common else;

By thee adulterous lust was driven from men,
Among the bestial herds to range; by thee,
Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure,
Relations dear, and all the charities

Of father, son, and brother first were known;
Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets!
Here love his golden shaft employs; here lights
His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings;
Reigns here and revels; not in the bought smile
Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendear'd,

Casual fruition; nor in court amours,

Mixed dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball,
Or serenade.3

Felices ter et amplius,

Quos irrupta tenet copula, nec malis

1 Without. 2 Cromek, Reliques, 20. 3 Milton, b. iv. 1.750.

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."

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.2

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.a

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.