Or place my hand in thine,

Before I let thy future give
Color and form to mine,

Before I peril all for thee,
Question thy soul to-night for me.

I break all slighter bonds, nor feel

A
Is there one link within the past

shadow of regret;

That holds thy spirit yet?
Or is thy faith as clear and free
As that which I can pledge to thee?

Does there within thy dimmest dreams
A possible future shine,

Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,

Untouched, unshared by mine? If so, at any pain or cost, O, tell me before all is lost!

Look deeper still; if thou canst feel, Within thy inmost soul,

That thou hast kept a portion back,

While I have staked the whole,
Let no false pity spare the blow,
But in true mercy tell me so.

Is there within thy heart a need
That mine cannot fulfil?
One chord that any other hand
Could better wake or still?
Speak now, lest at some future day
My whole life wither and decay.

Lives there within thy nature hid

The demon spirit change, Shedding a passing glory still

On all things new and strange?
It may not be thy fault alone,-
But shield my heart against thine own.

Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day
And answer to my claim,
That fate, and that to-day's mistake,-

Not thou, had been to blame?

Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou Wilt surely warn and save me now.

Nay, answer not,-I dare not hear,

The words would come too late; Yet I would spare thee all remorse, So comfort thee, my fate: Whatever on my heart may fall, Remember, I would risk it all! -Adelaide Anne Procter.

I

WILL not let you say a woman's part
Must be to give exclusive love alone;
Dearest, although I love you so, my heart
Answers a thousand claims beside your own.

I love what do I not love Earth and air
Find space within my heart, and myriad things
You would not deign to heed are cherished there,
And vibrate on its very inmost strings.

I love the Summer, with her ebb and flow

Of light and warmth, and music, that have nursed
Her tender buds to blossoms......and you know
It was in summer that I saw you first.

I love the Winter dearly too,......but then
I owe it so much; on a winter's day,
Bleak, cold, and stormy, you return'd again,
When you had been those weary months away.

I love the Stars like friends; so many nights

I gazed at them, when you were far from me, Till I grew blind with tears,..... those far-off lights Could watch you, whom I long'd in vain to see.

I love the flowers; happy hours lie

Shut up within their petals close and fast; You have forgotten, dear; but they and I Kept every fragment of the golden past.

I love, too, to be loved; all loving praise
Seems like a crown upon my life, to make
It better worth the giving, and to raise
Still nearer to your own the heart you take.

I love all good and noble souls; I heard
One speak of you but lately, and for days,
Only to think of it, my soul was stirr'd
In tender memory of such generous praise.

I love all those who love you; all who owe
Comfort to you; and I can find regret

Even for those poorer hearts who once could know
And once could love you, and can now forget.

Well, is my heart so narrow,-I who spare
Love for all these! Do I not even hold
My favorite books in special tender care,
And prize them as a miser does his gold—
The poets that you used to read to me
While summer twilights faded in the sky;
But most of all I think Aurora Leigh,
Because-because-do you remember why?

Will you be jealous? Did you guess before
I loved so many things?-Still you the best;
Dearest, remember that I love you more,
Oh, more a thousand times, than all the rest!
-Adelaide Anne Procter.

Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild woods' thickening green;
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar
Twined amorous round the raptured scene;
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray-
Till soon, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaimed the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care!
Time but the impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? -Robert Burns.

IRST LOVE will with the heart remain

FIF

When its hopes are all gone by; As frail rose blossoms still retain

Their fragrance when they die :

And joy's first dreams will haunt the mind
With the shades 'mid which they sprung,
As summer leaves the stems behind
On which spring's blossoms hung.

-John Clare.