is come with a song and a smile, Welcome Love with a smile and a song : Love can stay but a little while.

Why cannot he stay? They call him away:
Ye do him wrong, ye do him wrong;
Love will stay for a whole life long.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

LOVE GIVES ALL AWAY.

X

ND what is Love by nature ?"
My pretty true-love sighs;
And I reply, In feature

A child with pensive eyes;

An infant, forehead shaded
With many ringlet rings,
And pearly shoulders faded
In the colour of his wings.

His ways are those of children
Who come to be caressed;

Or, as a little wild wren

Who fears to leave her nest.

He is shy; if one shall beckon,
He hides, will not obey ;
He spends, and will not reckon,
For Love gives all away.

He hoards to lavish only,
And lives in miser way,

Now hermit-like is lonely,
Now gallant-like is gay.

Slay Love, he is not broken;
Wound him, his hurt will heal.
More than his lips have spoken
His cunning eyes reveal.
His sighs the still air sweeten,
As primrose woods do May;
His locks are pale, as wheaten
Fields in the wan moon-ray.

His palm is always tender,
His eyes are rainy grey;
His wage-return is slender,
For Love gives all away.

His aspect, as he muses,

Is paler than the dead;

He weeps more when he loses,

Than he laughs when he is fed.

Love at a touch will falter,

Love at a nod will stay;

But armies cannot alter

One hairbreadth of his way.

He trembles at a rose-leaf,

And rushes on a spear;

A thorn-prick and he shows grief, But Death he cannot fear.

The tyrant may not quench him,
He laughs at prison bars;
The water-floods may drench him,
The fire may give him scars.

Though thou lay chain and fetter
On ankle, wrist, and hands,
He will not serve thee better,
But soar to unknown lands.

He follows shadow faces

Into graveyards unawares ; He reaps in sterile places,

And brings home sheaves of tares.

One tear will heal his anger;

He will wait and watch all day;
He scoffs at toil and danger,
His last crust gives away.

He will strip off his raiment
To make his dear one gay;
And will laugh at any payment,
Having given all away.

When care his heart engages,

And his rose-leaf gathers grey, He will claim a kiss for wages, And demand a smile for pay.

HON. JOHN LEICESTER WARREN.

SWEET LOVE IS DEAD.

WEET Love is dead:

Where shall we bury him?

In a green bed,

With no stone at his head,

And no tears nor prayers to worry him.

Do you think he will sleep

Dreamless and quiet?

Yes, if we keep

Silence, nor weep

O'er the grave where the ground-worms riot.

By his tomb let us part;

But hark! he is waking;

He hath winged a dart,

And the mock-cold heart

With the woe of want is aching.

Feign we no more

Sweet Love lies breathless;

All we forswore

Be as before!

Death may die, but Love is deathless.

ALFRED AUSTIN.