CCIX LOVE'S DIET TELL me, fair maid, tell me truly, Let roses blow, And dew-stars to green blade cling: More light and rare, Befits that gentlest Nursling. Feed him with the sigh that rushes 'Twixt sweet lips, whose muteness speaks With the eloquence that flushes All a heart's wealth o'er soft cheeks; Feed him with a world of blushes, And the glance that shuns, yet seeks : So light and good, That the spirit child is fed; And with the tear Of joyous fear, That the small Elf's liquorèd. W. MOTHERWELL. CCX TO HELENE-ON A GIFT-RING CARELESSLY LOST I SENT a ring—a little band Of emerald and ruby stone, Tell thee sweet tales of one Whose constant memory Was full of loveliness and thee. A shell was graven on its gold,— Her love is buried with that stone. Thou shalt not see the tears that start From eyes by thoughts like these beguil'd; Thou shalt not know the beating heart, Ever a victim and a child: Yet, Helene, love-believe The heart that never could deceive. I'll hear thy voice of melody In the sweet whispers of the air; I'll see the brightness of thine eye In the blue evening's dewy star; In crystal streams thy purity, And look on Heaven to look on thee. CCXI G. DARLEY. THE TRYSTING HOUR THE gowan glitters on the sward, Oh, no! sad an' slow, And lengthen'd on the ground, My sheep-bell tinkles frae the west, Oh, no! sad an' slow, The shadow lingers still, And like a lanely ghaist I stand R |