From the Manchester Examiner.
LOVE.—A SONNET.
BY J. C. PRINCE.
Love is an odor from the heavenly bowers,
Which stirs our senses tenderly, and brings
Dreams which are shadows of diviner things
Beyond this grosser atmosphere of ours.
An oasis of verdure and of flowers,
Love smiteth on the Pilgrim's weary way;
There fresher air, there sweeter waters play,
There purer solace charms the quiet hours.
This glorious passion, unalloyed, endowers
With moral beauty all who feel its fire;
Maid, wife, and offspring, brother, mother, sire,
Are names and symbols of its hallowed powers.
Love is immortal. From our head may fly
Earth's other blessings; Love can never die!
Ashton, 5th March.