Part 3

Through walks, grown with woodbines, as often we stray, Around us our girls and boys frolic and play, How pleasing their sport is, the wanton ones see, And borrow their looks from my Jessie and me.

To try her sweet temper sometimes am I seen In revels all day with the nymphs of the green; Though painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles, And meets me at night with compliance and smiles.

What though on her cheek the rose loses its hue, Her ease and good humour bloom all the year through, Time still, as he flies, brings increase to her truth, And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.

Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare, And cheat with false vows the too credulous fair, In search of true pleasure how vainly you roam, To hold it for life, you must find it at home. --_Edward Moore_

On a Fan that Belonged to the Marquise de Pompadour

Chicken-skin, delicate, white, Painted by Carlo Vanloo, Loves in a riot of light, Roses and vaporous blue; Hark to the dainty frou-frou! Picture above if you can, Eyes that could melt as the dew-- This was the Pompadour's fan!

See how they rise at the sight, Thronging the OEil de Boeuf through, Courtiers as butterflies bright, Beauties that Fragonard drew, Talon-rouge, falbala, queue, Cardinal, Duke,--to a man, Eager to sigh or to sue,-- This was the Pompadour's fan!

Ah! but things more than polite Hung on this toy, voyez vous! Matters of state and of might, Things that great ministers do; Things that, maybe, overthrew Those in whose brains they began; Here was the sign and the cue,-- This was the Pompadour's fan!

_Envoy_.

Where are the secrets it knew? Weavings of plot and of plan? --But where is the Pompadour, too? This was the Pompadour's Fan! --_Austin Dobson_

A Birthday

My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these, Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me. --_Christina Georgina Rossetti_

"Love in thy Youth, Fair Maid"

Love in thy youth, fair maid, be wise, Old Time will make thee colder, And though each morning new arise Yet we each day grow older. Thou as heaven art fair and young, Thine eyes like twin stars shining: But ere another day be sprung, All these will be declining; Then winter comes with all his fears, And all thy sweets shall borrow; Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears, And I, too late, shall sorrow. --_Walter Porter_

Days

Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes And marching single in an endless file, Bring diadems and faggots in their hands. To each they offer gifts after his will-- Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. I, in my pleached garden, watch'd the pomp, Forgot my morning wishes, hastily Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day Turn'd and departed silent. I, too late, Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn. --_Ralph Waldo Emerson_

A Hymn to Love

I will confess With cheerfulness, Love is a thing so likes me, That let her lay On me all day I'll kiss the hand that strikes me.

I will not, I Now blubb'ring, cry, It (ah!) too late repents me, That I did fall To love at all, Since love so much contents me.

No, no, I'll be In fetters free: While others they sit wringing Their hands for pain, I'll entertain The wounds of love with singing. --_Robert Herrick_

Adieu L'Amour

Here end my chains, and thraldom cease, If not in joy, I'll live at least in peace; Since for the pleasures of an hour, We must endure an age of pain; I'll be this abject thing no more, Love, give me back my heart again.

Despair tormented first my breast, Now falsehood, a more cruel guest; O! for the peace of human kind, Make women longer true, or sooner kind; With justice, or with mercy reign, O Love! or give me back my heart again. --_George Granville_ (_Lord Lansdowne_)

My Little Pretty One

My little pretty one! My softly winning one! Oh! thou'rt a merry one! And playful as can be. With a beck thou com'st anon; In a trice, too, thou are gone, And I must sigh alone, But sighs are lost upon thee.

Art thou my smiling one, Art thou my pouting one, Art thou my teasing one, A goddess, elf, or grace? With a frown thou wound'st my heart, With a smile thou heal'st the smart; Why play the tyrant's part With such an innocent face? --_Old Song_

Song

Go, lovely Rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That had'st thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. --_Edmund Waller_

Song

The bee to the heather, The lark to the sky, The roe to the greenwood, And whither shall I?

O, Alice! Ah, Alice! So sweet to the bee Are moorland and heather By Cannock and Leigh!

O, Alice! Ah, Alice! O'er Teddesley Park The sunny sky scatters The notes of the lark!

O, Alice! Ah, Alice! In Beaudesert glade The roes toss their antlers For joy of the shade!--

But Alice, dear Alice! Glade, moorland, nor sky Without you can content me-- And whither shall I? --_Sir Henry Taylor_

Song

The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest, And climbing, shakes his dewy wings, He takes your window for the east, And to implore your light, he sings; Awake, awake, the morn will never rise Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.

The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, The ploughman from the sun his season takes; But still the lover wonders what they are, Who look for day before his mistress wakes. Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn, Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn. --_William D'Avenant_

Rain on the Down

Night, and the down by the sea, And the veil of rain on the down; And she came through the mist and the rain to me From the safe warm lights of the town.

The rain shone in her hair, And her face gleam'd in the rain; And only the night and the rain were there As she came to me out of the rain. --_Arthur Symons_

Down by the Sally Gardens

Down by the sally gardens my love and I did meet; She pass'd the sally gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.

In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bade me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears. --_William Butler Yeats_

Song

She's somewhere in the sunlight strong, Her tears are in the falling rain, She calls me in the wind's soft song, And with the flowers she comes again.

Yon bird is but her messenger, The moon is but her silver car. Yea! sun and moon are sent by her, And every wistful waiting star. --_Richard Le Gallienne_

Song

When Delia on the plain appears Aw'd by a thousand tender fears, I would approach, but dare not move: Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear No other voice but hers can hear, No other wit but hers approve: Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

If she some other youth commend, Though I was once his fondest friend, His instant enemy I prove: Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

When she is absent, I no more Delight in all that pleas'd before, The clearest spring, or shadiest grove: Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

When, fond of power, of beauty vain, Her nets she spread for every swain, I strove to hate, but vainly strove: Tell me, my heart, if this be love? --_George Lyttleton_

Advice Against Travel

Traverse not the globe for lore! The sternest But the surest teacher is the heart; Studying that and that alone, thou learnest Best and soonest whence and what thou art.

Moor, Chinese, Egyptian, Russian, Roman, Tread one common down-hill path of doom; Everywhere the names are man and woman, Everywhere the old sad sins find room.

Evil angels tempt us in all places. What but sands or snows hath earth to give? Dream not, friend, of deserts and oases; But look inwards, and begin to live! --_James Clarence Mangan_

Remember

Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann'd: Only remember me; you understand.

It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. --_Christina Georgina Rossetti_

There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming And the lull'd winds seem dreaming.

And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep; Whose breast is gently heaving As an infant's asleep; So, the spirit bows before thee, To listen and adore thee; With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean. --_George Gordon_ (_Lord Byron_)

A Valentine

What shall I send my love today When all the woods attune to love, And I would show the lark and dove That I can love as well as they? ...

I'll send a kiss, for that would be The quickest sent, the lightest borne; And well I know to-morrow morn She'll send it back again to me.

Go, happy winds! ah, do not stay Enamour'd of my lady's cheek, But hasten home, and I'll bespeak Your services another day! --_Matilda Betham Edwards_

To His Mistress, Objecting to His Neither Toying nor Talking

You say I love not, 'cause I do not play Still with your curls, and kiss the time away. You blame me, too, because I can't devise Some sport, to please those babies in your eyes; By Love's religion, I must here confess it, The most I love when I the least express it. Small griefs find tongues; full casks are ever found To give, if any, yet but little sound. Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know, That chiding streams betray small depths below. So, when Love speechless is, she doth express A depth in love, and that depth bottomless. Now since my love is tongueless, know me such, Who speak but little, 'cause I love so much. --_Robert Herrick_

When You Are Old

When you are old and gray and full of sleep And, nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true; But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead, And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. --_William Butler Yeats_

Song

False though she be to me and love, I'll ne'er pursue revenge: For still the charmer I approve, Though I deplore her change.

In hours of bliss we oft have met, They could not always last; And though the present I regret, I'm grateful for the past. --_William Congreve_

Song

I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste, That I no more would court The joys that seem when they are past As dull as they are short.

I oft to hate my mistress swear, But soon my weakness find; I make my oaths when she's severe, But break them when she's kind. --_John Oldmixon_

My Loves

Name the leaves on all the trees, Name the waves on all the seas, Name the notes of all the groves, Thus thou namest all my loves.

I do love the young, the old, Maiden modest, virgin bold; Tiny beauties and the tall-- Earth has room enough for all!

Which is better--who can say?-- Mary grave or Lucy gay? She who half her charms conceals, She who flashes while she feels?

Why should I my love confine? Why should fair be mine or thine? If I praise a tulip, why Should I pass the primrose by?

Paris was a pedant fool Meting beauty by the rule: Pallas? Juno? Venus?--he Should have chosen all the three! --_John Stuart Blackie_

Cupid Mistaken

Venus whipt Cupid t'other day, For having lost his bow and quiver; For he had given them both away To Stella, queen of Isis river.

"Mamma! you wrong me while you strike," Cried weeping Cupid, "for I vow, Stella and you are so alike, I thought that I had lent them you." --_William Somerville_

Song

Hard is the fate of him who loves, Yet dares not tell his trembling pain, But to the sympathetic groves, But to the lonely listening plain.

Oh! when she blesses next your shade, Oh! when her footsteps next are seen In flowery tracts along the mead, In fresher mazes o'er the green,

Ye gentle spirits of the vale, To whom the tears of love are dear, From dying lilies waft a gale, And sigh my sorrows in her ear.

Oh, tell her what she cannot blame, Though fear my tongue must ever bind; Oh, tell her that my virtuous flame Is as her spotless soul, refin'd.

Not her own guardian angel eyes With chaster tenderness his care, Not purer her own wishes rise, Not holier her own sighs in prayer.

But if, at first, her virgin fear Should start at love's suspected name, With that of friendship soothe her ear-- True love and friendship are the same. --_William Somerville_

Faith

Better trust all, and be deceived, And weep that trust and that deceiving, Than doubt one heart that, if believed, Had bless'd one's life with true believing.

O, in this mocking world too fast The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth! Better be cheated to the last Than lose the blessed hope of truth. --_Frances Anne Kemble_

Memories

A beautiful and happy girl, With step as light as summer air, Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, Shadow'd by many a careless curl Of unconfined and flowing hair; A seeming child in everything, Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms, As Nature wears the smile of Spring When sinking into Summer's arms.

A mind rejoicing in the light Which melted through its graceful bower, Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright, And stainless in its holy white, Unfolding like a morning flower: A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute, With every breath of feeling woke, And, even when the tongue was mute, From eye and lip in music spoke. --_John Greenleaf Whittier_

The Forest Maid

O fairest of the rural maids! Thy birth was in the forest shades; And all the beauty of the place Is in thy heart and on thy face.

The twilight of the trees and rocks Is in the light shade of thy locks, Thy step is as the wind that weaves Its playful way among the leaves.

Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen; Their lashes are the herds that look On their young figures in the brook.

The forest depths by foot unpress'd Are not more sinless than thy breast; The holy peace that fills the air Of those calm solitudes is there. --_William Cullen Bryant_

All's Well

The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake Our thirsty souls with rain; The blow most dreaded falls to break From off our limbs a chain; And wrongs of man to man but make The love of God more plain. As through the shadowy lens of even The eye looks farthest into heaven On gleams of star and depths of blue The glaring sunshine never knew! --_John Greenleaf Whittier_

A Violinist

The lark above our heads doth know A heaven we see not here below; She sees it, and for joy she sings; Then falls with ineffectual wings.

Ah, soaring soul! faint not nor tire! Each heaven attain'd reveals a higher, Thy thought is of thy failure; we List raptured, and thank God for thee. --_Francis William Bourdillon_

To Helen

Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand, The agate lamp within thy hand, Ah! Psyche, from the regions which Are holy land! --_Edgar Allan Poe_

The Truth of Woman

Woman's faith, and woman's trust-- Write the characters in dust; Stamp them on the running stream, Print them on the moon's pale beam, And each evanescent letter Shall be clearer, firmer, better, And more permanent, I ween, Than the thing those letters mean.

I have strain'd the spider's thread 'Gainst the promise of a maid; I have weigh'd a grain of sand 'Gainst her plight of heart and hand; I hold my true love of the token, How her faith proved light and her word was broken: Again her word and truth she plight, And I believed them again ere night. --_Sir Walter Scott_

Ageanax

Dear voyager, a lucky star be thine, To Mytilene sailing over sea, Or foul or fair the constellations shine, Or east or west the wind-blown billows flee. May halcyon-birds that hover o'er the brine Diffuse abroad their own tranquillity, Till ocean stretches stilly as the wine In this deep cup which now we drain to thee.

From lip to lip the merry circle through We pass the tankard and repeat thy name; And having pledged thee once, we pledge anew, Lest in thy friends' neglect thou suffer shame. God-speed to ship, good health to pious crew, Peace by the way, and port of noble fame! --_Edward Cracroft Lefroy_

Names

I asked my fair, one happy day, What I should call her in my lay; By what sweet name from Rome or Greece: Lalage, Neaera, Chloris, Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris, Arethusa or Lucrece.

"Ah!" returned my gentle fair, "Beloved, what are names but air? Choose whatever suits the line; Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, Call me Lalage or Doris, Only, only call me Thine!" --_Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

A Summer Day in Old Sicily

Gods, what a sun! I think the world's aglow This garment irks me. Phoebus, it is hot! 'Twere sad if Glycera should find me shot By flame-tipp'd arrows from the Archer's bow. Perchance he envies me,--the villain! O For one tree's shadow or a cliff-side grot! Where shall I shelter that he slay me not? In what cool air or element?--I know.

The sea shall save me from the sweltering land: Far out I'll wade, till creeping up and up, The cold green water quenches every limb. Then to the jealous god with lifted hand I'll pour libation from a rosy cup, And leap, and dive, and see the tunnies swim. --_Edward Cracroft Lefroy_

On a Nightingale in April

The yellow moon is a dancing phantom Down secret ways of the flowing shade; And the waveless stream has a murmuring whisper Where the alders wade.

Not a breath, not a sigh, save the slow stream's whisper: Only the moon is a dancing blade That leads a host of the Crescent warriors To a phantom raid.

Out of the lands of Faerie a summons, A long strange cry that thrills thro' the glade:-- The grey-green glooms of the elm are stirring, Newly afraid.

Last heard, white music, under the olives Where once Theocritus sang and play'd-- Thy Thracian song is the old new wonder-- O moon-white maid! --_William Sharp_

Home-Thoughts from Abroad

O, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England--now!

And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops--at the bent spray's edge-- That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower --Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! --_Robert Browning_

FEW HAPPY MATCHES

Say, mighty Love, and teach my song, To whom thy sweetest joys belong, And who the happy pairs Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands, Find blessings twisted with their bands To soften all their cares.

Two kindest souls alone must meet, 'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet, And feeds their mutual loves: Bright Venus on her rolling throne Is drawn by gentlest birds alone, And Cupids yoke the doves. --_Dr. Isaac Watts_

A Song

Gentle love, this hour befriend me, To my eyes resign thy dart; Notes of melting music lend me, To dissolve a frozen heart.

Chill as mountain snow her bosom, Though I tender language use, 'Tis by cold indifference frozen, To my arms, and to my Muse.

See! my dying eyes are pleading, Where a breaking heart appears; For thy pity interceding With the eloquence of tears.

While the lamp of life is fading, And beneath thy coldness dies, Death my ebbing pulse invading, Take my soul into thy eyes. --_Aaron Hill_

Love's Likeness

O mark yon Rose-tree! When the West Breathes on her with too warm a zest, She turns her cheek away; Yet if one moment he refrain, She turns her cheek to him again, And woos him still to stay!