Chapter 12

There is an hour when holy dreams Through slumber fairest glide; And in that mystic hour it seems Thou shouldst be by my side.

My thoughts of thee too sacred are For daylight's common beam: I can but know thee as my star, My angel and my dream!

Edward George Earle Bulwer Lytton [1803-1873]

NOCTURNE

Up to her chamber window A slight wire trellis goes, And up this Romeo's ladder Clambers a bold white rose.

I lounge in the ilex shadows, I see the lady lean, Unclasping her silken girdle, The curtain's folds between.

She smiles on her white-rose lover, She reaches out her hand And helps him in at the window - I see it where I stand!

To her scarlet lip she holds him, And kisses him many a time - Ah, me! it was he that won her Because he dared to climb!

Thomas Bailey Aldrich [1837-1907]

PALABRAS CARINOSAS Spanish Air

Good-night! I have to say good-night To such a host of peerless things! Good-night unto the slender hand All queenly with its weight of rings; Good-night to fond, uplifted eyes, Good-night to chestnut braids of hair, Good-night unto the perfect mouth, And all the sweetness nestled there - The snowy hand detains me, then I'll have to say Good-night again!

But there will come a time, my love, When, if I read our stars aright, I shall not linger by this porch With my farewells. Till then, good-night! You wish the time were now? And I. You do not blush to wish it so? You would have blushed yourself to death To own so much a year ago - What, both these snowy hands! ah, then I'll have to say Good-night again!

Thomas Bailey Aldrich [1837-1907]

SERENADE

The western wind is blowing fair Across the dark Aegean sea, And at the secret marble stair My Tyrian galley waits for thee. Come down! the purple sail is spread, The watchman sleeps within the town; O leave thy lily-flowered bed, O Lady mine, come down, come down!

She will not come, I know her well, Of lover's vows she hath no care, And little good a man can tell Of one so cruel and so fair. True love is but a woman's toy, They never know the lover's pain, And I, who love as loves a boy, Must love in vain, must love in vain.

O noble pilot, tell me true, Is that the sheen of golden hair? Or is it but the tangled dew That binds the passion-flowers there? Good sailor, come and tell me now, Is that my Lady's lily hand? Or is it but the gleaming prow, Or is it but the silver sand?

No! no! 'tis not the tangled dew, 'Tis not the silver-fretted sand, It is my own dear Lady true With golden hair and lily hand! O noble pilot, steer for Troy! Good sailor, ply the laboring oar! This is the Queen of life and joy Whom we must bear from Grecian shore!

The waning sky grows faint and blue; It wants an hour still of day; Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew, O Lady mine, away! away! O noble pilot, steer for Troy! Good sailor, ply the laboring oar! O loved as only loves a boy! O loved for ever, evermore!

Oscar Wilde [1856-1900]

THE LITTLE RED LARK

O swan of slenderness, Dove of tenderness, Jewel of joys, arise! The little red lark, Like a soaring spark Of song, to his sunburst flies; But till thou art arisen, Earth is a prison, Full of my lonesome sighs: Then awake and discover, To thy fond lover, The morn of thy matchless eyes. The dawn is dark to me, Hark! oh, hark to me,

Pulse of my heart, I pray! And out of thy hiding With blushes gliding, Dazzle me with thy day. Ah, then once more to thee Flying I'll pour to thee Passion so sweet and gay, The larks shall listen, And dew-drops glisten, Laughing on every spray.

Alfred Perceval Graves [1846-1931]

SERENADE

By day my timid passions stand Like begging children at your gate, Each with a mute, appealing hand To ask a dole of Fate; But when night comes, released from doubt, Like merry minstrels they appear, The stars ring out their hopeful shout, Beloved, can you hear?

They dare not sing to you by day Their all-desirous song, or take The world with their adventurous lay For your enchanted sake. But when the night-wind wakes and thrills The shadows that the night unbars, Their music fills the dreamy hills, And folds the friendly stars.

Beloved, can you hear? They sing Words that no mortal lips can sound; Love through the world has taken wing, My passions are unbound. And now, and now, my lips, my eyes, Are stricken dumb with hope and fear, It is my burning soul that cries, Beloved, can you hear?

Richard Middleton [1882-1911]

THE COMEDY OF LOVE

A LOVER'S LULLABY

Sing lullaby, as women do, Wherewith they bring their babes to rest; And lullaby can I sing too, As womanly as can the best. With lullaby they still the child; And if I be not much beguiled, Full many a wanton babe have I, Which must be stilled with lullaby.

First lullaby my youthful years, It is now time to go to bed: For crooked age and hoary hairs Have won the haven within my head. With lullaby, then, youth be still; With lullaby content thy will; Since courage quails and comes behind, Go sleep, and so beguile thy mind!

Next lullaby my gazing eyes, Which wonted were to glance apace; For every glass may now suffice To show the furrows in thy face. With lullaby then wink awhile; With lullaby your looks beguile; Let no fair face, nor beauty bright, Entice you eft with vain delight.

And lullaby my wanton will; Let reason's rule now reign thy thought; Since all too late I find by skill How dear I have thy fancies bought; With lullaby now take thine ease, With lullaby thy doubts appease; For trust to this, if thou be still, My body shall obey thy will.

Thus lullaby my youth, mine eyes, My will, my ware, and all that was: I can no more delays devise; But welcome pain, let pleasure pass. With lullaby now take your leave; With lullaby your dreams deceive; And when you rise with waking eye, Remember then this lullaby.

George Gascoigne [1525?-1577]

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON

In the merry month of May, In a morn by break of day, Forth I walked by the wood-side When as May was in his pride: There I spied all alone Phillida and Coridon. Much ado there was, God wot! He would love and she would not. She said, Never man was true; He said, None was false to you. He said, He had loved her long; She said, Love should have no wrong. Coridon would kiss her then; She said, Maids must kiss no men Till they did for good and all; Then she made the shepherd call All the heavens to witness truth Never loved a truer youth. Thus with many a pretty oath, Yea and nay, and faith and troth, Such as silly shepherds use When they will not Love abuse, Love, which had been long deluded, Was with kisses sweet concluded; And Phillida, with garlands gay, Was made the Lady of the May.

Nicholas Breton [1545?-1626?]

"CRABBED AGE AND YOUTH" From "The Passionate Pilgrim"

Crabbed Age and Youth Cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care; Youth like summer morn, Age like winter weather; Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, Age's breath is short; Youth is nimble, Age is lame; Youth is hot and bold, Age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and Age is tame. Age, I do abhor thee; Youth, I do adore thee; O, my Love, my Love is young! Age, I do defy thee: O, sweet shepherd, hie thee! For methinks thou stay'st too long.

William Shakespeare [1564-1616]

"IT WAS A LOVER AND HIS LASS" From "As You Like It"

It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass, In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, These pretty country folks would lie, In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Sweet lovers love the spring.

This carol they began that hour, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, How that life was but a flower In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Sweet lovers love the spring.

And, therefore, take the present time With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, For love is crowned with the prime In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Sweet lovers love the spring.

William Shakespeare [1564-1616]

"I LOVED A LASS"

I loved a lass, a fair one, As fair as e'er was seen; She was indeed a rare one, Another Sheba Queen: But, fool as then I was, I thought she loved me too: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo!

Her hair like gold did glister, Each eye was like a star, She did surpass her sister, Which passed all others far; She would me honey call, She'd - O she'd kiss me too! But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo!

Many a merry meeting My love and I have had; She was my only sweeting, She made my heart full glad; The tears stood in her eyes Like to the morning dew: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo!

Her cheeks were like the cherry, Her skin was white as snow; When she was blithe and merry She angel-like did show; Her waist exceeding small, The fives did fit her shoe: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo!

In summer time or winter She had her heart's desire; I still did scorn to stint her From sugar, sack, or fire; The world went round about, No cares we ever knew: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo!

To maidens' vows and swearing Henceforth no credit give; You may give them the hearing, But never them believe; They are as false as fair, Unconstant, frail, untrue: For mine, alas! hath left me, Falero, lero, loo!

George Wither [1588-1667]

TO CHLORIS

Ah, Chloris! that I now could sit As unconcerned as when Your infant beauty could beget No pleasure, nor no pain! When I the dawn used to admire, And praised the coming day, I little thought the growing fire Must take my rest away.

Your charms in harmless childhood lay Like metals in the mine; Age from no face took more away Than youth concealed in thine. But as your charms insensibly To their perfection pressed, Fond love as unperceived did fly, And in my bosom rest.

My passion with your beauty grew, And Cupid at my heart, Still as his mother favored you, Threw a new flaming dart: Each gloried in their wanton part; To make a lover, he Employed the utmost of his art - To make a beauty, she.

Charles Sedley [1639?-1701]

SONG

The merchant, to secure his treasure, Conveys it in a borrowed name: Euphelia serves to grace my measure; But Chloe is my real flame.

My softest verse, my darling lyre, Upon Euphelia's toilet lay; When Chloe noted her desire That I should sing, that I should play.

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise; But with my numbers mix my sighs: And while I sing Euphelia's praise, I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes.

Fair Chloe blushed: Euphelia frowned: I sung, and gazed: I played, and trembled: And Venus to the Loves around Remarked, how ill we all dissembled.

Matthew Prior [1664-1721]

PIOUS SELINDA

Pious Selinda goes to prayers, If I but ask her favor; And yet the silly fool's in tears If she believes I'll leave her; Would I were free from this restraint, Or else had hopes to win her: Would she could make of me a saint, Or I of her a sinner.

William Congreve [1670-1729]

FAIR HEBE

Fair Hebe I left, with a cautious design To escape from her charms, and to drown them in wine, I tried it; but found, when I came to depart, The wine in my head, and still love in my heart.

I repaired to my Reason, entreated her aid; Who paused on my case and each circumstance weighed, Then gravely pronounced, in return to my prayer, That "Hebe was fairest of all that was fair!"

"That's a truth," replied I, "I've no need to be taught; I came for your counsel to find out a fault." "If that's all," quoth Reason, "return as you came; To find fault with Hebe, would forfeit my name."

What hopes then, alas! of relief from my pain, While, like lightning, she darts through each throbbing vein? My Senses surprised, in her favor took arms; And Reason confirms me a slave to her charms.

John West [1693-1766]

A MAIDEN'S IDEAL OF A HUSBAND From "The Contrivances"

Genteel in personage, Conduct, and equipage, Noble by heritage, Generous and free: Brave, not romantic; Learned, not pedantic; Frolic, not frantic; This must he be.

Honor maintaining, Meanness disdaining, Still entertaining, Engaging and new. Neat, but not finical; Sage, but not cynical; Never tyrannical, But ever true.

Henry Carey [? -1743]

"PHILLADA FLOUTS ME"

O what a plague is love! How shall I bear it? She will inconstant prove, I greatly fear it. She so torments my mind That my strength faileth, And wavers with the wind As a ship saileth. Please her the best I may, She loves still to gainsay; Alack and well-a-day! Phillada flouts me.

At the fair yesterday She did pass by me; She looked another way And would not spy me: I wooed her for to dine, But could not get her; Will had her to the wine - He might entreat her. With Daniel she did dance, On me she looked askance: O thrice unhappy chance! Phillada flouts me.

Fair maid, be not so coy, Do not disdain me! I am my mother's joy: Sweet, entertain me! She'll give me, when she dies, All that is fitting: Her poultry and her bees, And her goose sitting, A pair of mattress beds, And a bag full of shreds; And yet, for all this guedes, Phillada flouts me!

She hath a clout of mine Wrought with blue coventry, Which she keeps for a sign Of my fidelity: But i' faith, if she flinch She shall not wear it; To Tib, my t'other wench, I mean to bear it. And yet it grieves my heart So soon from her to part: Death strike me with his dart! Phillada flouts me.

Thou shalt eat crudded cream All the year lasting, And drink the crystal stream Pleasant in tasting; Whig and whey whilst thou lust, And bramble-berries, Pie-lid and pastry-crust, Pears, plums, and cherries. Thy raiment shall be thin, Made of a weevil's skin - Yet all's not worth a pin! Phillada flouts me.

In the last month of May I made her posies; I heard her often say That she loved roses. Cowslips and gillyflowers And the white lily I brought to deck the bowers For my sweet Philly. But she did all disdain, And threw them back again; Therefore 'tis flat and plain Phillada flouts me.

Fair maiden, have a care, And in time take me; I can have those as fair If you forsake me: For Doll the dairy-maid Laughed at me lately, And wanton Winifred Favors me greatly. One throws milk on my clothes, T'other plays with my nose; What wanting signs are those? Phillada flouts me.

I cannot work nor sleep At all in season: Love wounds my heart so deep Without all reason I 'gin to pine away In my love's shadow, Like as a fat beast may, Penned in a meadow, I shall be dead, I fear, Within this thousand year: And all for that my dear Phillada flouts me.

Unknown

"WHEN MOLLY SMILES"

When Molly smiles beneath her cow, I feel my heart - I can't tell how; When Molly is on Sunday dressed, On Sundays I can take no rest.

What can I do? On worky days I leave my work on her to gaze. What shall I say? At sermons, I Forget the text when Molly's by.

Good master curate, teach me how To mind your preaching and my plow: And if for this you'll raise a spell, A good fat goose shall thank you well.

Unknown

CONTENTIONS

It was a lordling's daughter, the fairest one of three, That liked of her master as well as well might be; Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that eye could see Her fancy fell a-turning.

Long was the combat doubtful that love with love did fight, To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight: To put in practice either, alas! it was a spite Unto the silly damsel.

But one must be refused: more mickle was the pain, That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain; For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain: Alas! she could not help it.

Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day, Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away; Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gays For now my song is ended.

Unknown

"I ASKED MY FAIR, ONE HAPPY DAY" After Lessing

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!" replied my gentle fair, "Beloved, what are names but air? Choose thou whatever suits the line; Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, Call me Lalage or Doris, Only - only call me thine."

Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834]

THE EXCHANGE

We pledged our hearts, my love and I, - I in my arms the maiden clasping: I could not tell the reason why, But oh! I trembled like an aspen.

Her father's love she bade me gain; I went, and shook like any reed! I strove to act the man - in vain! We had exchanged our hearts indeed.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834]

"COMIN' THROUGH THE RYE"

Comin' through the rye, poor body, Comin' through the rye, She draiglet a' her petticoatie, Comin' through the rye.

Oh Jenny's a' wat poor body, Jenny's seldom dry; She draiglet a' her petticoatie, Comin' through the rye.

Gin a body meet a body, Comin' through the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry?

Gin a body meet a body Comin' through the glen, Gin a body kiss a body, Need the warld ken?

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

"GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O!"

There's naught but care on every han', In every hour that passes, O! What signifies the life o' man, An' 'twere na for the lasses, O?

Green grow the rashes, O! Green grow the rashes, O! The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent amang the lasses, O!

The warl'ly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them, O! An' though at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O!

Gie me a canny hour at e'en; My arms about my dearie, O! An' warl'ly cares, an' warl'ly men, May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this; Ye'er naught but senseless asses, O! The wisest man the warl' e'er saw He dearly loved the lasses, O!

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O! Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, An' then she made the lasses, O!

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

DEFIANCE

Catch her and hold her if you can - See, she defies you with her fan, Shuts, opens, and then holds it spread In threatening guise above your head. Ah! why did you not start before She reached the porch and closed the door? Simpleton! will you never learn That girls and time will not return; Of each you should have made the most; Once gone, they are forever lost. In vain your knuckles knock your brow, In vain will you remember how Like a slim brook the gamesome maid Sparkled, and ran into the shade.

Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]

OF CLEMENTINA

In Clementina's artless mien Lucilla asks me what I see, And are the roses of sixteen Enough for me?

Lucilla asks, if that be all, Have I not culled as sweet before: Ah yes, Lucilla! and their fall I still deplore.

I now behold another scene, Where Pleasure beams with Heaven's own light, More pure, more constant, more serene, And not less bright.

Faith, on whose breast the Loves repose, Whose chain of flowers no force can sever, And Modesty who, when she goes, Is gone for ever.

Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]

"THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING"

The time I've lost in wooing, In watching and pursuing The light that lies In woman's eyes, Has been my heart's undoing. Though Wisdom oft has sought me, I scorned the lore she brought me, - My only books Were women's looks, And folly's all they taught me.

Her smile when Beauty granted, I hung with gaze enchanted, Like him the sprite Whom maids by night Oft meet in glen that's haunted. Like him, too, Beauty won me; But when the spell was on me, If once their ray Was turned away, O! winds could not outrun me.

And are those follies going? And is my proud heart growing Too cold or wise For brilliant eyes Again to set it glowing? No - vain, alas! th' endeavor From bonds so sweet to sever; - Poor Wisdom's chance Against a glance Is now as weak as ever.

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

DEAR FANNY

"She has beauty, but you must keep your heart cool; She has wit, but you mustn't be caught so": Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool, And 'tis not the first time I have thought so, Dear Fanny, 'Tis not the first time I have thought so.

"She is lovely; then love her, nor let the bliss fly; 'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season"; Thus Love has advised me, and who will deny That Love reasons better than Reason, Dear Fanny Love reasons much better than Reason.

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

A CERTAIN YOUNG LADY

There's a certain young lady, Who's just in her hey-day, And full of all mischief, I ween; So teasing! so pleasing! Capricious! delicious! And you know very well whom I mean.

With an eye dark as night, Yet than noonday more bright, Was ever a black eye so keen? It can thrill with a glance, With a beam can entrance, And you know very well whom I mean.

With a stately step - such as You'd expect in a duchess - And a brow might distinguish a queen, With a mighty proud air, That says "touch me who dare," And you know very well whom I mean.

With a toss of the head That strikes one quite dead, But a smile to revive one again; That toss so appalling! That smile so enthralling! And you know very well whom I mean.

Confound her! de'il take her! - A cruel heart-breaker - But hold! see that smile so serene. God love her! God bless her! May nothing distress her! You know very well whom I mean.

Heaven help the adorer Who happens to bore her, The lover who wakens her spleen; But too blest for a sinner Is he who shall win her, And you know very well whom I mean.

Washington Irving [1783-1859]

"WHERE BE YOU GOING, YOU DEVON MAID"

Where be you going, you Devon maid? And what have ye there in the basket? Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy, Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?

I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; But oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!

I'll put your basket all safe in a nook; Your shawl I'll hang on a willow; And we will sigh in the daisy's eye, And kiss on a grass-green pillow.

John Keats [1795-1821]

LOVE IN A COTTAGE

They may talk of love in a cottage, And bowers of trellised vine, - Of nature bewitchingly simple, And milkmaids half divine; They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping In the shade of a spreading tree, And a walk in the fields at morning, By the side of a footstep free!

But give me a sly flirtation By the light of a chandelier, - With music to play in the pauses, And nobody very near; Or a seat on a silken sofa, With a glass of pure old wine, And mamma too blind to discover The small white hand in mine.

Your love in a cottage is hungry, Your vine is a nest for flies, - Your milkmaid shocks the Graces, And simplicity talks of pies! You lie down to your shady slumber And wake with a bug in your ear, And your damsel that walks in the morning Is shod like a mountaineer.

True love is at home on a carpet, And mightily likes his ease; - And true love has an eye for a dinner, And starves beneath shady trees. His wing is the fan of a lady, His foot's an invisible thing, And his arrow is tipped with a jewel, And shot from a silver string.

Nathaniel Parker Willis [1806-1867]

SONG OF THE MILKMAID From "Queen Mary"

Shame upon you, Robin, Shame upon you now! Kiss me would you? with my hands Milking the cow? Daisies grow again, Kingcups blow again, And you came and kissed me milking the cow.

Robin came behind me, Kissed me well, I vow; Cuff him could I? with my hands Milking the cow? Swallows fly again, Cuckoos cry again, And you came and kissed me milking the cow.

Come, Robin, Robin, Come and kiss me now; Help it can I? with my hands Milking the cow? Ringdoves coo again, All things woo again, Come behind and kiss me milking the cow!

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

"WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW"