Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,

Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,

Or of those silver lamps that burn on high, Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair : For I am brimfull of the friendliness

That in a little cottage I have found ; Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,

And all his love for gentle Lycid drown'd; Of lovely Laura in her light green dress, And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.

Keats.

a

117

On the Sea-Shore

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,

The holy time is quiet as a Nun

Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity;

The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea :

Listen ! the mighty Being is awake,

And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder-everlastingly.

Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, If thou appear untouch'd by solemn thought,

Thy nature is not therefore less divine :

Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year,

And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not.

Wordsworth, 1802.

118
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 Spring time, etc.

This carol they began that hour,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino !
How that life was but a flower

In Spring time, etc.

And therefore take the present time,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino !
For love is crowned with the prime

In Spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ;
Sweet lovers love the Spring.

Shakespeare.

119

Madrigal
FAIN would I change that note
To which fond Love hath charm'd me
Long, long to sing by rote,

Fancying that that harm'd me: that that) accent on the first that, viz. : liking (all the while) that which harmed me.

Yet when this thought doth come,
' Love is the perfect sum

Of all delight,
I have no other choice
Either for pen or voice

To sing or write.

O Love! they wrong thee much
That say thy sweet is bitter,
When thy rich fruit is such
As nothing can be sweeter.
Fair house of joy and bliss,
Where truest pleasure is,

I do adore thee :
I know thee what thou art,
I serve thee with

my

heart, And fall before thee.

1605.

I20

I KNOW not what my secret is,

I know but it is mine,
I know to dwell with it were bliss,

To die for it divine.

I cannot yield it in a kiss,

Nor breathe it in a sigh ;
Enough that I have lived for this,

For this, my love, I die.

Lang.

I21*

The Bargain My true Love hath my heart, and I have his,

By just exchange one for the other given : I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss ;

There never was a better bargain driven.

His heart in me keeps me and him in one,

My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides : He loves my heart, for once it was his own; I cherish his, because in me it bides My true Love hath my heart, and I have his.

Sidney.

122*

To Althea from Prison

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage ;
Minds innocent and quiet take

That for a hermitage :
If I have freedom in

my

love
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

Lovelace.

123

Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story ;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory;
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
Are worth all your laurels, tho' ever so plenty.
What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is

wrinkled ? 'Tis but as a dead-flower with May-dew besprinkledThen away

with all such from the head that is hoary ! What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? O FAME !—If I e'er took delight in thy praises, 'Twas less for the sake of thy high sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; When it sparkled o’er aught that was bright in my story, I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.

Byron, 1821.

124

Lucy
She dwelt

among

the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And
very

few to love :

A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye !
Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be ;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!

Wordsworth, 1799.

125

O SNATCH'd away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb ;
But on thy turf shall roses rear

Their leaves, the earliest of the year ;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom :

And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,

And lingering pause and lightly tread;
Fond wretch ! as if her steps disturb’d the dead !