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71. LOVE.

HERE the golden hand of morn
Touches light the singing fountain,

There a maiden, lowly born,

Guides her flock along the mountain. Bashful as the fawn, and fleet,

She invests the world with beauty, Simple grace and manners sweet Dignify her humble duty.

Sudden light has wreathed the earth,

Robed the fields and flowers in gladness;

New delights too deep for mirth,

Gentle griefs too sweet for sadness.
Who this sudden charm hath wrought?
Sent this flow of bright revealings?
Mind that springs with joyous thought!
Heart that flows with heavenly feelings!

Surely 'tis some angel strayed,

Not a shepherd's daughter solely,
Who hath earth like heaven arrayed,
In a light and love so holy!
Oh! when stars like drops of pearl

Glimmer o'er the singing water,

There I'll woo my mountain girl,
Proudly wed the shepherd's daughter.

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73. ODE.

WRITTEN AFTER READING SOME MODERN LOVE VERSES.

AKE hence this tuneful trifler's lays!

TAKE

I'll hear no more the unmeaning strain
Of Venus' loves, and Cupid's darts,
And killing eyes, and wounded hearts :
All flattery's round of fulsome praise,
All falsehood's cant of fabled pain.

Bring me the muse whose tongue has told
Love's genuine plaintive, tender tale,
Bring me the muse whose sounds of woe
Midst death's dread scenes so sweetly flow:
When friendship's faithful breast lies cold,
When beauty's blooming cheek is pale.

Bring these, I like their grief sincere,
It soothes my sympathetic gloom,

For oh! love's genuine pains I've borne,

And death's dread rage has made me mourn ;
I've wept o'er friendship's early bier,

And dropt the tear on beauty's tomb.

John Scott.

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74. WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY.

LOV'D thee once, I'll love no more,

Thine be the grief, as is the blame;
Thou art not what thou wast before,
What reason I should be the same?
He that can love unlov'd again,
Hath better store of love than brain;
God sent me love my debts to pay,
While unthrifts fool their love away.

Nothing could have my love o'erthrown,
If thou hadst still continued mine;
Yea, if thou hadst remained my own,
I might perchance have yet been thine:
But thou thy freedom did recall,
That if thou might elsewhere enthral;
And then how could I but disdain
A captive's captive to remain ?

When new desires had conquer'd thee,
And chang'd the object of tny will,
It had been lethargy in me,

Not constancy-to love thee still.
Yea, it had been a sin to go
And prostitute affection so,

Since we are taught no prayers to say
To such as must to others pray.

Yet do thou glory in thy choice:
Thy choice of his good fortune boast:
I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice,
To see him gain what I have lost.
The height of my disdain shall be,
To laugh at him, to blush for thee;
To love thee still, but go no more
A begging to a beggar's door.

Sir Robert Ayton.

75. GO, LOVELY ROSE!

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.

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Tell her that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst 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.

Then die! That she

The common fate of all things rare May read in thee,

How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
Edmund Waller.

76. SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.

HE walks in beauty like the night

SH

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less.
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,

How

A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.

Byron.

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77. HONOUR AND LOVE.

TELL

ELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from the memory

Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase;—
The first foe in the field,

And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such

As you too shall adore,

I could not love thee dearest, much
Lov'd I not honour more.

Lovelace.

78. LURKING LOVE.

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HEN lurking love in ambush lies
Under friendship's fair disguise,
When he wears an angry mien,
Imitating spite or spleen;

When, like Sorrow, he seduces;
When, like Pleasure, he amuses;
Still, howe'er the parts are cast,
'Tis but ‘Lurking Love' at last.

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Mrs. Piozzi.

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79. TO THE MEMORY OF A LADY.

HIGH peace to the soul of the dead

From the dreams of the world she has gone;

On the stars in her glory to tread,

To be bright in the blaze of the throne.