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HAPPY Thames that didst my Stella bear; As idle sounds, of few or none are sougbt; I saw myself with many a smiling line That there is nothing lighter than vain praise. Upon thy cheerful face, joy's livery wear, I know frail beauty 's like the purple flower While those fair planets on thy streams did To which one morn oft birth and death af shine;
fords, The boat for joy could not to dance forbear; That love a jarring is of mind's accords, While wanton winds, with beauties so divine Where sense and will bring under reason's Ravished, staid not till in her golden hair
power: They did themselves, ob sweetest prison! Know what I list, this all cannot me move, twine;
But that, alas! I both must write and love. And fain those Eol's youth there would their
WILLIAX DRUMMOND. stay Have made, but forced by nature still to fly, First did with puffing kiss those locks display. She so dishevelled, blashed:- from window I, With sight thereof, cried out, oh fair disgrace!
If it be true that any beauteous thing
Such I believe my love; for as in her With how sad steps, 0 Moon thou climb'st So fair, in whom I all besides forget, the skies
I view the gentle work of her creator, How silently, and with how wan a face!
I have no care for any other thing, What! may it be, that even in heavenly Whilst thus I love. Nor is it marvellous, place
Since the effect is not of my own power, That busy archer his sharp arrows tries?
If the soul doth, by nature tempted forth, Sare, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes
Enamored through the eyes,
eyes which it resembleth, I read it in thy looks, thy languished grace;
And through them riseth to the Primal Love, To me that feel the like thy state descries.
As to its end, and honors in admiring; Then even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me-
For who adores the Maker needs must love Is constant love deemed there but want of
His work. wit?
MICHAEL ANGELO. (Italian.) Are beauties there as proud as here they be?
Translation of J. E. TAYLOR,
TO VITTORIA COLONNA.
YES! hope may with my strong desire keep
And I be undeluded, unbetrayed;
For if of our affections none find grace I kxow that all beneath the moon decays; In sight of heaven, then wherefore bath God And what by mortals in this world is brought, made In tiine's great periods shall return to nought; | The world which we inhabit? Better plea That fairest states have fatal nights and days. Love cannot have, than that in loving thee I know that all the muses' heavenly lays, Glory to that Eternal Peace is paid, With toil of sprite which are so dearly bought, Who such divinity to thee imparts
As hallows and makes pure all gentle | Through sorrow's trick. I thought the fuhearts.
neral shearg His hope is treacherous only whose love dies Would take this first, but love is justified, With beauty, which is varying every hour : Take it thou, -finding pure, from all those But in chaste 'hearts, uninfluenced by the years, power
The kiss my mother left there when she dieci Of outward change, there blooms a deathless
flower, That breathes on earth the air of paradise.
MICHAEL ANGELO. (Italian.) Say over again, and yet once over again, Translation of WILLIAN WORDSWORTH.
That thou dost love me. Though the word
repeated Should seem
a cuckoo-song," as thou dost treat it,
Remember, never to the hill or plain, SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain,
Comes the fresh spring in all her green comIF thou must love me, let it be for nought
pleted. Except for love's sake only. Do not say “I love her for her smile, her look, her Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's way
pain Of speaking gently,- for a trick of thought
Cry: "Speak once more—thou lovest!" That falls in well with mine, and certes
Who can fear brought
Too many stars, though each in heaven sha!! A sense of pleasant ease on such a day.”
roll— For these things in themselves, beloved, may
Too many flowers, though each shall crown Be changed, or change for thee, -and love so
the year? wrought,
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
toll Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks
The silver iterance !-only minding, dear,
To love me also in silence, with thy soul.
IF I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
That comes to each in turn, nor count it
change? As girls do, any more. It only may
That 's hardest. If to conquer love has tried, Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of To conquer grief tries more, as all thing tears,
prove; Tanght drooping from the head that hangs For grief indeed is love and grief beside. aside
Alas, I have grieved so, I am hard to Jove.
PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.
Yet love me—wilt thou ? Open thine heart
wide, And fold within the wet wings of thy dove.
PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.
In the merrie moneth of Maye,
Where anon by a wood side,
FIRST time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And, ever since, it grew more clean and
white, Slow to world-greetings, quick with its
"O list!" When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here, plainer to my sight, Than that first kiss. The second passed in
height The first, and sought the forehead, and half
missed, Half falling on the hair. Oh, beyond meed! That was the chrism of love, which love's
own crown, With sanctifying sweetness, did precede. The third upon my lips was folded down In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed, I have been proud, and said, “My love, my
Much adoe there was, God wot; He wold love, and she wold not. She sayd never inan was trewe; He sayes none was false to you.
He sayde hee had lorde her longe ;
Tyll they doe for good and all. When she made the shepperde call All the heavens to wytnes truthe, Never loved a truer youthe.
Then with many a prettie othe,
Love, that had bene long deluded,
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways: I love thee to the depth, and breadth, and
height My soul can reach, when feeling, out of sight, For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for right; I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's
faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, I love thee with the
breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!-and, if God
choose, I shal. but love thee better after death.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
LOVE IS A SICKNESS.
Love is a sickness full of woes,
All remedies refusing;
For this beauty still doth hide DISCOURSE WITH CUPID.
Something more than thou hast spied.
Outward grace weak Love beguiles : NOBLEST Charis, you that are
She is Venus when she smiles, Both my fortune and my star!
But she's Juno when she walks,
And Minerva when she talks."
Love and I have had ; and true.
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, So hath Homer praised her hair ;
And I'll not look for wine. So Anacreon drawn the air
The thirst that from the soul doth rise Of her face, and made to rise,
Doth ask a drink divine ; Just about her sparkling eyes,
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope that there In her cheeks of milk and roses ;
It could not withered be. Such as oft I wanton in.
But thou thereon did'st only breathe, And above her even chin,
And sent'st it back to me; Have you placed the bank of kisses Since when, it grows, and smells, I swear, Where, you say, men gather blisses,
Not of itself, but thee. Ripened with a breath more sweet,
CUPID AND OAMPASPE.
CUPID and my Campaspe played
The coral of his lip, the rose " And the glass hangs by her side, Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how); And the girdle 'bout her waist, With these the crystal of his brow, All is Venus; save unchaste.
And then the dimple of his chin; But, alas! thou seest the least
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes;
What shall, alas! become of me?