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THE POET'S ADMIRATION. That eagle's fate and mine are one,
Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high. To a Lady singing a Song of his Composing.
Is she not more than painting can express, Or youthful poets fancy when they love ?
The Fair Penitent, dctiil, Sc. I.
When he shall die,
Romeo and Juliet, Act iii. Sc. 2.
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
The Night Piece to Fulia.
To a Lady; with a Present of Flowers.
Faithful Shepherdess, BEAU'MONT and FLETCHER.
IF IT BE TRUE THAT ANY BEAUTEOUS Forgive me if I cannot turn away
From those sweet eyes that are my earthly
heaven, Te it be true that any beauteous thing
For they are guiding stars, benignly given Raises the pure and just desire of man
To tempt my footsteps to the upward way; From earth to Goul, the eternal fount of all,
And if I dwell too fondly in thy sight, Such I believe my love ; for as in her
I live and love in God's peculiar light. So fair, in whom I all besides forget,
MICHAEL ANGELO (Italian). Translation I view the gentle work of her Creator,
of J. E. TAYLOR.
WERE I AS BASE AS IS THE LOWLY Enamored through the eyes,
WERE I as base as is the lowly plain,
And you, my Love, as high as heaven above, For who adores the Maker needs must love his Yet should the thoughts of me your humble work.
Ascend to heaven, in honor of my Love.
Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
Muses, that sing Love's sensual empirie,
Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skics,
Wheresoe'er I am, below, or else above you, Wheresoe'er you are, my heart shall truly love you.
THE MIGHT OF ONE FAIR FACE.
The night has a thousand eyes,
The day but one ;
With the dying sun.
The might of one fair face sublimes my love,
The nind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one ;
FRANCIS W. BOURDILLON
For kings have wars and broils to take in hand,
Ah then, ah then,
I saw two summer currents
Flow smoothly to their meeting,
each other greeting; Calm was their course through banks of green, While dimpling eddies played between.
Such be your gentle motion,
Till life's last pulse shall beat ;
Float on, in joy, to meet
THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.
TELL ME, MY HEART, IF THIS BE
LOVE. Whex Delia on the plain appears, Awed 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 ravished ear No other voice than hers can hear ; No other wit but hers approve ; Tell me, my heart, if this be love. If she some other swain 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 pleased before, The clearest spring, the 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.
It was a friar of orders gray
Walked forth to tell his beads ; And he inet with a lady fair
Clad in a pilgrim's weeds.
“Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar ;
I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine
My true love thou didst see.”
“And how should I know your true-love
From many another one ?" “0, by his cockle hat, and staff,
And by his sandal shoon.
GEORGE, LORD LYTTELTON.
MY TRUE-LOVE HATH MY HEART.
“But chiefly by his face and mien,
That were so fair to view ; His Maxen locks that sweetly curled,
And eyes of lovely blue."
My true love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one to the other given : I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven : My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. His heart in me keeps him and me 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 :
“O lady, he is dead and gone !
Lady, he's dead and gone : And at his head a green grass turf,
And at his heels a stone.
“Within these holy cloisters long
He languished, and he died, Lamenting of a lady's love,
And 'plaining of her pride.
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
I SAW TWO CLOUDS AT MORNING.
“Here bore him barefaced on his bier
Six proper youths and tall, And many a tear bedewed his grave
Within yon kirkyard wall."
I saw two clouds at morning,
Tinged by the rising sun,
And mingled into onte ;
“And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!
And art thou dead and gone ? And didst thou die for love of me?
Break, cruel heart of stone !"