Why should two hearts in one breast lie,
And yet not lodge together?
O Love! where is thy sympathy,

If thus our breasts thou sever?

But love is such a mystery

I cannot find it out;

For when I think I'm best resolv'd,
I then am in most doubt.

Then, farewell care! and farewell woe!
I will no longer pine;

For I'll believe I have her heart,
As much as she has mine.

WHEN, DEAREST! I but think of thee,
Methinks all things that lovely be
Are present, and my soul delighted;
For beauties that from worth arise,
Are, like the grace of deities,

Still present with us, though unsighted.

Thus, whilst I sit and sigh the day,
With all his borrow'd lights, away,
Till night's black wings do overtake me;
Thinking on thee, thy beauties then,
As sudden lights do sleepy men,
So they by their bright rays awake me.

Thus absence dies; and dying, proves
No absence can subsist with loves

That do partake of fair perfection:
Since in the darkest night they may,
By love's quick motion, find a way
To see each other by reflection.

The waving sea can with each flood
Bathe some high promonť, that has stood
Far from the main up in the river:
Oh! think not, then, but love can do
As much; for that's an ocean too,
Which flows not every day, but ever!

TO A LOVER.

WHY so pale and wan, fond Lover?
Pr'ythee why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her
Looking ill prevail?

Pr'ythee why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young Sinner,
Pr'ythee why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?

Pr'ythee why so mute?

Quit, quit for shame! this will not move,
This cannot take her;
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her :-
The devil take her.

JOHN MILTON.

1639.

Milton, who when young was singularly beautiful, is reported to have become enamoured with an Italian Lady during his travels, to whom he addressed several interesting poems, written in her native tongue. The Sonnet to the Nightingale, among his English minor poems, is also amatory, though the object by which it was inspired cannot perhaps be now ascertained. Milton was twice married, and both his wives died in child-bed. It was on the death of his first wife, Mary, daughter of Richard Powell, Esq. that he composed that sublime tribute of affection, beginning" Methought I saw my late espoused Saint;" a production which, for its sacred tenderness, has never been approached except in Cowper's Sonnet to another Mary, Mrs. Unwin. John Milton was born in Bread-street, in the city of London, on the 9th of December, 1608: he died on November 10th, 1674, at his house in Bunhill-fields, and was buried in St. Giles's Cripplegate, his funeral being both splendidly and numerously attended. He bequeathed 15007. to his family; r a proof," observes Dr. Anderson," that he never was in indigence."

TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still!
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill,
While the' jolly Hours lead on propitious May.
Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of Day,

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love: O if Jove's will
Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, e'er the rude bird of hate
Foretel my hopeless doom in some grove nigh;
As thou, from year to year, hast sung too late
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why.

Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

O LADY fair! whose honour'd name is borne
By that soft vale, where Rhine so loves to stray,
And sees the tall arch crown his watery way!
Sure happy he, though much the Muse's
scorn,
Too dull to die beneath thy beauty's ray,
Who never felt that spirit's charmed sway
Which gentle smiles and gentle deeds adorn;
Though in those smiles are all love's arrows worn,

Each radiant virtue though those deeds display! Sure happy he, who that sweet voice should hear Mould the soft speech, or swell the tuneful strain, And, conscious that his humble vows were vain, Shut fond attention from his closed ear;

Who, piteous of himself, should timely part,
Ere love had held long empire in his heart!

As o'er yon wild hill, when the browner light
Of Evening falls, the village maiden hies

To foster some fair plant with kind supplies;
Some stranger plant, that yet in tender plight,
But feebly buds, ere spring has open'd quite
The soft affections of serener skies:
So I, with such like gentle thought devise
This stranger-tongue to cultivate with care,
All for the sake of lovely lady Fair!
And tune my lays, in language little tried

By such as wont to Tamis' banks repair,
Tamis forsook for Arno's flowery side:
So wrought Love's will, that ever ruleth wide!

CHARLES! must I say, what strange it seems to say,
This rebel heart that love hath held as naught,
Or, haply, in his cunning mazes caught,
Would laugh, and let his captive steal away;
This simple heart hath now become his prey?
Yet hath no golden tress' this lesson taught;
Nor vermeil cheek, that shames the rising day:
Oh no!-'twas Beauty's most celestial ray,
With charms divine of sovereign sweetness fraught!
The noble mien, the soul-dissolving air,
The bright arch bending o'er the lucid eye,

The voice, that breathing melody so rare,

Might lead the toil'd moon from the middle sky! Charles! when such mischief arm'd this foreign Fair, Small chance had I to hope this simple heart should fly.