Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

MY DEAR AND ONLY LOVE.

MY DEAR AND ONLY LOVE.

PART FIRST.

My dear and only love, I pray,

This noble world of thee
Be governed by no other sway
But purest monarchie.
For if confusion have a part,
Which virtuous souls abhore,
And hold a synod in thy heart,
I'll never love thee more.

Like Alexander I will reign,

And I will reign alone, My thoughts shall evermore disdain A rival on my throne.

He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,

That puts it not unto the touch,
To win or lose it all.

But I must rule and govern still

And always give the law,
And have each subject at my will,

And all to stand in awe.
But 'gainst my battery if I find

Thou shun'st the prize so sore As that thou set'st me up a blind I'll never love thee more.

If in the empire of thy heart,
Where I should solely be,
Another do pretend a part,
And dares to vie with ine;
Or if committees thou erect,

And go on such a score,
I'll sing and laugh at thy neglect,

And never love thee more.

But if thou wilt be constant then,

And faithful of thy word,
I'll make thee glorious by my pen,
And famous by my sword.
I'll serve thee in such noble ways

Was never heard before;

I'll crown and deck thee all with bays, And love thee evermore.

PART SECOND.

My dear and only love, take heed, Lest thou thyself expose,

[blocks in formation]

255

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

"Alas! he had too just a cause
Never to love thee more."

And when that tracing goddess Fame
From east to west shall flee,
She shall record it, to thy shame,

How thou hast loved me;

And how in odds our love was such
As few have been before;

Thou loved too many, and I too much,
So I can love no more.

JAMES GRAHam, Marquis OF MONTROSE

WELCOME, WELCOME.

Welcome, welcome, do I sing,

Far more welcome than the spring;
He that parteth from you never.
Shall enjoy a spring for ever.

Love that to the voice is near,

Breaking from your ivory pale,
Need not walk abroad to hear
The delightful nightingale.

Welcome, welcome, then I sing,
Far more welcome than the spring;
He that parteth from you never,
Shall enjoy a spring for ever.

Love, that still looks on your eyes,
Though the winter have begun
To benumb our arteries,

Shall not want the summer's sun.
Welcome, welcome, then I sing,
Far more welcome than the spring;
He that parteth from you never,
Shall enjoy a spring for ever.

Love, that still may see your cheeks,
Where all rareness still reposes,

Is a fool if e'er he seeks
Other lilies, other roses.

Welcome, welcome, then I sing,
Far more welcome than the spring;
He that parteth from you never,
Shall enjoy a spring for ever.

Love, to whom your soft lip yields,
And perceives your breath in kissing,
All the odors of the fields

Never, never shall be missing.

LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR.

Welcome, welcome, then I sing,
Far more welcome than the spring;
He that parteth from you never,
Shall enjoy a spring for ever.

Love, that question would anew
What fair Eden was of old,
Let him rightly study you,
And a brief of that behold.

Welcome, welcome, then I sing,
Far more welcome than the spring;
He that parteth from you never,
Shall enjoy a spring for ever.

WILLIAM BROWNE

BLEST AS THE IMMORTAL GODS.

BLEST as the immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while
Softly speak, and sweetly smile.

'T was this deprived my soul of rest,
And raised such tumults in my breast:
For while I gazed, in transport tost,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost.

My bosom glowed; the subtle flame
Ran quick through all my vital frame:
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.

In dewy damps my limbs were chilled; My blood with gentle horrors thrilled: My feeble pulse forgot to play

I fainted, sunk, and died away.

Translation of AMBROSE PHILLIPS.

SAPPHO. (Greek.)

KULNASATZ, MY REINDEER.

A LAPLAND SONG.

KULNASATZ, my reindeer,

We have a long journey to go;

The moors are vast,

And we must haste.

Our strength, I fear,

Will fail, if we are slow;

And so

Our songs will do.

Kaigè, the watery moor,
Is pleasant unto me,
Though long it be,

Since it doth to my mistress lead,
Whom I adore;

The Kilwa moor

I ne'er again will tread.

Thoughts filled my mind,

Whilst I through Kaigè passed Swift as the wind,

And my desire

Winged with impatient fire; My reindeer, let us haste!

257

So shall we quickly end our pleasing painBehold my mistress there,

With decent motion walking o'er the plain Kulnasatz, my reindeer,

Look yonder, where

She washes in the lake! See, while she swims,

The water from her purer limbs New clearness take!

ANONYMOUS

LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR.

I ARISE from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing le▾
And the stars are shining bright
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet

Has led me-who knows how?
To thy chamber window, sweet!

The wandering airs, they faint
On the dark and silent stream-
The champak odors fail

Like sweet thoughts in a dream.
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must on thine,
Beloved as thou art!

Oh, lift me from the grass! I die, I faint, I fail!

Let thy love in kisses rain

On my lips and eyelids pale.

[blocks in formation]

Forgive me if I cannot turn away
From those sweet eyes that are my earthly
heaven,

For they are guiding stars, benignly given
To tempt my footsteps to the upward way;
And if I dwell too fondly in thy sight,
I live and love in God's peculiar light.
MICHAEL ANGELO. (Italiau)

Translation of J. E. TAYLOR.

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY.

THE fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix for ever,
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;

All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle-
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,

And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth,

And the moonbeams kiss the sea;What are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me?

TO

PEROY BYSSHE SHELLEY

ONE word is too often profaned
For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it.
One hope is too like despair

For prudence to smother,
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love;
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the heavens reject not:
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

[blocks in formation]

Our English maids are long to woo,
And frigid even in possession;
And if their charms be fair to view,
Their lips are slow at love's confession;
But, born beneath a brighter sun,

For love ordained the Spanish maid is, And who, when fondly, fairly won,Enchants you like the girl of Cadiz?

IV.

The Spanish maid is no coquette,
Nor joys to see a lover tremble;

And if she love, or if she hate,

Alike she knows not to dissemble. Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold

Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely; And, though it will not bend to gold, 'T will love you long, and love you dearly.

V.

The Spanish girl that meets your love
Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial;
For every thought is bent to prove

Her passion in the hour of trial.
When thronging foemen menace Spain

She dares the deed and shares the danger; And should her lover press the plain, She hurls the spear, her love's avenger.

And when, beneath the evening star,
She mingles in the gay bolero;
Or sings to her attuned guitar

Of Christian knight or Moorish hero; Or counts her beads with fairy hand Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper; Or joins devotion's choral band

To chant the sweet and hallowed vesper:

VII.

In each her charms the heart must move Of all who venture to behold her. Then let not maids less fair reprove.

Because her bosom is not colder; Through many a clime 't is mine to roam

Where many a soft and melting maid is, But none abroad, and few at home, May match the dark-eyed girl of Cadiz.

SONG.

LORD BYBON

THE heath this night must be my bed,
The bracken curtain for my head,
My lullaby the warder's tread,

Far, far from love and thee, Mary;
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid,
My couch may be my bloody plaid,
My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid!
It will not waken me, Mary!

I may not, dare not, fancy now
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow;
I dare not think upon thy vow,

And all it promised me, Mary.
No fond regret must Norman know :
When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe,
His heart must be like bended bow,
His foot like arrow free, Mary.

A time will come with feeling fraught!
For, if I fall in battle fought,
Thy hapless lover's dying thought

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary!
And if returned from conquered foes,
How blithely will the evening close,
How sweet the linnet sing repose

To my young bride and me, Mary!

SIR WALTER SCOTI

« AnteriorContinuar »