Love is the ocean, when it swells
And flows upon the land,
Caressing with its waves and shells
The dull forsaken strand.

Love is the carol of the bird,
The light of summer's sun,
The calm of twilight softly stirred
By symphonies of home.

Love is the sweetest scent of flower,
The ripest taste of fruit,
The soft-descending vernal shower,
That laves the tender shoot.

Love is the brightly glistening tear
Of heart that, joyous, weeps;
An angel-form, that hovers near
Where childhood dreams and sleeps.

When, Dearest, I but think on 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 while I sit and sigh the day,
With all his spreading lights away,
Till nights black wings do overtake me:
Thinking on thee, thy beauties then,
As sudden lights do sleeping men,
So they by their bright rayes awake me.

Thus absence dyes, and dying proves
No absence can consist with Loves,

Oh , when the day of passion's fled,
And softly by life's gliding river
We gather flowers to grace our dead,
From all but mem'ry gone for ever,
The fairest wreaths I'll daily twine
Of every tender leaf and blossom
To lay upon the hidden shrine,
Still sacred to thee in my bosom.

Though life's bright noon hath passed away,
With all its tales of love unspoken,
My beauteous rosebud, 'neath its ray,
Untimely fallen, crushed, and broken,
I'll keep its seared and withered leaves,
And find in them as pure a pleasure

BY P OSEIDON

I LOVED Medusa when she was a child,
Her rich brown tresses heaped in crispy curl
Where now those locks with reptile passion whirl,
By hate into dishevelled serpents coiled.
I loved Medusa when her eyes were mild,
Whose glances, narrowed now, perdition hurl,
As her self-tangled hairs their mass unfurl,
Bristling the way she turns with hissings wild.

Shall I love again, and try
If I still must love to lose,
And make weak mortality
Give new birth unto my woes?
No, let me ever live from Love's enclosing,
Rather than love to live in fear of losing.

One whom hasty Nature gives
To the world without his sight,
Not so discontented lives,
As a man depriv'd of light:
'Tis knowledge that gives vigour to our woe,
And not the want, but loss that pains us so.

With the Arabian bird then be
Both the lover and belov'd;
Be thy lines thy progeny
By some gracious fair approv'd;

I.

M E the loveliest truest Swain,
Often woo's, but woo's in vain;
Tender, soft, beseeching Eyes,
Pleading Tears, and melting Sighs:
Such soft Pains as Lovers feel,
Such his dying Looks reveal.

II.

Yet by Pride, by Shame with-held,
Every yielding Thought's repell'd:
Scarce the Sigh that heaves my Breast,
Scarce the falling Tear's represt:
Yet may artful Tongue denies
My Love, and contradicts my Eyes.

III.

If then, charming Youth, you'd know
All my Love, and all my Woe;

I stand upon the sea-washed strand
And watch the closing day, love,
Where oft we loitered hand in hand
Before you went away, love.

The waters ripple at my feet,
They dart up creek and bay, love,
And dimly dimple cold and sweet,
But you are far away, love.

The home-bound boats, with rounded sails,
Dance o'er the dancing spray, love,
The merry zephyr flouts and fails,

Do you forget the joyous time
When summer woods were green and palmy?
When we were in our youthful prime,
And summer days were bright and balmy?
Then wandering through the wooded ways,
Or couched among the purple heather,
Screened from the sun's refulgent rays,
We sang our merry songs together.

Glad was the time: no carking care
Had ever cast a shadow o'er us;
The path we trod was bright and fair,
And life lay bright and fair before us.
So, hand in hand, we journeyed on
With hearts as light as any feather:

What certain fate, what mortal poison lurks
Beneath the promised sweets and joys of love,
Beneath soft blandishments what deadly snares
Are hid, my verse unfolds. O, heavenly Maid,
That from the blazing front of Father Jove
Sprang'st forth a goddess armed! Thou in whose birth
The languid colliquation of soft love
Had never part; for whom no mother felt
The pangs abhorred of childbirth! Thou, who sitt'st
Fast by thy father's side, when in the domes
And halls of heaven the congregated Gods
Hold their immortal synod! O descend,

For his much loueing, more beloued most learned frend, M r . P. Kynder. Horaces Ode to Phillis Lib 4 Od. 11.

P HILLIS here is for thee in store
A barrell nine yeres ould and more
Full of Albanian wine
My garden parsley shal p re pare
And Iuie chapletts for thy haire
To make it dubly shine.

2.

See the fresh laughter new create
Reflected from refulgent plate
While crownd w th verbaine chast
The sacred alter thirsting cries
Give me a lamb for sacrifice