Love plumes his wings to fly away,
And laughs to scorn our idle pain:
Ah, vain it is to laugh and pray!
Love plumes his wings to fly away:
What prayer of ours his flight can stay
When, mocking us with high disdain,
Love plumes his wings to fly away,
And laughs to scorn our idle pain?

If Love could last, I'd spend my all
And think the price were yet too small
To buy his light upon my way,
His sun to turn my night to day,
His cheer whatever might befall.

Were I his slave, or he my thrall,
No terrors should my heart appall;
I'd fear no wreckage or dismay
If Love could last.

Heaven's lilies grow up white and tall,
But warm within earth's garden wall
With roses red the soft winds play —
Ah, might I gather them to-day!
My hands should never let them fall,
If Love could last.

La resverie or Loves Winter Seege

The Martiall Swed, with Lap, and Finland joyne
To break the ice, and winter on the Rhine
Which Season ne're was wont
T'receive such an Affront
But when it's single Couler't did display
All quitt the Field and run away
The Drum could beat
Nothing save a retreat

By MOONLIGHT

THESE lions were sculptured centuries ago
In that fair court a Sultan made for her
Who was his heart's delight. Her worshipper
Was he whom all men worshipped; proving so
His love and homage that the ages know
How fair she was, and how at softest stir
Of her soft robes — as these proud courts aver —
His kingly heart with kingly love did glow;

Till he bade crafty workmen come and make
A palace, lovely for her lovely sake,
Thick-set with gems, with many a sculptured space

Sweet Love, the shadow of thy parting wings,
Hangs on my soul, like the soft shade of even,
Farewell to thee, for thou art going to Heaven,
And I must stay behind, with all the things
Which thou, and thy benign administerings
Once made most sweet, of sweetness now bereaven;
Whose memory, as a sour fermenting leaven,
Perverts all nature with an ill that springs
From good corrupted. Oh! for mercy — Love,
Stay with me yet, altho' thy comrade fair,
The smiler Hope, be gone to realms above,
Stay with thy youngest sister, meek Despair —

Through the large, stormy splendors of the night,
When clouds made war, and spears of moonlight strove
To penetrate their serried ranks and prove
That braver than the darkness was the light,
Yet failed before the storm-clouds' gathered might,
I heard a voice cry, " Strong indeed is Love,
But stronger Fate and Death, who hold above
Their pitiless, high court, in Love's despite. "

Storm-cloud met storm-cloud, reeled, and shook, and fled, —
The old earth trembled at their mighty rage, —
Till, suddenly, a lark sang clear o'erhead,

" HE loved me once! " What words are these —
" He loved! "
Past tense, past love, past joy, past hope, past dream, —
All things that were and are not, — how they seem
To crowd around and mock the love disproved,
The former bliss, by ages long removed;
The light, far off as farthest star's pale beam
That sheds through trackless space its fitful gleam.
Which once, our sun, we welcomed and approved.

How dear that was which lies here stark and dead
While we sit watching in God's awful sight,
He knows; but hath no dew of healing shed,

ON FINDING HIS ADDRESSES NOT FAVOURED BY HER FRIENDS, ON
ACCOUNT OF HIS WANT OF FORTUNE .

Forbear , in pity, ah! forbear
To soothe my ravish'd ear;
Nor longer thus a love declare,
'Tis death for me to hear.

Too much, alas! my tender heart
Does to thy suit incline;
Why then attempt to gain by art,
What is already thine?

O! let not, like the Grecian dame,
My hapless fortune prove,

FROM COUNTRY TO TOWN.

I LEFT the land where men with nature dwelling,
Know not how much they love her lovely forms —
Nor heed the history of forgotten storms,
On the blank folds inscribed of drear Helvellyn;
I sought the town, where toiling, buying, selling —
Getting and spending, poising hope and fear,
Make but one season of the live-long year —
Now for the brook from moss-girt fountain welling,
I see the foul stream hot with sleepless trade,
For the slow creeping vapours of the morn,

Dear Lord, on this Thy servant's day,
Who left for Thee the gold and mart,
Who heard Thee whisper, " Come away, "
And follow'd with a single heart,

Give us, amiDearth's weary moil,
And wealth for which men cark and care,
'Mid fortune's pride, and need's wild toil,
And broken hearts in purple rare,

Give us Thy grace to rise above
The glare of this world's smelting fires;
Let God's great love put out the love
Of gold, and gain, and low desires.

Still, like a breath from scented lime
Borne into rooms where sick men faint,