And now two longsome years are past
In luxury of lonely pain—
The lovely mourner, found at last,
To Moray's halls is borne again.

Yet has she left one object dear,
That wears Love's sunny eye of joy—
Is Nithisdale reviving here?
Or is it but a shepherd's boy?

By Carron's side, a shepherd's boy,
He binds his vale-flowers with the reed;
He wears Love's sunny eye of joy,
And birth he little seems to heed.

Say wherefore is't that Damon flys,
From the Weake charms of Cloras Eyes?
Weake Charms they surely needs must bee,
Which till this Houre he could not see,
Nor is she now more Faire, than when
Theire first acquaintance, they began,
When the Gay Shepherd Laugh'd at love,
Swore it no Gen'rous Heart could move,
Disease of Fools, Fond Lunacie,
To Cloras Face oft would he cry,
For mee your Friendship but bestow,
(Friendship, the onely Good below)
Faire shepherdess, Ile ask no more,
Since more to give, exceeds your Pow'r,

Oh, heavenly gift of Love Divine,
The Spirit's grace and power;
Come, in our hearts abide, and shine;
How long delayed thine hour!

“Ask and receive,” the Savior said,
“And seek, and ye shall find;”
For we are weak without thine aid,
Without thy light are blind.

Our heavenly Father loves us all;
More ready He to give,
Than we upon his name to call,
To turn to Him and live.

Lord, for thy coming us prepare,
As Spring's soft showers the earth;
That we may, in the harvest, share,
The soul's new life, and birth.

There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow;
Nor wind nor sunshine shall erase
That coat of SMITH'S ENAMEL-O.


Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?
Why not all thy countenance cover
With a TINTO VEIL?
Prithee, why so pale?


Believe me, if all mine enduring young charms,
Which you gaze on so fondly to-day,
Were to fade by this evening, pray have no alarms
While I still have my ROSY SACHET.
I should still be a peach, as I am in all truth,
For my beauty is far from a dream,

Ah! why does love distract my thoughts,
Disordering my will!
I'm like the pattern on the cloth
Of Michinoku hill,—
All in confusion still.

Lift me far beyond the region
Where frail earthly loves abound:
Rose-sweet lips on earth are legion,—
Myriad flowers star earthly ground,—
Lift me, God, to thine own dwelling
Where thy ceaseless love is welling
Forth, and thy great peace is found.

Lo! I weary of all the passion
That the old pale earth provides:
Women's lips and love's same fashion,
Flowers and laughter, songs and brides:
Take me where some love is deathless;
Plant me 'mid thy snow-peaks breathless;
'Mid the plunge of thy great tides.

I am weary; but I follow,

Astray within a garden bright
I found a tiny wingèd sprite:

He scarce was bigger than a sparrow
And bore a little bow and arrow.

I lifted him up in my arm,
Without a thought of guile or harm;

But merely as it were in play,
With threats to carry him away.

The sport he took in such ill part,
He stuck an arrow in my heart.

And ever since, I have such pain,—
I cannot draw it out again.

And yet, the strangest part is this:
I love the pain as though 't were bliss.

Knowest thou, sweet Mary,
Whereto I aspire?
'Tis my hope to love thee—
This is my desire.
I would e'er be near thee,
Queen most fair and sweet;
Do not, do not drive me
From my Mother's feet.
Then, O Rose most lovely,
Let me hear from thee;
Loving Mother, tell me,
What thou wilt of me.
More I cannot offer—
Lo, I bring my heart;
Lovingly I give it,
Ne'er from thee to part.
Lady, thou didst take it,
'Tis no longer mine;
Long since thou didst love it,
And its love was thine.
Do not then forsake me,
Mother of sweet Love,

Love and my selfe (beleeve me) on a day
At childish Push-pin (for our sport) did play:
I put, he pusht, and heedless of my skin,
Love prickt my finger with a golden pin:
Since which, it festers so, that I can prove
'T was but a trick to poyson me with love:
Little the wound was; greater was the smart;
The finger bled, but burnt was all my heart.

When joy in Love's dear eyes
Kisses our own with smiles,
Comes music of sweet bells
That ringing far away,
Laugh heavens into the heart;
But when they cease,
The spacious halls of memory
Are thrilled with echoes of a love
Too strong for speech;
The dim harmonious silences
Blush to a crimson light;
Faith becomes strangely young,
Wisdom matures, and Love
Finds immortality.