Come all you maids that live at a distance
Many a mile from off your swain,
Come and assist me this very moment
For to pass some time away,
Singing sweetly and completely
Songs of pleasure and of love.
My heart is with you altogether
Though I live not where I love.

Oh when I sleeps I dreams about you,
When I wake I take no rest,
For every instant thinking on you
My heart e'er fixed in your breast.
Oh this cold absence seems at a distance
And many a mile from my true love,
But my heart is with her altogether
Though I live not where I love.

Who love would seek,
Let him love evermore
And seldom speak;
For in love's domain
Silence must reign;
Or it brings the heart
Smart

Along Yew's banks
As the brush I clove,
Ah! where my lord?
Sad, hungered love!

Along Yew's banks
As the stumps I cut,
Lo! here my lord!
He forgets me not!

As the bream-tails flush
So Court passions fly,
Let them see the away!
Our saviour's nigh!

When the curtains of night
Are pinned back by the stars,
And the beautiful moon sweeps the sky,
I'll remember you,
Love,
In my prayers.

When the curtains of night
Are pinned back by the stars,
And the dew drops of heav'n kiss the rose,
I'll remember you,
Love,
In my prayers.

Around this naked brow of mine
No laurels in close chaplét lie,
Parnassus laughs with all his flow'rs
At such a tuneless Bard as I.
For me, no vagrant blossom dares
Slily to cheat the vigil Nine,
But jeer and flout my steps assail—
Yet will I sing of Love and Wine.

Come! let the plunder'd rose look pale,
Whil'st Halcyone's cheek its colour wears,
Fast let the brimming charger pour,
And stain my bowl with sanguine tears.
Thus whilst I drain the gold mouth'd cup,
And press its blazing lip to mine,
Challenged by love-appellant eyes,

Love mistres is of many myndes,
Yet fewe know whome they serve;
They recken least how little love
Their service doth deserve.

The will she robbeth from the witt,
The sence from reason's lore;
She is delightfull in the ryne,
Corrupted in the core.

She shroudeth Vice in Vertue's veyle,
Pretendinge good in ill;
She offreth joy, affordeth greife,
A kisse, where she doth kill.

A honye-shoure raynes from her lippes,
Sweete lightes shyne in her face;
She hath the blushe of virgin mynde,
The mynde of viper's race.

There is a state that all may know,
No fear, no shame we feel;
For God doth all his mercy show,
And all his love reveal.

His goodness manifested is,
And all his ways are clear;
The Spirit seals our souls as his,
For we to him are dear.

A Father's love, in our past years,
By us is clearly known;
For he has wiped away our tears,
And as his sons doth own.

And he has called us by his Son
To know a higher life,
With them forever to be one,
No more with sin at strife.

The darkness of the world has fled,

They put their finger on their lip,—
The Powers above;
The seas their islands clip,
The moons in Ocean dip,—
They love but name not love.

This my love for thee no whim is, That, from mem'ry flown, shall go;
Nor my passion such as hither, Thither, fancy-blown, shall go.

Thine affection in my bosom, In my heart the love of thee,
With my mother's milk did enter And with life alone shall go.

Love's chagrin is an affliction, Which howe'er thou seek to salve,
Still from worse to worse increasing, Ever sharper grown, shall go.

First of lovers in the city, Whose lament for love and dole
Nightly to the sky ascendeth, Still to heav'n my moan shall go.

B Y a lake below the mountain
—Hangs the birch, as if, in glee,
The lake had flung the moon a fountain,
—She had turned it to a tree.

Therefore do her dull leaves glimmer
—Like the waves that mothered them.
Therefore flits a moony shimmer
—Always round her curvèd stem.

B Y a lake below the mountain
—Hangs the birch, as if, in glee,
The lake had flung the moon a fountain,
—She had turned it to a tree.

Therefore do her dull leaves glimmer
—Like the waves that mothered them.
Therefore flits a moony shimmer
—Always round her curvèd stem.