O, pleasing thoughts, apprentices of love,
Fore-runners of desire, sweet mithridates
The poison of my sorrows to remove,
With whom my hopes and fear full oft debates;
Enrich yourselves and me by your self riches,
Which are the thoughts you spend on heaven-bred beauty,
Rouse you my muse beyond our poets' pitches,
And working wonders, yet say all is duty;
Use you no eaglets' eyes, nor phoenix' feathers,
To tower the heaven from whence heaven's wonder sallies.
For why? Your sun sings sweetly to her weathers,
Making a spring of winter in the valleys.

Love guards the roses of thy lips
And flies about them like a bee;
If I approach he forward skips,
And if I kiss he stingeth me.

Love in thine eyes doth build his bower
And sleeps within their pretty shine;
And if I look the boy will lour
And from their orbs shoot shafts divine.

Love works thy heart within his fire
And in my tears doth firm the same;
And if I tempt it will retire,
And of my plaints doth make a game.

Love, let me cull her choicest flowers;
And pity me, and calm her eye;

I hope and fear, I pray and hold my peace,
Now freeze my thoughts and straight they fry again,
I now admire and straight my wonders cease,
I loose my bonds and yet myself restrain;
This likes me most that leaves me discontent,
My courage serves and yet my heart doth fail,
My will doth climb whereas my hopes are spent,
I laugh at love, yet when he comes I quail;
The more I strive, the duller bide I still,
I would be thralled, and yet I freedom love,
I would redress, yet hourly feed mine ill,
I would repine, and dare not once reprove;

Ah, lovely youth! thy tender lay
May not thy gentle life prolong:
See'st thou yon nightingale a prey?
The fierce hawk hovering o'er his song?

His little heart is large with love:
He sweetly hails his evening star,
And Fate's more pointed arrows move,
Insidious, from his eye afar.

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,