love poetry

If power of warre had yeelded to renowne,
Of curteous hartes, the Gods had then agreede:
Disgraded S ATVRNE had not tumbled downe,
Nor loue had durst in Goldlike Artes proceede.
O cowardly Gods against your kinde to see,
Your selues, your sonnes, the slaues of loue to bee.

Could loue take league with I OVE against his will,
Or staine the streame of N EPTVNES water Springs:
And could not P LVTO keepe his honor still,
But giue the Heauens and Hilles to other kings?
In faith the face amongst sweete soules should dwell,

When viewing those who're passing by,
Unmov'd you others see,
But sudden still withdraw your eye,
If chance it fall on me.

What shall I think? Can I or be
Object of love or hate?
From this suspence, ah! set me free,
And quickly tell my fate.

Of earthly bliss what most I wish to find
Is the affection of a kindred mind,
From fair to fair still ceaseless turns my breast,
And seeks a love in which at last to rest.
I boast not fortune's gifts, as little claim
I boast not fortune's gifts, as little claim
The splendour of a long-descended name;
I only boast a heart with passion mov'd,
That, loving, likewise merits to be lov'd.
Say, Delia, say, could you for me forgo
Of wealth the pleasure, and the pomp of show
These willingly resign, content to prove

( " Viens! une flute. " )

Come, O come! an unseen flute
'Mid the orchard-bowers is sighing! —
Ah! the song that makes most mute
Is the shepherd-song soft-dying.

Breezes, 'neath the elm vine-clad
Gently fret the river-shadows. —
Ah! the song that makes most glad
Is the bird-song from the meadows.

Be no care in thy bright breast.
Let us love! Ay, love for ever! —

Yes! some such form hath haunted me before,
In younger days, when I have lingered long
In fairy glade, and drank the Poet's song,
And revelled fondly in romantic lore;
But never one the garb of mortal wore,
Or uttered human breath, till from the throng,
Of fierce and feeble — powerless and strong —
Hideous and lovely, thou didst spring, and o'er
My path of life scattered the light of love,

I.

When I seek my pillow at night, love,
I seek not that pillow for sleep,
But lie amid thoughts that delight, love,
And tears it is blissful to weep.

II.

And these thoughts are only of thee , love —
Thine only these passionate tears;
In these there's a rapture for me, love
That Night's silent shadow endes.

III.

And even when over me steals, love,

SCENE I.

A Street, in which, after a separation of many years, the two brothers, Edward and Charles Elliot, have
accidentally met .

Charles. And now my tale is brief; we loved each other
Tenderly — truly loved; secretly met,
And sorrowfully parted; for her sire
Knew I was poor, and thought me profligate:
Her mother knew me better; but she knew
That to oppose his prejudice were vain;
And though her daughter's happiness and hopes

WRITTEN BY PARTICULAR REQUEST OF THE AUTHOR'S SISTER .

Mild were his sorrows! dignified — serene,
And graceful Resignation touch'd his mien,
Whilst Love paternal cast its soft'ning glow,
O'er the dark scene of suff'ring and of woe. —
Come, spotless Truth, thy flow'rs shou'd ever bloom,
With sweets unfading, o'er thy M ILBANK'S tomb!
— Oh virtuous Spirit! form'd on earth to prove
The purest energy of faithful Love!
To find a nobler state must yield, sincere,
That heartfelt peace which oft is wounded here!

( " O douleur! j'ai voulu savoir. " )

I have wished in the grief of my heart to know
If the vase yet treasured that nectar so clear,
And to see what this beautiful valley could show
Of all that was once to my soul most dear.
In how short a span doth all Nature change,
How quickly she smoothes with her hand serene —
And how rarely she snaps, in her ceaseless range,
The links that bound our hearts to the scene.

FROM THE GREEK

I was the Sibyl! — In this marble cell
Sleep the pale lips that breathed the oracle.
Death's sceptre stoop'd upon my virgin brow;
Then voice and beauty fled! All's silent now.
Yet still with Hermes and the Nymphs I rove,
Elysian spirit! — I was Phaebus' love.