love poetry

I

Shall we then downcast fare with mournful eyes,
Wear veils of cyprus, swathe ourselves in black,
Because those high-hearted Venturers came not back
To homely solace, from their great emprise?
Shall we, made small by sorrow, send regret
To dog their radiant course, who now are sped
On errands of immortality and fled
Beyond our finitude of toil and fret?

Shall we not rather, knowing them so far

BY THOMAS H. SHREVE .

Mine be the joy which gleams around
The hearth where pure affections dwell —
Where love enrobed in smiles is found,
And wraps the spirit with its spell.

I would not seek excitement's whirl,
Where Pleasure wears her linsel crown,
And Passion's billows upward curl,
'Neath Hatred's darkly gathering frown.

The dearest boon from heaven above,

BY JAMES H. PERKINS .

It is not learning's borrowed gleam,
It is not beauty's holier light,
It is not wealth, that makes thee seem
So lovely in our sight.

The worth may leave Potosi's ore,
Golconda's diamond lose its sheen,
But thine is the exhaustless store
Of innocence serene.

The beauty of the eye must fade,
The beauty of the cheek decay,

Lo! a maid the hemp is weeding
In her master's garden-ground,
And a lark, towards her speeding,
Sings, " Why look so sadly round? "
" Well may I be sad, " she said,
" Well be sad, thou gentle lark!
They my lover have convey'd
To yon castle-dungeon dark:
Had I but a pen to write —
Some sweet words of love I'd send him —
Thou, kind lark! shouldst take thy flight,
And with my kind thoughts attend him.
But I have no pen to treat him
With my love — so gentle bird!
With thy softest music greet him,

In this soft Amrous Age now Love is grown,
The modish Entertainment of the Town,
And the fond Beau loves his half score aday,
The Ladies too almost as Vain as they;
Spare me, ye cruel Powers, let me not prove,
The only Victim of a lasting Love.
I had my share three tedious Years a Slave,
And knew no Joys but what Phylaster gave;
When spite of Vows he prov'd unjust at last,
In distant Shades contending Months I past,
Thought I could see the Youth at my return,
With gay Indifference and Unconcern.

BY CHARLES D. DRAKE .

The flower that oft beneath the ray
Of sunlit warmth has bloomed,
Will fade and shrink from life away
If to a dungeon doomed: —
But even here, should chance disclose
Some beam of genial light,
Its head to that the dying rose
Will turn from gloom and night.

The cord that, gently touched, will thrill
With music's softest strain,

Love as a Prynce to shew his power and myght
Gave hope off me the rule and upper hande
And yet dispayre with his blacke troope in spight
Encounters styll with hope and his green band
But love hymselfe as honor off the forte
Which is my harte hath placed hope as chiefe
And yett dispayre encamps in warlyke sorte
About the place and ke[e]ps from thence relyefe
Rygor the Cannon daylye thereon beats
And foule disdayne doth lead them to the walls
Cruell refuse for parlye none entreats

Bid the fond Mother spill her Infants Blood,
The hungry Epicure not think of Food;
Bid the Antartick touch the Artick Pole:
When these obey I'll force Love from my Soul.
As Light and Heat compose the Genial Sun,
So Love and I essentially are one:
E'er your Advice a thousand ways I try'd
To ease the inherent Pain, but 'twas deny'd;
Tho' I resolv'd, and griev'd, and almost dy'd,
Then I would needs dilate the mighty Flame,
Play the Coquet, hazard my dearest Fame:
The modish Remedy I try'd in vain,

What is't you mean, that I am thus approach'd,
Dare you to hope, that I may be debauch'd?
For your seducing Words the same implies,
In begging Pity with a soft Surprize,
For one who loves, and sighs, and almost dies.
In ev'ry Word and Action doth appear,
Something I hate and blush to see or hear;
At first your Love for vast Respect was told,
Till your excess of Manners grew too bold,
And did your base, designing Thoughts unfold.
When a Salute did seem to Custom due,
With too much Ardour you'd my Lips pursue;

1

I would have my own vision
The world's vision:
The beauty settled in my mind
A lamp in a busy street.

Yet these activities are too intimate,
Made for a solitary sense:
However builded the emotion
The imagination's mute.

Could voice join mind's eye and scream
Its vision out
Then the world would halt its toil