love poetry

False Craessyde have yow chaungde your mynde
from hym that loved yow so well
And is your faith lyke to the wynde
false Craessyde then farewell a

I thinke yow better loste then fownde
of me that loved yow so well
For who will builde on Sandye grownde
false Craesside fare yow well a

My harte that sometymes was your owne
and lovede yow butt to to well
Hath founde that yow have falsehoode showne
false Craesside fare yow well a

Butt hee that hath your favoure wonne
from me that lovede yow so well

Farewell Crueltye lodged in greate Bewtye
farewell Bewtie that lodgeste great crueltie
Though nowe my woes thow weye nott
yett one daye thinkinge on my Loyalltie
Then shall yow saye though nowe yow will nott
who loved me moste my love enjoyed nott.

Lett those that lyve in love, lament the lovers fitts
and such as riches crave devyse to hepe upp wealth
Let those that knowlege seek to study frame their witts
and such as are diseased seke meanes to have their helth
Let those that valyaunt bee boast of their battred shield
and such applye to please, as doe great Princes haunt
Let those that honor seeke, goe venture in the field
and such as lyve in courte their dayly favors vaunt
Let those that Captyves scorne, not hazard free estate
and such lyke of their lotts as sitt in fortunes lapp

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXXXII

I.

Say, Myra! why is gentle Love
A stranger to that mind
Which pity and esteem can move,
Which can be just and kind?

II.

Is it because you fear to share
The ills that love molest,
The jealous doubt the tender care
That rack the am'rous breast?

III.

Alas! by some degree of wo
We ev'ry bliss must gain:
The heart can ne'er a transport know
That never feels a pain.

IN HER TEMPLE AT STOWE .

To the Same.

I.

Fair Venus! whose delightful shrine surveys
Its front reflected in the silver lake,
These humble off'rings which thy servant pays,
Fresh flow'rs and myrtle wreaths, propitious take.

II.

If less my love exceeds all other love
Than Lucy's charms all other charms excel,
Far from my breast each soothing hope remove,
And there let sad Despair for ever dwell.

III.

But if my soul is fill'd with her alone,

WITH HAMMOND'S ELEGIES .

All that of love can be exprest
In these soft numbers see;
But, Lucy! would you know the rest
It must be read in me.

By H ARRIET F ALCONAR .

A P PROACHING now, the lovely Spring
Revives the village swain;
The cuckow spreads her gladsome wing
O'er ev'ry blooming plain.

The humble cowslip droops her head
Unconscious of her charms;
The yellow primrose paints the mead,
That vernal radiance warms.

The pregnant earth its herbage yields,
The lucid streamlets flow;

Tell me not Celia once did Bless
Another Mortal's Arms;
That cannot make My Passion less,
Nor mitigate Her Charms.

Shall I refuse to quench My Thirst,
Depending Life to save,
Because some droughty Shepherd first
Has kiss'd the smiling Wave?

No, no; methinks 'tis wond'rous Great,
And suits a Noble Blood,
To have in Love , as well as State ,
A Taster to Our Food .

A SONG .

As with Louisa late I sat,
In yonder secret grove,
How fondly did each bosom beat,
And pour its tale of love!

Eve's tuneful bird, with sweetest lay,
Inspir'd the tranquil place:
Eve's silver star, with purest ray,
Beam'd on the chaste embrace.

But now the tender scene is o'er,
What tongue my grief can tell?

Where yonder ivy clasps Religion's dome,
And in its vest of solemn green attires;
Where the high grass looks down on man's last home,
And each base weed above him proud aspires;

A youth is laid, who long ne'er knew to close
Those eyes, that now are clos'd for ever there:
No more in Virtue's cause his bosom glows;
No more on Misery drops his honest tear.

Mild as the breath that fans the vernal sky,
His soul, Benevolence, was all thine own!
Open as day, in his ingenuous eye,