A Girl , on amorous follies bent,
From Oxford a Knight-errant went;
A Connoisseur in love-devices,
Though in her teens; — they call'd her Isis .
A Shepherd-youth, in mean attire,
Won the fair prize; and Fame's no liar.
Discretion frown'd; — but Nature smil'd,
And Miss grew thoroughly with child; —
The little Rake's adopted name
(For he had none at first) was Thame .
She took him with her on the journey,
Without a Parson or Attorney;

FIRST LOVER

Love that is spoken often dies,
Quick as the light in evening skies,
Or as a song upon the ear,
And leaves no answering spirit near:
Wilt thou be true? Shall I ne'er rue
My plighted faith? Wilt thou be true?

ECHO

Wilt thou be true?

SECOND LOVER

That doubt, O maiden, do not name!
Changeless as yon eternal flame
My spirit evermore shall be
In its full worshipping of thee.

I AM so desolate, —
Genius sighs —
Come, Love, and be my mate,
Give me thine eyes.

I am aweary,
Love, give me rest;
Leave me not dreary,
Give me thy breast.

The lark looks to heaven,
The flower to the sun;
But my heart is sore riven
For thy beauty, sweet one.

Give me thy presence,
My life to enfold;
Then care and sorrow hence,
That life shalt thou hold.

My life is but a study how to die.
Since there seems nought of worth in life on earth,
I'll school my spirit for eternity,
And study how from death to gain new birth.
I am in love with that which leads from hence
Because it points to all our minds desire,
When, rapt in contemplation, mortal sense,
And sin and error like a dream expire.
O heaven! the fountain-head of every grace,
Where wisdom, justice, beauty, power, and love
Have made their everlasting resting-place,
Teach now my better part to dwell above

The bloom hath fled thy cheek, Mary,
As spring's rath blossoms die,
And sadness hath o'ershadowed quite
Thy once bright eye;
But, look on me, the prints of grief
Still deeper lie.
Farewell!

Thy lips are pale and mute, Mary,
Thy step is sad and slow,
The morn of gladness hath gone by
Thou erst didst know;
I, too, am changed like thee, and weep
For very woe.
Farewell!

It seems as 'twere but yesterday
We were the happiest twain,
When murmured sighs and joyous tears,
Dropping like rain,

Light Courser! as the wing'd immortal steed
That Perseus bore, when for the naked charm
(That Love had promis'd the victorious arm)
He cleft the Monster — and the generous deed
Won Beauty's recompence! — or if the seed
Lives of Bucephalus , whose fierce alarm
Nor courage could oppose, nor skill disarm —
For him predestin'd, whom the Fates decreed
The World's commanding Spirit: — of that race,
But not so tam'd art thou — whose neck sublime,
And bounding feet, and flaming eye, display

Sweet looks! and gracious words! no more shall I
Your votary bend? — Ye golden tresses! bands
Of Love, whose chain my captive soul demands,
And leads me on, impatient of reply,
Till Death shall close the unavailing sigh! —
Celestial beauty, which these pious hands
Could ne'er propitiate, nor in distant lands
My heart could soften, or my verse could fly! —
Alluring smiles! — and Love's insidious hour
Of joy, that soothes me to betray, farewell!
No more I feel your vernal ray divine

Love o'er the rose-white alleys
That flower on pale desert sands,
Love through the rose-red valleys
That burgeon in southern lands,
In cities ashine with pleasure
On the edge of a sea-girt clime,
Or mountains whose dim caves treasure
The temples of moon-crowned time,
On errands of joy or duty.
Wherever the ways you tread,
A carpet of ageless beauty
Is my heart for your feet outspread.

Love, whether Life betray you
And the malice of black-winged Fate
Shatter your dream and slay you
With talons of fear and hate,

She

Like a serpent to the calling voice of flutes,
Glides my heart into thy fingers, O my Love!
Where the night-wind, like a lover, leans above
His jasmine-gardens and sirisha -bowers;
And on ripe boughs of many-coloured fruits
Bright parrots cluster like vermilion flowers.

He

Like the perfume in the petals of a rose,
Hides thy heart within my bosom, O my love!
Like a garland, like a jewel, like a dove
That hangs its nest in the asoka -tree.
Lie still, O love, until the morning sows
Her tents of gold on fields of ivory.

1

Render hate to those who hate you,
Deeper rolls the stream of strife;
Render love and healing kindness,
Hatred dies and sweet is life!

2

Pious precepts, smooth-tongued preacher,
Never acted, wisely meant,
Are like gay and golden blossoms
Without fragrance, without scent!

3

Dost thou shrink from death and suffering,
Dost thou cling to life from birth?
So doth every brother-creature, —