As Glycera was perfect, so
Lycoris is to me,
How can the past be present, tho'
Their futures may agree?

" Love," " Loved," ah, Time's omnipotence!
His grammar rules are crude;
By merely altering a tense
He brings a change of mood.

You want me, dear lady, to be always ready.
But love, you must know, is a thing most unsteady.
Your words and your gestures invite me to go
To extremities with you. Your face — that says. " No."

  Giul. I HUNGER for her, and am all athirst!
Her scorn affronts me, and doth make me mad.
Mine eyes— these eyes, are wet with heavy drops!
Would'st think me such a fool?
  Ferd. If she disdain thee,
Love, and be quiet, coz.
  Giul. How? What? Be still?
Dost think I am a wild beast tamed by wrongs?
If one, I am the hyæna!—for he sheds tears,
And bites the while he's howling:—but, I'm quiet!
  Ferd. I thought thou lov'dst a rose cheek'd-girl, and merry;
A laugher of sixteen summers; such there are:
But she is paler than a primrose morning,

  Iol. I laugh at thy base verse.
  Jul. That is not well.
You should have mercy on my desperate pain.
Disdain'st thou? Well,—so be it! I will love
Through all misfortune; even through thy disdain.
I've striven—for years—against this frightful woe,
Though thou didst never know't. The lonely Night
Has seen me wander midst her silent hours,
Darker than they, with my too great despair;
And the poor rhymes, which thou dost scorn so much,
Were dug out of my heart!—ay, forced, at times,
Through burning, blinding tears! Dost thou despise

Her voice is soft; not shrill and like the lark's,
But tenderer,—graver,—almost hoarse at times;
As though the earnestness of love prevailed,
And quelled all shriller music.

The blessings of the skies all wait abouTher:
Health, Grace, inimitable Beauty, wreathed
Round every motion:—On her lip, the rose
Has left its sweetness, (for what bee to kiss?)
And from the darkening Heaven of her eyes,
A starry Spirit looks out:—Can it be Love?

AY , still he loves
The lion-tressed Bellona, like a bride;
Woos her with blows; and when his limbs all sweat
With struggling through the iron ranks of war,
Down doth he tumble on the tired ground,
Wipes his red forehead; cries ‘How brave is this!’
And dreams all night of bloody victory!

  A. The tide of love sets from me!
  B. Pshaw! 'tmay turn.
Love's not a petty stream, runs all one way:
But like the Ocean,—deep, and vast, and swayed
By Phantasy, its moon! This hour it rolls
Inward upon a rough and barren beach;
To-morrow far away. Dost thou despair
'Twill ever reach thee? Oh, there 's none so base,
But have their worshippers. Dost thou not know
The corse which one unmanner'd wave rejects,
The next will ravish. Thou mayst see it borne
Far out from sight of land, and there 'twill ride

COUSIN , I wear

This bluntness as a shield. But, when you come,
Straightway I strip my bull-hide armour off,
And bare my heart before you. Should you kill me,
Why so; I'll die more loyally than the fool
Who whispers of love through tears. I never weep.
Sometimes I shake, indeed, as oaks rent down
Shake in the blast; but not a groan comes forth,
To tell what pain dwells inwards. Pity me!
Love me, sweet cousin! If thou'lt lend me a grain
Of that same precious heart, I'll pay thee back
With tons of trouble.

Loves she? She loves not: sue hath never loved.
Her walk is easy; her discourse is neat:
She sigheth not; her smile has mirth in it:
Her gaze is firm, untroubled, cloudless, cold:
No fear makes pale her cheek: No hopeless pain
Lies there; nor hope, half-hidden: No sweet trouble
Stains it with beauty like the rose's leaf:—
But all is free as air, as fresh as youth,
As clear from care as untouched innocence.