O, THE LOVELY RIVERS and lakes of Maine!
I am charmed with their names, as my song will explain;
Aboriginal muses inspire my strain,
While I sing the bright rivers and lakes of Maine—
From Cupsuptic to Cheputmatticook,
From Sagadahock to Pohenegamook—
'gamook, 'gamook,
Pohenegamook,
From Sagadahock to Pohenegamook.

For light serenading the “Blue Moselle,”
“Bonnie Doon” and “Sweet Avon” may do very well;
But the rivers of Maine, in their wild solitudes,
Bring a thunderous sound from the depth of the woods:
The Aroostook and Chimmenticook,

Some love is light and fleets away,
Heigho! the Wind and Rain;
Some love is deep and scorns decay,
Ah, well-a-day! in vain.

Of loyal love I sing this lay,
Heigho! the Wind and Rain;
'Tis of a knight and lady gay,
Ah! well-a-day! bright twain.

He loved her—heart loved ne'er so well,
Heigho! the Wind and Rain;
She was a cold and proud damsel,
Ah, well-a-day! and vain.

He loved her—oh, he loved her long,
Heigho! the Wind and Rain;
But she for love gave bitter wrong,
Ah, well-a-day! Disdain!

Where is that Learned Wretch that knows
What are those Darts the Veyl'd God throws?
O let him tell me ere I dye
When 'twas he saw or heard them fly;
Whether the Sparrows Plumes, or Doves,
Wing them for various Loves;
And whether Gold, or Lead,
Quicken, or dull the Head:
I will annoint and keep them warm,
And make the Weapons heale the Harm.

Fond that I am to aske! who ere
Did yet see thought? or Silence hear?
Safe from the search of humane Eye
These Arrows (as their waies are) flie:
The Flights of Angels part

Ere Love from barren Chaos drew the skies,
Piercing its womb that hid the light of day,
Beneath primæval earth's and water's sway
The shapeless Heavens lay whelmed, in dark disguise.

Even so my sluggish soul, too dull to rise,
Within this body's gross and heavy clay
Without or form or feature shapeless lay
Until Love's arrow pierced it from your eyes.

Love brought me life and power and truth and light,
Made pure my inmost heart through his control,
And shaped my being to a perfect whole.

He warms my veins, he lights my thought, his flight

To one full sound and silently
That slept, there came a heavy cry,
‘Awake, arise! for thou hast slain
A man.’ ‘Yea, have I to mine own pain,’

He answer'd; ‘but of ill intent
And malice am I, that naught forecast,
As is the babe innocent.
From sudden anger our strife grew:
I hated not, in times past,
Him whom unwittingly I slew.’

‘If it be thus indeed, thy case
Is hard,’ they said; ‘for thou must die,
Unless with the Judge thou canst find grace.
Hast thou, in thine extremity,
Friends soothfast for thee to plead?’

Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind
Against the perfect flowers: thy garden's close
Is grown a wilderness, where none shall find
One strayed, last petal of one last year's rose.

O bright, bright hair! O mouth like a ripe fruit!
Can famine be so nigh to harvesting?
Love, that was songful, with a broken lute
In grass of graveyards goeth murmuring.

Let the wind blow against the perfect flowers,
And all thy garden change and glow with spring:
Love is grown blind with no more count of hours
Nor part in seed-time nor in harvesting.

Lassie I love thee
The heavens above thee
Look downwards to move thee
And prove my love true
My arms round thy waist love
My head on thy breast love
By a true man cares[s]t love
Ne'er bid me adieu

Thy cheeks full o' blushes
Like the rose in the bushes
In a love stream it gushes
With over delight
Though clouds may come o'er thee
Sweet maid I'll adore thee
As I do now before thee
I Love thee outright

It stings me to madness
To see thee all gladness
While I'm full o sadness
Thy meaning to guess
Thy gown is deep blue love

Love in my heart: oh, heart of me, heart of me!
Love is my tyrant, Love is supreme.
What if he passeth, oh, heart of me, heart of me!
Love is a phantom, and Life is a dream!

What if he changeth, oh, heart of me, heart of me!
Oh, can the waters be void of the wind?
What if he wendeth afar and apart from me,
What if he leave me to perish behind?

What if he passeth, oh, heart of me, heart of me!
A flame i' the dusk, a breath of Desire?
Nay, my sweet Love is the heart and the soul of me
And I am the innermost heart of his fire!

‘O PEN the door! Thou canst not understand
My mission, thou spoilt child of many a god,
Thou who dost claim the heart for thy abode;
Open the door, lest I put forth my hand
And touch thee too, or give such dire command
To thy vile brother, Hatred,—now I hear
The quills of thy unquiet wings with fear
Quiver against thy flanks: no more withstand’

‘Oh Death, why comest thou so soon so far?
Why comest thou before the appointed hour?
I shall not make way for a fate so dire.’
‘Poor child, I pass despite thy bolt and bar,

I cry your mercy--pity--love!--aye, love!--
Merciful love that tantalizes not,
One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,
Unmasked, and being seen--without a blot!

O! let me have thee whole, --all--all--be mine!
That shape, the fairness, that sweet minor zest
Of love, your kiss,--those hands, those eyes divine,
That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,--
Yourself--your soul--in pity give me all,
Withhold no atom's atom or I die,
Or living on perhaps, your wretched thrall,
Forget, in the midst of idle misery,