The tear which thou upbraidest
Thy falsehood taught to flow;
The misery which thou madest
My cheek hath blighted so:
The charms, alas! that won me,
I never can forget,
Although thou hast undone me,
I own I love thee yet.

Go, seek the happier maiden
Who lured thy love from me;
My heart with sorrow laden
Is no more priz'd by thee:
Repeat the vows you made me,
Say, swear thy love is true;
Thy faithless vows betray'd me,
They may betray her too.

But no! may she ne'er languish
Like me in shame and wo;

My love is as endless
as the waves of the Sea of Ariso
that, driven by fierce winds,
never cease their breaking

Hang there, my garlands, by the hall,
The tear-stained wreaths that now I bring,
Nor let your blossoms lightly fall
Bedewed with grief, love's offering.

And when the door is opened wide
And she I crave at last appears,
Pour on her head your mournful tide,
Her golden locks shall drink my tears.

Beautie's no other but a lovely Grace
Of lively colours, flowing from the face.

Her Breasts my hands, her lips my kisses hold,
Her neck is forage for my passion bold;
But there all ends; no further may I go
Nor ever shall the joy of victory know.
Two queens she serves, a double victim I,
For one is Love and one is Chastity.

Oh, is it not time that the Loved Ones, indeed, should relent,
That the covenant-breakers should turn them to faith and repent?

Do they never hear tidings of him who abideth forlorn,
The fire of chagrin in his breast, since they left him and went?

O would that my people but knew what hath happened to him,
The distraught for their love! They would pity his case and consent.

The Spring-season come is and green once again are the hills:
Yet hear I no warbling: what aileth the songstresses gent?

My tears what the bosom concealeth relate and expound:

The nimble fancy of all beauteous Greece,
Fabled young Love an everlasting boy,
ThaTheld of nature an eternal lease,
Of childhood, beauty, innocence, and joy;
A bow he had, a pretty childish toy,
That would not terrify his mother's sparrows,
And 'twas his favourite play to sport his arrows,
Light as the glances of a wood-nymph coy,
O happy error! Musical conceit,
Of old idolatry, and youthful time!
Fit emanation of a happy clime,
Where but to live, to breathe, to be, was sweet,
And Love, tho' even then a little cheat,

Oh, I can jest with Margaret
And laugh a gay good-night,
But when I take my Helen's hand
I dare not clasp it tight.

I dare not hold her dear white hand
More than a quivering space,
And I should bless a breeze that blew
Her hair into my face.

'T is Margaret I call sweet names:
Helen is too, too dear
For me to stammer little words
Of love into her ear.

So now, good-night, fair Margaret,
And kiss me e'er we part!
But one dumb touch of Helen's hand,
And, oh, my heart, my heart!

I COULD never have the power
To love one above an hour,
But my head would prompt mine eye
On some other man to fly.
Venus, fix mine eyes fast,
Or, if not, give me all that I shall see at last.

Thy love shall tune this harsh world's noise,
And make its tangled wastes rejoice;
Shall through the darkness cast its ray
To glorify my lonesome way.

Thy love shall elevate my mind
And make me gentler with my kind;
Shall rule the motions of my blood,
And keep me pure and true and good.

Thy love shall plume my spirit's wings
To soar on high to nobler things;
Shall be my buckler in the strife,
And nerve me for the shocks of life.

Thy love shall be my firmest faith—
Shall even gild the gloom of death,