THE GOD OF LOVE, who, ever with bent bow
Had taken care to watch and follow me,
Beneath a fig tree lastly took his stand;
And when he saw that I had fixed my choice
Upon the bud that pleased me most of all
He quickly chose an arrow; nocking it,
He pulled the cord back to his ear. The bow
Was marvelously strong, and good his aim,
And when he shot at me the arrow pierced
My very heart, though entering by my eye.
Then such a chill seized me that since that day
I oft, remembering it, have quaked again
Beneath a doublet warm. Down to the ground

Among the thousand things reflected there
I chose a full-charged rosebush in a plot
Encinctured with a hedge; and such desire
Then seized me that I had not failed to seek
The place where that rose heap was on display
Though Pavia or Paris had tempted me.
When I was thus o'ertaken by this rage,
Which many another better man has crazed,
Straightway I hurried toward the red rosebush;
And I can tell you that, when I approached
The blooms, the sweetness of their pleasant smell
Did so transfuse my being that as naught

Thus danced those I have named and many more
Who of their consort were; all folk well taught,
Frank, and genteel they uniformly were.
When I had scanned the countenances fair
Of those who led the dance, I had the whim
To search the garden farther and explore
The place, to examine all the trees found there:
The laurels, hazels, cedars, and the pines.
Just then the dance was ended; for the most
Departed with their sweethearts to make love,
Shaded beneath the secret-keeping boughs.
Foolish were he who envied not such life

VI IN SIGHT OF THE TOWN OF COCKERMOUTH

(Where the Author was born, and his Father's remains are laid.)

A point of life between my Parents' dust,
And yours, my buried Little-ones! am I;
And to those graves looking habitually
In kindred quiet I repose my trust.
Death to the innocent is more than just,
And, to the sinner, mercifully bent;
So may I hope, if truly I repent
And meekly bear the ills which bear I must:
And You, my Offspring! that do still remain,
Yet may outstrip me in the appointed race,

V.

A Ballad .
Dido was the Carthage Queene
And lov'd the Trojan Knight,
That wandring many coasts had seene
And many a dreadfull fight:
As they on hunting road, a shower
Drave them, in a loving hower,
Downe to a darksome cave:
Where Aeneas with his charmes
Lockt Queene Dido in his armes
And had what hee could have.

Dido Hymens Rites forgot,
Her love was wing'd with haste:
Her honour shee considered not,

1
O Joyes exceeding!
From love, from power of your wisht sight proceeding!
As a faire morne shines divinely,
Such is your view, appearing more divinely.
2

Your steppes ascending,
Raise high our thoughts for your content contending;
All our hearts of this grace vaunting,
Now leape as they were moved by inchaunting.

Dance now and sing the joy and love we owe:
Let chearfull voices and glad gestures showe,
The Queene of grace is shee whom we receive;
Honour and State are her guides,
Her presence they can never leave.
Then in a stately Silvan forme salute
Her ever flowing grace.
Fill all the Woods with Ecchoed welcomes,
And strew with flowers this place:
Let ev'ry bow and plant fresh blossomes yeeld,

Come to my longing Arms, my lovely care,
And take the Presents which the Nymphs prepare.
White Lillies in full Canisters they bring,
With all the Glories of the Purple Spring:
The Daughters of the Flood have search'd the Mead
For Violets pale, and cropt the Poppy's Head;
The short Narcissus and fair Daffodil,
Pancies to please the Sight, and Cassia sweet to smell:
And set soft Hyacinths with Iron blue,
To shade marsh Marigolds of shining Hue,
Some bound in Order, others loosely strow'd,
To dress thy Bow'r, and trim thy new Abode.

Ah, lute, how well I know each tone of thee,
From shrillest treble unto solemn bass,
The power of every fret, the time and place
Where falls each finger tipped with melody!
Full well I know the sounds that come and flee,
The chords that swell, and part, and interlace,
Lending the whole one long united grace —
That regnant rhythm of thorough harmony.
Shell of my fancy, in my arms awake!
Exchange thy torpor for the vivid smart
Of sentient life! With joy and sorrow shake!
Throb with a soul which of herself is part!

My darling's features, painted by the light;
As in the convex of a mirror, see
Her face diminished so fantastically
It scarcely hints her lovely self aright.
Away, poor mockery! My outraged sight
Turns from the fraud you perpetrate on me;
This is no transcript, but a forgery,
As far from semblance as is black from white.
Breathe, smile, blush, kiss me! Murmur in my ear
The things we know — we only! and give heed
To this deep sigh and this descending tear,
Ere from my senses you can win the meed
Of faith, to make your doubtful title clear,