"Then come,-thy Arab maid will be
The loved and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.

"Oh! there are looks and tones that dart An instant sunshine through the heart, As if the soul that minute caught

Some treasure it through life had sought;

"As if the very lips and eyes,

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Predestined to have all our sighs,

And never be forgot again,

Sparkled and spoke before as then!

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"So came thy every glance and tone,

When first on me they breathed and shone;
New, as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if loved for years.

"Then fly with me, if thou hast known
No other flame, nor falsely thrown
A gem away, that thou hadst sworn
Should ever in thy heart be worn.

Come, if the love thou hast for me
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee,-
Fresh as the fountain underground,
When first 't is by the lapwing found.

"But if for me thou dost forsake Some other maid, and rudely break

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66

"Believe Me, if those Young Charms

Her worshipped image from its base,

To give to me the ruined place ;—

'Then, fare thee well!-I 'd rather make My bower upon some icy lake

When thawing suns begin to shine,

Than trust to love so false as thine!"

There was a pathos in this lay,

That even without enchantment's art
Would instantly have found its way
Deep into Selim's burning heart.
1817.

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48

Thomas Moore.

"BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS "

BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,

Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,

Like fairy-gifts fading away,

Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment

thou art,

Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,

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That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known, To which time will but make thee more dear! No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close,

As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets The same look which she turned when he

rose!

1808.

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Thomas Moore.

JENNY KISSED ME

JENNY kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in.
Time, you thief! who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in.
Say I'm weary, say I 'm sad;

Say that health and wealth have missed me;
Say I'm growing old, but add-

How many times do I love thee, dear?

Tell me how many thoughts there be

In the atmosphere

Of a new-fall'n year,

The Indian Serenade

Whose white and sable hours appear
The latest flake of Eternity:

So many times do I love thee, dear.

How many times do I love again?
Tell me how many beads there are
In a silver chain

Of evening rain,

Unravell'd from the tumbling main,

And threading the eye of a yellow star:

So many times do I love again.

1824-5. 1851.

Thomas Lovell Beddoes.

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THE INDIAN SERENADE

I ARISE from dreams of thee

In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright:
I arise from dreams of thee,

And a spirit in my feet

Hath led me-who knows how!

To thy chamber window, Sweet!

The wandering airs they faint

On the dark, the silent stream

And the Champak odors fail

Like sweet thoughts in a dream;

The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart;-

1822.

As I must on thine,

O! beloved as thou art!

Oh lift me from the grass!
I die! I faint! I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain

On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast;-
Oh! press it to thine own again,
Where it will break at last.

Percy Bysshe Shelley.

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LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY

THE Fountains mingle with the River
And the Rivers with the Ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;

All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?-

See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would, be forgiven
If it disdained its brother,
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What are all these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?

1819.

Percy Bysshe Shelley.

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