The charms of every other Fair,
With coldness could you learn to view? Fondly, unchang'd, to her repair,
With transports ever young and new?
And tell me, at her loss or hate,
Would death your only refuge prove? Ah! if in aught you hesitate, Coward you dare not say you love.
TRUST me, they are no idle hours
That Love determines dear!
Ah, when Misfortune rudely lours,
How kind is Woman's tear!
And what, when Pleasure wildly charms,
O! what is half so sweet,
As, clasp'd in Woman's faithful arms,
Her thrilling kiss to meet?
My love for her all love transcends!
I love her kindred, love her friends;
And when I lift my soul above,
My heart for her is full of love!
The place, wherever she reside,
Forms, only her residence, my pride:
If she but approbation glance,
Her look can any thing enhance ;
If she an absent one defend,
That instant I become the friend.
I could not be to her severe;
Her very faults, to me, are dear!
I WONDER if her heart be still
The same that once I fondly met!
Will she her plighted faith forget?
Or she my dearest hopes fulfil?
I fear to pen the wish'd request,
To ask if all within be so?
I almost dread the truth to know;
So changeful seems the human breast!
I SEE that purchas'd smiles can grace The monied Driveller's cold embrace; I see it with averted eye,
And o'er the wretched victim sigh!
I mourn, that Impotence should press The youthful couch of Loveliness, While generous Manhood's flame divine Ascends in vain at Beauty's shrine !
WHENCE Comes my love?-O Heart! disclose:
"Twas from her cheeks that shame the rose,
From lips that spoil the ruby's praise,
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze.
Whence comes my love, as freely own:
Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone.
The blushing cheek speaks modest mind;
The lips, befitting words most kind;
The eyes do tempt to love's desire,
And seem to say-'tis Cupid's fire!
Yet all so fair, but speak my moan,
Sith nought doth say the heart of stone.
Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak
Sweet lip, sweet eye, sweet blushing cheek;
Yet not a heart to save my pain?
O Venus! take thy gifts again:
Make not so fair, to cause our moan,
Or make a heart that's like our own.
AWAY with these self-loving lads,
Whom Cupid's arrow never glads!
Away poor souls that sigh and weep,
In love of those that lie asleep!
For Cupid is a merry god.
And forceth none to kiss the rod.
Sweet Cupid's shafts like destiny
Do causeless good or ill decree,
Desert is borne out of his bow,
Reward upon his wing doth go!
What fools are they that have not known,
That Love likes no laws but his own.
My songs they be of Cynthia's praise,
I wear her rings on holidays,
In every tree I write her name,
And every day I read the same.
Where Honour Cupid's rival is,
There miracles are seen of his !
If Cynthia claim her rings of me,
I blot her name out of the tree :
If doubt do darken things held dear,
Then well-fare nothing once a year!
For many run, but one must win!
Fools only hedge the cuckoo in.
The worth that worthiness should move
Is love, that is the bow of Love;
And love as well the peasant can,
As can the mighty nobleman.
Sweet saint, 'tis true, you worthy be:
Yet, without love, nought worth to me.
MERCILESS Love, whom Nature hath denied
The use of eyes, lest thou shouldst take a pride,
And glory in thy murders, why am I,
That never yet transgress'd thy deity,
Never broke vow, from whose eyes never flow
Disdainful dart, whose hard heart never slow,
Thus ill-rewarded? Thou art young and fair,
Thy mother soft and gentle as the air,
Thy holy fire still burning, blown with prayer: Then everlasting Love, restrain thy will; 'Tis godlike to have power but not to kill.
LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.
OVER the mountains
And over the waves;
Under the fountains,
And under the graves;
Under floods that are deepest,
Which Neptune obey;
Over rocks that are steepest
Love will find out a way.
Where there is no place
For the glow-worm to lic;
Where there is no space
For receipt of a fly;
Where the midge dare not venture,
Lest herself fast she lay;
If Love come, he will enter,
And soon find out his way.
You may esteem him
A child for his might;
Or you may deem him
A coward from his flight:
But if she, whom Love doth honour,
Be conceal'd from the day,
Set a thousand guards upon her,
Love will find out the way.
Some think to lose him,
By having him confin'd,
And some do suppose him,
Poor thing, to be blind;
But if ne'er so close you wail him,
Do the best that you may,
Blind Love, if so ye call him,
Will find out his way.
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