When forced the fair nymph to forego,
What anguish I felt at my heart!
Yet I thought-but it might not be so-
'Twas with pain that she saw me depart.
She gazed, as I slowly withdrew,

My path I could hardly discern ;
So sweetly she bade me adieu

I thought that she bade me return.

The pilgrim that journeys all day
To visit some far-distant shrine,
If he bear but a relique away

Is happy, nor heard to repine.
Thus widely removed from the fair
Where my vows, my devotion, I owe,

Soft Hope is the relique I bear

And my solace wherever I go.

IF

WILLIAM SHENSTONE

IF DOUGHTY DEEDS

F doughty deeds my lady please,
Right soon I'll mount my steed,
And strong his arm and fast his seat,

That bears frae me the meed.
I'll wear thy colours in my cap,
Thy picture at my heart;

And he that bends not to thine eye
Shall rue it to his smart!

Then tell me how to woo thee, Love,
O tell me how to woo thee!

For thy dear sake nae care I'll take,
Tho' ne'er another trow me.

If gay attire delight thine eye
I'll dight me in array;

I'll tend thy chamber door all night
And squire thee all the day.

If sweetest sounds can win thine ear,
These sounds I'll strive to catch;
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thyself,
That voice that nane can match.

But if fond love thy heart can gain,
I never broke a vow,

Nae maiden lays her skaith to me,
I never loved but

you.

For you alone I ride the ring,
For you I wear the blue,
you alone I strive to sing ;

For

O tell me how to woo !

Then tell me how to woo thee, Love,
O tell me how to woo thee!

For thy dear sake nae care I'll take,
Tho' ne'er another trow me.

ROBERT GRAHAM OF GARTMORE

TO MARY UNWIN

MARY! I want a lyre with other strings,

Such aid from heaven as some have feign'd they drew,

An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new
And undebased by praise of meaner things,
That ere through age or woe I shed my wings,
I may record thy worth with honour due
In verse as musical as thou art true
And that immortalises whom it sings:-
But thou hast little need. There is a Book
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light,
On which the eyes of God not rarely look,
A chronicle of actions just and bright—

There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine;
And sincethou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine.
WILLIAM COWPER

S

TO A YOUNG LADY

WEET stream, that winds through yonder glade,
Apt emblem of a virtuous maid-

Silent and chaste she steals along,

Far from the world's gay busy throng :
With gentle yet prevailing force,
Intent upon her destined course;
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and blest where'er she goes ;
Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass,
And heaven reflected in her face.

WILLIAM COWPER

SONG

How sweet I roamed from field to field,

And tasted all the summer's pride,

Till I the Prince of Love beheld
Who in the sunny beams did glide.

He showed me lilies for my hair,
And blushing roses for my brow ;
He led me through his gardens fair,
Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May-dews my wings were wet,
And Phoebus fired my vocal rage;

He caught me in his silken net,

And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,

Then, laughing, sports and plays with me,

Then stretches out my golden wing,

And mocks my loss of liberty.

WILLIAM BLAKE

MY

SONG

silks and fine

array,

My smiles and languished air,

By love are driven away;

And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave :

Such end true lovers have.

His face is fair as heaven
When springing buds unfold;
O why to him was't given,

Whose heart is wintry cold?
His breast is love's all-worshipped tomb,
Where all love's pilgrims come.

Bring me an axe and spade,

Bring me a winding-sheet;

When I my grave have made,

Let winds and tempests beat: Then down I'll lie, as cold as clay. True love doth pass away!

SONG

WILLIAM BLAKE

LOVE and harmony combine,

And around our souls entwine,

While thy branches mix with mine,
And our roots together join.

Joys upon our branches sit,

Chirping loud and singing sweet;
Like gentle streams beneath our feet,
Innocence and virtue meet.

Thou the golden fruit dost bear,
I am clad in flowers fair;

Thy sweet boughs perfume the air,
And the turtle buildeth there,

There she sits and feeds her young,
Sweet I hear her mournful song;
And thy lovely leaves among
There is Love; I hear his tongue.

There his charming nest doth lay,
There he sleeps the night away;
There he sports along the day,
And doth among our branches play.

WILLIAM BLAKE

IN A MYRTLE SHADE

a lovely myrtle bound,

Blossoms showering all around,

O how weak and weary I
Underneath my myrtle lie!

Why should I be bound to thee,
O my lovely myrtle-tree?
Love, free love, cannot be bound
To any tree that grows on ground.

WILLIAM BLAKE

LOVE'S SECRET

NEVER seek to tell thy love,

Love that never told can be ;

For the gentle wind does move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.
Ah! she did depart!