Love he comes, and Love he tarries,
Just as fate or fancy carries ;

Longest stays, when sorest chidden;

Laughs and flies, when press'd and bidden.

Bind the sea to slumber stilly,
Bind its odour to the lily,
Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver,
Then bind Love to last for ever.

Love's a fire that needs renewal
Of fresh beauty for its fuel;
Love's wing moults when caged and captured,
Only free, he soars enraptured.

Can you keep the bee from ranging,
Or the ringdove's neck from changing?
No! nor fetter'd Love from dying

In the knot there's no untying.

STAR

THOMAS CAMPBELL

THE EVENING STAR

TAR that bringest home the bee,
And sett'st the weary labourer free!
peace, 'tis Thou

If any star shed

That send'st it from above,

Appearing when heaven's breath and brow

Are sweet as hers we love.

Come to the luxuriant skies,
Whilst the landscape's odours rise,
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard
And songs when toil is done,
From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd
Curls yellow in the sun.

Star of love's soft interviews,
Parted lovers on thee muse;
Their remembrances in heaven
Of thrilling vows thou art,

Too delicious to be riven

By absence from the heart.

THOMAS CAMPBELL

BEI

SONG

ELIEVE 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

Would entwine itself verdantly still.

my

heart

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

That the fervour and faith of a soul can 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 sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose.

I

THOMAS MOORE

I SAW FROM THE BEACH

SAW from the beach, when the morning was shining,
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on ;

I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining,
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone.

And such is the fate of our life's early promise,

So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known ; Each wave, that we danced on at morning, ebbs from us, And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone.

Ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning

The close of our day, the calm eve of our night ;-Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of Morning,

Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening's best light.

Oh! who would not welcome that moment's returning, When passion first waked a new life thro' his frame, And his soul, like the wood, that grows precious in burning,

Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame?

ECHO

THOMAS MOORE

How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night,

When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away, o'er lawns and lakes,

Goes answering light.

Yet Love hath echoes truer far,
And far more sweet,

Than e'er beneath the moonlight's star,
Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar,
The songs repeat.

'Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere,
And only then,—

The sigh that's breathed for one to hear,
Is by that one, that only dear,

Breathed back again!

THOMAS MOORE

AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT

AT the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I

To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine

eye;

And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air,

To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there,

And tell me our love is remembered, even in the sky.

Then I sing the wild song 'twas once such pleasure to hear!

When our voices commingling breathed, like one, on the ear; And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, I think, oh my love! 'tis thy voice from the Kingdom of Souls,

Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. THOMAS MOORE

I DUG BENEATH THE CYPRESS SHADE

I

DUG, beneath the cypress shade,

What well might seem an elfin's grave;

And every pledge in earth I laid,

That erst thy false affection gave.

I pressed them down the sod beneath;
I placed one mossy stone above;
And twined the rose's fading wreath
Around the sepulchre of love.

Frail as thy love, the flowers were dead,
Ere yet the evening sun was set:
years shall see the cypress spread,
Immutable as my regret.

But

THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK

THE FLOWER OF LOVE

IS said the rose is Love's own flower,

'TIS

Its blush so bright, its thorns so many; And winter on its bloom has power,

But has not on its sweetness any. For though young Love's ethereal rose Will droop on Age's wintry bosom, Yet still its faded leaves disclose

The fragrance of their earliest blossom.

But ah! the fragrance lingering there
Is like the sweets that mournful duty
Bestows with sadly-soothing care,

To deck the grave of bloom and beauty.
For when its leaves are shrunk and dry,
Its blush extinct, to kindle never,
That fragrance is but Memory's sigh,
That breathes of pleasures past for ever.

Why did not Love the amaranth choose,
That bears no thorns, and cannot perish?
Alas! no sweets its flowers diffuse,

And only sweets Love's life can cherish.
But be the rose and amaranth twined,
And Love, their mingled powers assuming,
Shall round his brows a chaplet bind,
For ever sweet, for ever blooming.

THE

THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK

STANZAS FOR MUSIC

HERE be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;

And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me: