TO CELIA.

'Tis true, with shame and grief I yield, Thou, like the vanne, first took'st the field, And gotten hast the victory,

In thus adventuring to die

Before me, whose more years might crave
A just precedence in the grave.

But hark! my pulse, like a soft drum,
Beats my approach, tells thee I come;
And slow howe'er my marches be,
I shall at last sit down by thee.

The thought of this bids me go on,
And wait my dissolution

With hope and comfort. Dear, forgive
The crime: I am content to live

Divided, with but half a heart,

Till we shall meet and never part.

HENRY KING

TO CELIA.

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;

But might I of Jove's nectar sup,

I would not change for thine.

LIKE A POET IN THE SPLENDOR.

I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope that there

It could not withered be.

But thou thereon did'st only breathe,

And sent'st it back to me;

Since when, it grows, and smells, I swear,

Not of itself, but thee.

Translation of BEN JONSON.

PHILOSTRATUS. (Greek.)

LIKE a poet in the splendor
Of his genius, all complete,
In your love, so true and tender,
I am hidden, lost, my sweet.

When you leave me, all is yearning,

All is darkness, doubt, and woe,
And the time of your returning

Is the only time I know.

ALICE CARY.

THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND.

THE love that I hae chosen,

I'll therewith be content; The saut sea sall be frozen

Before that I repent. Repent it sall I never

Until the day I dee;

But the Lawlands o' Holland
Hae twinned my love and me.

My love he built a bonny ship,
And set her to the main,
Wi' twenty-four brave mariners
To sail her out and hame.
But the weary wind began to rise,
The sea began to rout,

And my love and his bonny ship
Turned withershins about!

There sal nae mantle cross my back,
No kaim gae in my hair,
Neither sall coal nor candle-light
Shine in my bower mair;
Nor sall I choose anither love
Until the day I dee,

Sin' the Lawlands o' Holland

Hae twinned my love and me.

"Noo haud your tongue, my daughter: Be still, and bide content;

THE FLOWER OF BEAUTY.

There's ither lads in Galloway :
Ye needna sair lament."
O there is nane in Galloway,
There's nane at a' for me!

I never lo'ed a lad but ane,

And he's drowned in the sea.

ANONYMOUS.

THE FLOWER OF BEAUTY.

SWEET in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers,
Lulled by the faint breezes sighing through her hair;
Sleeps she, and hears not the melancholy numbers
Breathed to my sad lute amid the lonely air.

Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teeming,

To wind round the willow banks that lure him from above; O that, in tears, from my rocky prison streaming,

I, too, could glide to the bower of my love!

Ah! where the woodbines, with sleepy arms, have wound her, Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay,

Listening, like the dove, while the fountains echo round her, To her lost mate's call in the forests far away!

Come, then, my bird! for the peace thou ever bearest,

Still heaven's messenger of comfort to me!

Come! this fond bosom, my faithfullest, my fairest,

Bleeds with its death-wound-but deeper yet for thee.

GEORGE DARLEY,

THE WELCOME.

I.

COME in the evening, or come in the morning,

Come when you're looked for, or come without warning;
Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,

And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you!
Light is my heart since the day we were plighted;
Red is my cheek, that they told me was blighted;
The green of the trees looks far greener than ever,
And the linnets are singing "True lovers don't sever!"

II.

I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them! Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom. I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you; I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you.

O! your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed farmer, Or sabre and shield to a knight without armor.

I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me; Then, wandering, I'll wish you, in silence, to love me.

III.

We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyrie;
We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy;
We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river,
Till you ask of your darling, what gift you can give her.