No More Learning

Never to part again,
Robin Adair!
And if you still are true,
I will be constant too,
And will wed none but you,
Robin Adair!
LADY CAROLINE KEPPEL,


## p. 16599 (#299) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16599
WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS
HOE'ER she be,
That not impossible She
That shall command my heart and me;
W
Where'er she lie,
Locked up from mortal eye
In shady leaves of destiny
Till that ripe birth
Of studied Faith stand forth,
And teach her fair steps tread our earth;
Till that divine
Idea take a shrine
Of crystal flesh, through which to shine:
Meet you her, my Wishes,
Bespeak her to my blisses,
And be ye called, my absent kisses.
I wish her beauty
That owes not all its duty
To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie,-
Something more than
Taffeta or tissue can,
Or rampant feather, or rich fan,-
A face that's best
By its own beauty drest,
And can alone commend the rest;
Soft silken hours,
Open suns, shady bowers,
'Bove all, nothing within that lowers;
Days, that in spite
Of darkness, by the light
Of a clear mind are day all night;
Life, that dares send
A challenge to his end,
And when it comes, say, “Welcome, friend. "


## p. 16600 (#300) ##########################################

16600
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
I wish her store
Of worth may leave her poor
Of wishes; and I wish no more.
Now, if Time knows
That Her, whose radiant brows
Weave them a garland of my vows;
Such worth as this is
Shall fix my flying wishes,
And determine them to kisses.
Let her full glory,
My fancies, fly before ye;
Be ye my fictions— but her story.
RICHARD CRASHAW.
AMATURUS
S
OMEWHERE beneath the sun,-
These quivering heart-strings prove it, -
Somewhere there must be one
Made for this soul to move it:
Some one that hides her sweetness
From neighbors whom she slights,
Nor can attain completeness,
Nor give her heart its rights;
Some one whom I could court
With no great change of manner,
Still holding reason's fort,
Though waving fancy's banner:
A lady, not so queenly
As to disdain my hand,
Yet born to smile serenely
Like those that rule the land, -
Noble, but not too proud;
With soft hair simply folded,
And bright face crescent-browed,
,And throat by Muses molded;
And eyelids lightly falling
On little glistening seas,
Deep-calm, when gales are brawling,
Though stirred by every breeze;


## p. 16601 (#301) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16601
Swift voice, like flight of dove
Through minster arches floating,
With sudden turns, when love
Gets overnear to doting;
Keen lips, that shape soft sayings
Like crystals of the snow,
With pretty half-betrayings
Of things one may not know;
Fair hand, whose touches thrill
Like golden rod of wonder,
Which Hermes wields at will
Spirit and flesh to sunder;
Light foot to press the stirrup
In fearlessness and glee,
Or dance till finches chirrup
And stars sink to the sea.
Forth, Love, and find this maid,
Wherever she be hidden:
Speak, Love, be not afraid,
But plead as thou art bidden;
And say that he who taught thee
His yearning want and pain,
Too dearly, dearly bought thee
To part with thee in vain.
WILLIAM JOHNSON-Cory.
TELL ME, MY HEART, IF THIS BE LOVE
'HEN Delia on the plain appears,
Awed by a thousand tender fears,
I would approach, but dare not move; —
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
WE
Whene'er she speaks, my ravished ear
No other voice than hers can hear;
No other wit but hers approve;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
If she some other swain commend,
Though I was once his fondest friend,
His instant enemy I prove; .
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.


## p. 16602 (#302) ##########################################

16602
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
When she is absent, I no more
Delight in all that pleased before, -
The clearest spring, the shadiest grove;-
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
When fond of power, of beauty vain,
Her nets she spread for every swain,
I strove to hate, but vainly strove;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
GEORGE, LORD LYTTELTON.
FAIR HELEN
I
wish I were where Helen lies; -
Night and day on me she cries:
Oh that I were where Helen lies
On fair Kirconnell lea!
Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that fired the shot -
And in my hands burd Helen dropt,
And died to succor me!
O think na but my heart was sair
When my love dropt down and spak nae mair!
I laid her down wi' meikle care
On fair Kirconnell lea.
As I went down the water-side,
None but my foe to be my guide,
None but my foe to be my guide,
On fair Kirconnell lea,–
I lighted down my sword to draw,
I hacked him in pieces sma',
I hacked him in pieces sma',
For her sake that died for me.
O Helen fair, beyond compare!
I'll make a garland of thy hair
Shall bind my heart for evermair
Until the day I die.


## p. 16603 (#303) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16603
Oh that I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise —
Says, “Haste and come to me! »
O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
If I were with thee I were blest,
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest
On fair Kirconnell lea.
I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms lying,
On fair Kirconnell lea.
I wish I were where Helen lies;
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
Since my Love died for me.
Author Unknown.
SALLY IN OUR ALLEY
O
F ALL the girls that are so smart
There's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land
Is half so sweet as Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Her father he makes cabbage-nets,
And through the streets does cry 'em;
Her mother she sells laces long
To such as please to buy 'em:
But sure such folks could ne'er beget
So sweet a girl as Sally!
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
When she is by, I leave my work,
I love her so sincerely:
My master comes like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely;


## p. 16604 (#304) ##########################################

16604
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
But let him bang his bellyful,
I'll bear it all for Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Of all the days that's in the week,
I dearly love but one day,
And that's the day that comes betwixt
A Saturday and Monday;
For then I'm drest all in my best
To walk abroad with Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master carries me to church,
And often am I blamed
Because I leave him in the lurch
As soon as text is named;
I leave the church in sermon-time
And slink away to Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
When Christmas comes about again,
Oh then I shall have money:
I'll hoard it up, and box it all,
I'll give it to my honey.
I would it were ten thousand pound,
I'd give it all to Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
My master and the neighbors all
Make game of me and Sally;
And but for her, I'd better be
A slave and row a galley :
But when my seven long years are out,
Oh then I'll marry Sally;
Oh then we'll wed, and then we'll bed -
But not in our alley.
HENRY CAREY.


## p. 16605 (#305) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
166o5
SHEPHERD'S SONG
E THAT have known no greater state
Than this we live in, praise our fate;
For courtly silks in cares are spent,
When country's russet breeds content.
W*
The power of sceptres we admire,
But sheep-crooks for our use desire;
Simple and low is our condition,
For here with us is no ambition.
We with the sun our flocks unfold,
Whose rising makes their feeces gold;
Our music from the birds we borrow,
They bidding us, we them, good-morrow.
Our habits are but coarse and plain,
Yet they defend us from the rain;
As warm too, in an equal eye,
As those bestained in scarlet dye.
The shepherd with his homespun lass
As many merry hours doth pass
As courtiers with their costly girls,
Though richly decked in gold and pearls.
THOMAS HEYWOOD.
A MADRIGAL
L"
Ove me not for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart;
For these may fail or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever:
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still but know not why;
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever.
John WilbYE.


## p. 16606 (#306) ##########################################

16606
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
METEMPSYCHOSIS
TH
HOU wert a shepherdess with fawn-like eyes;
I but a linnet swinging on a spray,
Who sang to thee of love the livelong day,
’Neath the deep azure of Ionian skies:
And thou didst throw me crumbs, and smile upon
The rustic wooing of some Corydon.
Thou wert a princess in Provençal towers;
I but a hunchback minstrel of her train,
Whose beauty tuned my lute's divinest strain
To sing its master's love to pitying flowers:
Yet once, led forth a monarch's bride to be,
Thou kissed the dead lips that had sung of thee.
And now again I see thee as of yore;
In charms mysterious, fadeless, and supreme.
Still must I chant the love-slain minstrel's dream,
Still weave in song the linnet's passion lore.
And thou? hast thou yet nothing more to give ?
Wilt thou not love me, sweet, while now I live ?
DUFFIELD OSBORNE.
AN OPAL
A
ROSE of fire shut in a veil of snow,
An April gleam athwart a misted sky:
A jewel — a soul! gaze deep if thou wouldst know
The flame-wrought spell of its pale witchery;
And now each tremulous beauty lies revealed,
And now the drifted snow doth beauty shield.
So my shy love, aneath her kerchief white,
Holdeth the glamour of the East in fee;
Warm Puritan who fears her own delight,
Who trembleth over that she yieldeth me.
And now her lips her heart's rich flame have told;
And now they pale that they have been so bold.
EDNAH PROCTER CLARKE,


## p. 16607 (#307) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16607
HOLD, POETS!
H
OLD, poets! Hear me tell
Where Beauty's queen doth dwell!
'Tis in no foreign land,
'Tis by no storied strand,
But here her sweet renown
Haunts an old fishing-town.
Not alone Beauty's queen,-
Virtue were proud, I ween,
Could she be known to fame
By this dear maiden's name,
Or could her ways so win
Followers to walk therein.
1
1
10
Wit's arrow on her lips
First into honey dips;
Lips at whose magic spell
Shamed Music breaks her shell.
All to bless, naught to blame,-
Blanche is her sweetest name.
4
n
Now, poets, spend your days
Piping in her pure praise ;
Wake, when fond love inspires,
To her your happy lyres:
Not to my halting songs
Such a charmed theme belongs !
RICHARD S. SPOFFORD.
PANGLORY'S WOOING SONG
Ove is the blossom where there blows
Love doth make the heavens to move,
And the sun doth burn in love;
Love the strong and weak doth yoke,
And makes the ivy climb the oak,
Under whose shadows lions wild,
Softened by love, grow tame and mild.
Love no med'cine can appease:
He burns the fishes in the seas;


## p. 16608 (#308) ##########################################

16608
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Not all the skill his wounds can stanch;
Not all the sea his fire can quench.
Love did make the bloody spear
Once a leafy coat to wear,
While in his leaves there shrouded lay
Sweet birds, for love that sing and play;
And of all love's joyful flame
I the bud and blossom am.
Only bend thy knee to me —
Thy wooing shall thy winning be.
See! see the flowers that below
Now freshly as the morning blow,
And of all, the virgin rose,
That as bright Aurora shows-
How they all unleavéd die,
Losing their virginity;
Like unto a summer shade,
But now born, and now they fade:
Everything doth pass away;
There is danger in delay.
Come, come, gather then the rose;
Gather it, or it you lose.
All the sand of Tagus's shore
In my bosom casts its ore;
All the valleys' swimming corn
To my house is yearly borne;
Every grape of every vine
Is gladly bruised to make me wine;
While ten thousand kings as proud
To carry up my train, have bowed;
And a world of ladies send me,
In my chambers to attend me;
All the stars in heaven that shine,
And ten thousand more, are mine.
Only bend thy knee to me
Thy wooing shall thy winning be.
Giles FLETCHER,


## p. 16609 (#309) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16609
LOVE IN THE VALLEY
UM
NDER yonder beech-tree standing on the greensward,
Couched with her arms behind her little head,
Her knees folded up, her tresses on her bosom,
Lies my young love sleeping in the shade.
Had I the heart to slide one arm beneath her,
Press her dreaming lips as her waist I folded slow!
Waking on the instant she could not but embrace me —
Ah! would she hold me, and never let me go?
Shy as the squirrel, and wayward as the swallow;
Swift as the swallow when athwart the western flood
Circleting the surface he meets his mirrored winglets,-
Is that dear one in her maiden bud.
Shy as the squirrel whose nest is in the pine-tops;
Gentle — ah! that she were jealous as the dove!
Full of all the wildness of the woodland creatures,
Happy in herself is the maiden that I love!
What can have taught her distrust of all I tell her ?
Can she truly doubt me when looking on my brows?
Nature never teaches distrust of tender love-tales,
What can have taught her distrust of all my vows ?
No, she does not doubt me! on a dewy eve-tide,
Whispering together beneath the listening moon,
I prayed till her cheek flushed, implored till she faltered
Fluttered to my bosom - ah! to fly away so soon!
When her mother tends her before the laughing mirror,
Tying up her laces, looping up her hair,
Often she thinks, «Were this wild thing wedded,
I should have more love, and much less care. ”
When her mother tends her before the bashful mirror,
Loosening her laces, combing down her curls,
Often she thinks, “Were this wild thing wedded,
I should lose but one for so many boys and girls. ”
Clambering roses peep into her chamber,
Jasmine and woodbine breathe sweet, sweet;
White-necked swallows twittering of summer,
Fill her with balm and nested peace from head to feet.
Ah! will the rose-bough see her lying lonely,
When the petals fall and fierce bloom is on the leaves ?
Will the autumn garners see her still ungathered,
When the fickle swallows forsake the weeping eaves ?
XXVIII-1039


## p. 16610 (#310) ##########################################

16610
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Comes a sudden question - should a strange hand pluck her!
Oh what an anguish smites me at the thought,
Should some idle lordling bribe her mind with jewels! -
Can such beauty ever thus be bought ?
Sometimes the huntsmen prancing down the valley
Eye the village lasses, full of sprightly mirth;
They see as I see, mine is the fairest!
Would she were older, and could read my worth!
Are there not sweet maidens if she will deny me?
Show the bridal heavens but one bright star ?
Wherefore thus then do I chase a shadow,
Chattering one note like a brown eve-jar?
So I rhyme and reason till she darts before me -
Through the milky meadows from flower to flower she flies,
Sunning her sweet palms to shade her dazzled eyelids
From the golden love that looks too eager in her eyes.
When at dawn she wakens, and her fair face gazes
Out on the weather through the window-panes,
Beauteous she looks! like a white water-lily
Bursting out of bud on the rippled river-plains.
When from bed she rises, clothed from neck to ankle
In her long nightgown, sweet as boughs of May,
Beauteous she looks! like a tall garden lily
Pure from the night and perfect for the day!
Happy, happy time, when the gray star twinkles
Over the fields all fresh with bloomy dew;
When the cold-cheeked dawn grows ruddy up the twilight,
And the gold sun wakes, and weds her in the blue.
Then when my darling tempts the early breezes,
She the only star that dies not with the dark !
Powerless to speak all the ardor of my passion,
I catch her little hand as we listen to the lark.
Shall the birds in vain then valentine their sweethearts,
Season after season tell a fruitless tale ?
Will not the virgin listen to their voices ?
Take the honeyed meaning — wear the bridal veil?
Fears she frosts of winter, fears she the bare branches ?
Waits she the garlands of spring for her dower ?
Is she a nightingale that will not be nested
Till the April woodland has built her bridal bower ?


## p. 16611 (#311) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16611
Then come, merry April, with all thy birds and beauties!
With thy crescent brows and thy flowery, showery glee;
With thy budding leafage and fresh green pastures:
And may thy lustrous crescent grow a honeymoon for me!
Come, merry month of the cuckoo and the violet!
Come, weeping Loveliness, in all thy blue delight!
Lo! the nest is ready, let me not languish longer!
Bring her to my arms on the first May night.
GEORGE MEREDITH.
SING AGAIN
Yºu
1
0
1
4
OU sang me a song:
'Twas the close of the year —
Sing again!
I cannot remember the name
Or the words:
'Tis the same
We listen to hear
When the windows are open in spring,
And the air's full of birds;
One calls from the branch some sweet thing,
And one sings on the wing
The refrain.
You sang me a song
My heart thrilled to hear.
The refrain
Has run like a filet of gold
Through the woof
Of the cold
Dark days of a year.
To-night there's a year at its start,
All the birds are aloof,
Your eyes hold the sun for my part,
And the Spring's in your heart-
Sing again!
MARIE LOUISE VAN VORST.


## p. 16612 (#312) ##########################################

16612
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
WHAT MY LOVER SAID
B'
Y THE merest chance, in the twilight gloom,
In the orchard path he met me —
In the tall, wet grass, with its faint perfume;
And I tried to pass, but he made no room
Oh I tried, but he would not let me.
So I stood and blushed till the grass grew red,
With my face bent down above it,
While he took my hand as he whispering said —
(How the clover lifted each pink, sweet head,
To listen to all that my lover said;
Oh, the clover in bloom, I love it! )
In the high, wet grass went the path to hide,
And the low wet leaves hung over;
But I could not pass upon either side,
For I found myself, when I vainly tried,
In the arms of my steadfast lover.
And he held me there and he raised my head,
While he closed the path before me,
And he looked down into my eyes and said --
(How the leaves bent down from the boughs o'erhead,
To listen to all that my lover said,
Oh, the leaves hanging lowly o'er me! )
Had he moved aside but a little way,
I could surely then have passed him;
And he knew I never could wish to stay,
And would not have heard what he had to say,
Could I only aside have cast him.
It was almost dark, and the moments sped,
And the searching night wind found us,
But he drew me nearer and softly said
(How the pure, sweet wind grew still, instead,
To listen to all that my lover said;
Oh, the whispering wind around us ! )
I am sure he knew when he held me fast,
That I must be all unwilling;
For I tried to go, and I would have passed,
As the night was come with its dew at last,
And the sky with its stars was filling.
But he clasped me close when I would have fled,
And he made me hear his story,


## p. 16613 (#313) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16613
And his soul came out from his lips and said —
(How the stars crept out where the white moon led,
To listen to all that my lover said;
Oh, the moon and the stars in glory! )
I know that the grass and the leaves will not tell,
And I'm sure that the wind, precious rover,
Will carry my secret so safely and well
That no being shall ever discover
One word of the many that rapidly fell
From the soul-speaking lips of my lover;
And the moon and the stars that looked over
Shall never reveal what a fairy-like spell
They wove round about us that night in the dell,
In the path through the dew-laden clover,
Nor echo the whispers that made my heart swell
As they fell from the lips of my lover.
HOMER G. GREENE.
TWO DREAMS
HIS
[**
F A Rose could sing
In just one song
All it dreamed of spring
Through the winter long,
Would it pray the zephyr to lend its tone,
Or the brook, that maketh a mimic moan
Over some cruel hard-hearted stone ?
Or the mating bird, who sings his best
On the bough that shadows his covert nest ?
Ah, no, my Beautiful! thine alone
Of all the music to Echo known,
Thy sweet soprano, with silvery ring,
Would be the voice
Of its loving choice,
If a Rose could sing!
HERS
Could I be a Rose for a sweet, swift hour,-
A passionate, purple, perfect flower,
Not a breath would I spare to the vagrant air,
For the woodland warbler I would not care:


## p. 16614 (#314) ##########################################

16614
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
But oh! if my human lover came,
Then would I blush like a heart of flame,-
Like a heart of flame I would send a sigh,
A note of perfume, when he drew nigh,
That should make him take me ere bees could sip,
That should woo him to me with bloomy lip;
Till, his kisses culling the flower of me,
My petals close on his lips would close,
And - once more a Woman I think I'd be
Could I be a Rose!
HENRY W. AUSTIN.
JUNE IN LONDON
(WITH PUPILS)
B
OOKS and heat, the dullard mind
Reeling under Cicero;
London landscape, roof and blind
Blacker e'en than London snow;
Pupils coming all day long,
All my pause the thought that she,
She I love, my joy and song,
Dreams by day and night of me.
Ah, might I gather a rose with its dew
For her heart on this bright June morning!
Doric of the roughest mold
Planned to make a Master sour;
Thirty lines of Virgil's gold
Slowly melting in an hour!
Ovid's ingots and the gems
Horace polished for our eyes
In a maze of roots and stems,
Hurdy-gurdies, cabmen's cries !
Ah, might I gather a rose in its dew
For her heart on this bright June morning!
Envious twigs in leafy nook
Catch my love's long tresses fair,
E'en as Grecian branches shook
Down Diana's crown of hair!
While on Cæsar's bridge I stand,
Fancy brings (but could they speak! )


## p. 16615 (#315) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16615
Laura's lips, and, faintly tanned,
Peachy glimpses of her cheek!
Ah, might I gather a rose in its dew
For her heart on this bright June morning!
NORMAN R. GALE.
TO PHILLIS
To ABANDON THE COURT
F"
JE on this courtly life, full of displeasure!
Where neither frowns nor smiles keep any measure,
But every passion governs in extreme:
Free love and faith from hence falsehood doth banish,
And vows of friendship here like vapors vanish;
Loyalty's counted but a dream;
Inconstant favors like rivers gliding;
Truth is despised
Whilst flattery's prized;
Poor virtue here hath no certain abiding.
Then let's no longer stay, my fairest Phillis;
But let us fly from hence, where so much ill is,
Into some desert place there to abide;
True love shall go with us, and faith unfeigned,
Pure thoughts, embraces chaste, and vows unstained.
Virtue herself shall ever be our guide ; –
In cottage poor, where neither frowning fortune
Nor change of fate
Can once abate
Our sweet content, or peace at all importune.
There will we drive our focks from hill and valley,
And whilst they feeding are, we'll sit and dally;
And thy sweet voice to sing birds shall invite;
Whilst I with roses, violets, and lilies
Will flowery garlands make to crown my Phillis,
Or numbered verses to thy praise indite.
And when the sun is westwardly declining,
Our flocks and we
Will homeward flee
And rest ourselves until the sun's next shining.
Author Unknown.


## p. 16616 (#316) ##########################################

16616
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
WINIFREDA
A**
WAY! let naught to love displeasing,
My Winifreda, move your care;
Let naught delay the heavenly blessing -
Nor squeamish pride nor gloomy fear.
What though no grants of royal donors
With pompous title grace our blood ?
We'll shine in more substantial honors,
And to be noble we'll be good.
Our name, while virtue thus we tender,
Will sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke;
And all the great ones they shall wonder
How they respect such little folk.
What though from Fortune's lavish bounty
No mighty treasures we possess ?
We'll find within our pittance plenty,
And be content without excess.
I
Still shall each kind returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give;
For we will live a life of reason,
And that's the only life to live.
1
Through youth and age in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread;
Sweet smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet smiling babes, our bed.
How should I love the pretty creatures,
While round my knees they fondly clung,
To see them look their mother's features,
To hear them lisp their mother's tongue!
And when with envy Time transported
Shall think to rob us of our joys,
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go wooing in my boys.
Author Unknown.


## p. 16617 (#317) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16617
PRISCILLA
PRIS
RISCILLA hath come back to town
A little bandit queen;
Her cheek hath robbed the berry's brown,
Her eye the dewdrop's sheen.
Upon her lips there brightly glows
The poppy's crimson hue;
With autumn music in her toes
She charms the avenue.
Alas! how wildly hearts will beat
That late kept slowest time;
Alas! how many a snowy sheet
Will meet its fate in rhyme!
Laugh, Cupid, laugh, with saucy glee
At all the pangs in store;
But never point thy dart at me,-
My heart was hers before.
SAMUEL MINTURN PECK.
PEPITA
U”
P in her balcony where
Vines through the lattices run,
Spilling a scent on the air,
Setting a screen to the sun,
Fair as the morning is fair,
Sweet as a blossom is sweet,
Dwells in her rosy retreat
Pepita.
Often a glimpse of her face,
When the wind rustles the vine,
Parting the leaves for a space,
Gladdens this window of mine:
Pink in its leafy embrace,
Pink as a roseleaf is pink,
Sweet as a blossom I think
Pepita.
I who dwell over the way
Watch where Pepita is hid,
Safe from the glare of the day
Like an eye under its lid:


## p. 16618 (#318) ##########################################

16618
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Over and over I say -
Name like the song of a bird,
Melody shut in a word -
« Pepita. ”
Look where the little leaves stir!
Look, the green curtains are drawn!
There in a blossomy blur
Breaks a diminutive dawn
Dawn and the pink face of her;
Name like the lisp of the South,
Fit for a rose's small mouth,-
Pepita!
FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN.
THE WITCH
C"
HILD! attend to what I say:
Do not turn nor look away.
Roguish eye! you must not wink -
I shall tell you all I think.
Here! Hallo! Don't look away.
Child! attend to what I say!
You're not homely, that is true!
You've an eye that's clear and blue;
Cunning mouth and little nose
Have their merits, I suppose.
Charming is the word to fit it,-
Yes, you're charming; I admit it.
Charming here and charming there,
But no empress anywhere.
No! I cannot quite allow
Beauty's crown would suit your brow.
Charming there and charming here
Do not make a queen, my dear.
For I know a hundred girls,
Brown as berries, fair as pearls,
Each of whom might claim the prize
Given to loveliest lips and eyes —
Yes, a hundred might go in,
Challenge you, sweet child, and win.


## p. 16619 (#319) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16619
A hundred beauties, did I say?
Why, what a number! Yet there may
A hundred thousand girls combine
To drive thee from this heart of mine;
May try together, try alone,
My empress they cannot dethrone.
Whence, then, this imperial right
Over me, your own true knight?
Like an empress is your reign
In my heart for joy or pain;
Death or life, your royal right,
He accepts — your own true knight.
Roguish lip and roguish eye,
Look at me and make reply.
Witch! I wish to understand
How I came into your hand.
Look at me and make reply:
Tell me, roguish lip and eye.
Up and down I search to see
The meaning of this mystery.
Tied so tight by nothing, dear?
Ah! there must be magic here!
Up and down, sweet sorceress, tell!
Where's your wand, and what's your spell ?
GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER.
Translation of James Freeman Clarke.
I WONDER
I
WONDER, in those dear old days departed,
Whose was the foot that wore this tiny shoe;-
A slipper just as small as Cinderella's,
But not of glass - of faded satin blue,
I'll say it was a princess, tall and stately,
And rather haughty, but not overmuch.
I see her walking through her garden alleys:
How rose-hearts beat to feel that light foot's touch!
I see her treading through her row of pages,
That small foot lifted high with haughty grace;


## p. 16620 (#320) ##########################################

16620
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
A knight beside her, whispering tender speeches, -
She hears them all, with silent, downcast face.
I see her in the dazzling ball-room stepping
Through stately minuet or swifter dance,
Her small foot slipping through her rich robes sweeping,
Or even not perceived — divined, perchance.
How many knights adored you, little slipper,
And knelt before you - fine and fair and blue!
How many you have fled from — too bold suitors!
How many hearts you've trod on, tiny shoe!
CORA FABBRI.
A TWELFTH-CENTURY LYRIC
W"
ILL ye attend me, while I sing
A song of love, - a pretty thing,
Not made on farms:
Nay, by a gentle knight 'twas made,
Who lay beneath an olive's shade
In his love's arms.
A linen undergown she wore,
And a white ermine mantle, o'er
A silken coat;
With flowers of May to keep her feet,
And round her ankles leggings neat,
From lands remote.
Her girdle was of leafage green, -
Spring foliage, with a fringing sheen
Of gold above;
And underneath a love-purse hung,
By bloomy pendants featly strung,
A gift of love.
Upon a mule the lady rode,
The which with silver shoes was shod;
Saddle gold-red;
And behind rose-bushes three
She had set up a canopy
To shield her head.


## p. 16621 (#321) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
1662 1
As so she passed adown the meads,
A gentle childe in knightly weeds
Cried, “Fair one, wait!
What region is thy heritance ? »
And she replied: "I am of France,
Of high estate.
“My father is the nightingale,
Who high within the bosky pale,
On branches sings;
My mother's the canary; she
Sings on the high banks where the sea
Its salt spray Alings. ”
“Fair lady, excellent thy birth;
Thou comest from the chief of earth,
Of high estate:
Ah, God our Father, that to me
Thou hadst been given, fair ladye,
My wedded mate! »
Author Unknown.
Translation of Edward T. McLaughlin.
A NINETEENTH-CENTURY LYRIC
Cº
OULD I answer love like thine,
All earth to me were heaven anew;
But were thy heart, dear child, as mine,
What place for love between us two?
Bright things for tired eyes vainly shine:
A grief the pure heaven's simple blue.
Alas, for lips past joy of wine,
That find no blessing in God's dew!
From dawning summits crystalline
Thou lookest down; thou makest sign
Toward this bleak vale I wander through.
I cannot answer: that pure shrine
Of childhood, though my love be true,
Is hidden from my dim confine;
I must not hope for clearer view.
The sky, the earth, the wrinkled brine,
Would wear to me a fresher hue,
And all once more be half divine,
Could I answer love like thine.
Author Unknown.


## p. 16622 (#322) ##########################################

16622
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
A MODERN PSYCHE
She Speaks
B
Ut do not go — I like to have you near me;
Not quite so near — -sit there, sir, if you please.
The orchestra is silent; you can hear me:
And distance puts us both more at our ease.
I missed you yesterday past all expression,
Though winged with song and mirth the bright hours flew;
Because I think — pray mark my frank confession -
That no one loves me quite so well as you.
-
It may be as you say, that I am taking
A false step that I never can retrace;
Perhaps some day will come a bitter waking,
When love has filed with youth and youth's sweet grace.
Listen! there's some one singing “Traviata':
«Gayly through life” - ah, yes! 'tis apropos!
Your arm, mon ami. A swift waltz will scatter
And turn to blissful breath those sighs of woe.
'Tis strange! I do not care to take your heart, sir,
In fair exchange; and yet, strong jealous wrath
Would kindle all my soul should you depart, sir,
To lay it in some other woman's path.
“Selfish,” am I, and «void of feelings tender"?
Perhaps; but then, I'm sure you can but own
That for a foot so finely arched and slender
A heart is just the fittest stepping-stone.
And if you bade me cease my idle playing
On the tired chords my hands have swept for years,
I think the moonlight o'er my pillow straying
Would find it slightly wet with “idle tears. ”
And yet I love you not. Nay, do not start!
The reason, sir, you never could discover:
Another mystery of a woman's heart,-
I love the love, but cannot love the lover.
ELIZA CALVERT HALL.


## p. 16623 (#323) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
166 23
PHILLIDA FLOUTS ME
O"
H WHAT a plague is love!
I cannot bear it.
She will inconstant prove,
I greatly fear it;
It so torments my mind
That my heart faileth.
She wavers with the wind
As a ship saileth;
Please her the best I may,
She looks another way:
Alack and well-a-day!
Phillida flouts me.
I often heard her say
That she loved posies:
In the last month of May
I gave her roses,
Cowslips and gilliflowers,
And the sweet lily,
I got to deck the bowers
Of my dear Philly:
She did them all disdain,
And threw them back again;
Therefore 'tis flat and plain,
Phillida flouts me.
Which way soe'er I go,
She still torments me;
And whatsoe'er I do,
Nothing contents me:
I fade and pine away
With grief and sorrow;
I fall quite to decay,
Like any shadow:
Since 'twill no better be,
I'll bear it patiently;
Yet all the world may see
Phillida flouts me.
Author Unknown.


## p. 16624 (#324) ##########################################

16624
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
TO HIS COY MISTRESS
H".
AD we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges's side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews;
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow:
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest —
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near,
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long-preserved virginity,
And your quaint honor turned to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
ANDREW MARVELL,
ALL ON ONE SIDE
S"
He is like Nature: and I love
Her ever-changing, wayward moods,
As I adore the sky above;
The far blue hills; the dark, green woods;


## p. 16625 (#325) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16625
The noisy brook; the torrent's roar;
The glamour of a moonlight night;
The never-ending ocean's shore;
The fleecy cloud-heads, soft and white.
She is like Nature. Much she cares,
Though I should love a thousand years!
If I am sad when sunlight glares,
Will cloudless skies weep scalding tears?
And will my gladness dry th rain
Will Nature smile and join my glee?
Will Nature love me back again ?
I think not- and no more will She!
HARRY ROMAINE.
DELAY
TAS
ASTE the sweetness of delaying,
Till the hour shall come for saying
That I love you with my soul:
Have you never thought your heart
Finds a something in the part,
It would miss from out the whole ?
In this rosebud you have given,
Sleeps that perfect rose of heaven
That in Fancy's garden blows:
Wake it not by touch or sound,
Lest perchance 'twere lost, not found,
In the opening of the rose.
Dear to me is this reflection,
Of a fair and far perfection,
Shining through a veil undrawn:
Ask no question then of fate;
Yet a little longer wait
In the beauty of the dawn.
Through our mornings, veiled and tender,
Shines a day of golden splendor,
Never yet fulfilled by day:
Ah! if love be made complete,
Will it, can it, be so sweet
As this ever sweet delay ?
LOUISA BUSHNELL.
XXVIII-1040


## p. 16626 (#326) ##########################################

16626
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
SONG WRITTEN AT SEA
IN
THE FIRST DUTCH WAR, JUNE 2D, 1665, THE NIGHT BEFORE AN
ENGAGEMENT
T°
ALL you ladies now on land,
We men, at sea, indite;
But first would have you understand
How hard it is to write:
The Muses now, and Neptune too,
We must implore to write to you,
With a Fa, la, la, la, la.
For though the Muses should prove kind,
And fill our empty brain,
Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind
To wave the azure main,
Our paper, pen, and ink, and we,
Roll up and down our ships at sea,
With a Fa, la, la, la, la.
Then if we write not by each post,
Think not we are unkind;
Nor yet conclude our ships are lost,
By Dutchmen or by wind:
Our tears we'll send a speedier way,–
The tide shall bring 'em twice a day,
With a Fa, la, la, la, la.
Let wind and weather do its worst,
Be you to us but kind;
Let Dutchmen vapor, Spaniards curse,
No sorrow we shall find:
'Tis then no matter how things go,
Or who's our friend, or who's our foe,
With a Fa, la, la, la, la. .
But now our fears tempestuous grow,
And cast our hopes away:
Whilst you, regardless of our woe,
Sit careless at a play;
Perhaps permit some happier man
To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan,
With a Fa, la, la, la, la.
In justice you cannot refuse
To think of our distress,


## p. 16627 (#327) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16627
When we for hopes of honor lose
Our certain happiness:
All those designs are but to prove
Ourselves more worthy of your love,
With a Fa, la, la, la, la.
And now we've told you all our loves,
And likewise all our fears;
In hopes this declaration moves
Some pity from your tears:
Let's hear of no inconstancy,
We have too much of that at sea,
With a Fa, la, la, la, la.
CHARLES SACKVILLE (Earl of Dorset).
GLEE
A.
BLOSSOM wreath of rich perfume
I for my fairest wove:
She to her beauty gave its bloom,
Its transience to her love.
I sent her then a pearl to prize:
With much she soon did part,
But kept its brilliance in her eyes,
Its hardness in her heart.
T. M. DOVASTON,
THE WHITE ROSE
SENT BY A YORKSHIRE LOVER TO HIS LANCASTRIAN MISTRESS
II
F This fair rose offend thy sight,
Placed in thy bosom bare,
'Twill blush to find itself less white,
And turn Lancastrian there.
But if thy ruby lip it spy,
As kiss it thou mayst deign,
With envy pale 'twill lose its dye,
And Yorkshire turn again.
Author Unknown.


## p. 16628 (#328) ##########################################

16628
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
MY LOVE IN HER ATTIRE DOTH SHEW HER WIT
M'
y Love in her attire doth shew her wit,
It doth so well become her:
For every season she hath dressings fit,
For winter, spring, and summer.
No beauty she doth miss
When all her robes are on;
But Beauty's self she is
When all her robes are gone.
Author Unknown.
WHENAS IN SILKS MY JULIA GOES
Wh
HENAS in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes!
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free –
O how that glittering taketh me!
ROBERT HERRICK.
THE TIME O' DAY
IK
F I SHOULD look for the time o' day
On the rose's dial red,
I should think it was just the sunrise hour,
From the flush of its petals spread.
And if I would tell by the lily-bell,
I should think it was calm, white noon;
And the violet's blue would tell by its hue
Of the evening coming soon.
But when I would know by my lady's face,
I am all perplexed the while;
For it's always starlight by her eyes,
And sunlight by her smile.
ALBION FELLOWS BACON.


## p. 16629 (#329) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16629
DEFIANCE
C"
LOTHO, Lachesis, Atropos!
All your gain is not my loss.
Spin your black threads if you will;
Twist them, turn, with all your skill.
Hold! there s one you cannot sever!
One bright thread shall last forever.
You are defied, you, Atropos!
Draw your glittering shears across,
One still mocks your cruel art!
From the fibres of my heart
Did I spin the shining thread
That will live when you are dead.
Fate, but hark! one thing I'll teach:
There are wonders past your reach,
Of the heart and of the soul,-
Woman's love's past your control!
These are not threads of your spinning,
No, nor shall be of your winning.
ANNIE FIELDS.
IF LOVE WERE NOT
I'
F LOVE were not, the wilding rose
Would in its leafy heart inclose
No chalice of perfume.
By mossy bank in glen or grot,
No bird would build, if love were not,
No flower complacent bloom.
The sunset clouds would lose their dyes,
The light would fade from beauty's eyes,
The stars their fires consume.
And something missed from hall and cot
Would leave the world, if love were not,
A wilderness of gloom.
FLORENCE EARLE COATES.


## p. 16630 (#330) ##########################################

166 30
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
PRAISE OF LITTLE WOMEN
N A little precious stone what splendor meets the eyes!
In a little lump of sugar, how much of sweetness lies!
So in a little woman love grows and multiplies:
You recollect the proverb says, A word unto the wise.
I
A peppercorn is very small, but seasons every dinner
More than all other condiments, although 'tis sprinkled thinner:
Just so a little woman is, if love will let you win her,-
There's not a joy in all the world you will not find within her.
And as within the little rose you find the richest dyes,
And in a little grain of gold much price and value lies,
As from a little balsam much odor doth arise,
So in a little woman there's a taste of paradise.
The skylark and the nightingale, though small and light of
wing,
Yet warble sweeter in the grove than all the birds that sing;
And so a little woman, though a very little thing,
Is sweeter far than sugar and flowers that bloom in spring.
JUAN RUIZ DE HITA (Spanish).
THE HEART OF A SONG
DA
EAR love, let this my song fly to you:
Perchance forget it came from me.
It shall not vex you, shall not woo you;
But in your breast lie quietly.
Only beware — when once it tarries,
I cannot coax it from you then:
This little song my whole heart carries,
And ne'er will bear it back again.
For if its silent passion grieve you,
My heart would then too heavy grow;
And it can never, never leave you,
If joy of yours must with it go!
GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP.


## p.