A Soldier's Book 
 of Love Poems 
 
 Arranged by 
 
 Godfrey Locker-Lampson
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FORNIA
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK OF 
 LOVE POEMS
 
 A Soldier's Book of 
 Love Poems 
 
 Arranged by 
 Godfrey Locker- Lampson 
 
 i ■ INDON 
 
 Arthur /.. Humphreys, [87 /' adilly % W. 
 
 .11
 
 pp-ffo- 
 
 & 2-1 Si
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 TO IIIK MEMORY OF THOSE WHO HAVE LAID 
 
 MOWN THEIR YOUTH, WITH ALL ITS 
 
 HOPES, FOR THEIR COUNTRY.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 ALTHOUGH this little book is sent forth with 
 considerable diffidence, it is thought thai it 
 may be welcomed by those lovers of poetry who have 
 not generally access to the various volumes in which 
 these poems are contained. Readers, perhaps, will 
 miss some of their favourite pieces, but it is hoped 
 thai they will not And very many serious omissions, 
 and, above all. no inclusions that are not worthy. 
 Tie- sole object of the collection is that it should 
 comprise tin- pure gold, and the pure gold only, of 
 the ait, tenderness, romance, and passion of our love 
 poetry. No extracts have been admitted. Bach 
 poem (or song) is complete in itself; and no poem 
 had been included for the sake merely of certain 
 beautiful lines or even stanzas which may he found 
 
 in il. In order to be admitted, it has had to be 
 
 deemed perfect as ■> whole. 
 
 Long explanatory notes have been avoided. 
 
 Where, however, a word Or phrase has seemed 
 
 obscure, a brief exegetical note has been appended .it 
 the foot of the page. The order followed, so fai 
 
 vii
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 the poets themselves are concerned, is chronological ; 
 but if any two or more were born in the same year, 
 those have been placed first who died first. As 
 regards the actual poems, the contributions of each 
 poet have been put together, but no special order has 
 been followed in this respect, with the exception of 
 the sonnets by Shakespeare, which have been ar- 
 ranged in the order in which they were originally 
 published in 1609. .Some readers may criticise the 
 inclusion of these sonnets. But until the mystery 
 surrounding them has been satisfactorily dispelled, a 
 compiler of such an anthology as this may feel him- 
 self justified in including these lovely poems of 
 passion and romance. It is not improbable that the 
 greater part of them were written to a fiction of the 
 poet's imagination, and that the actual recipient of 
 them, if any, played (as in the case of Wordsworth's 
 No. XCI.) but a very secondary part in their inspira- 
 tion. They bear intimate traces of being largely the 
 mere exercises of a great poet's art — a poet who was 
 • in love with love.' and who more than any other 
 writer has combined the heart and the intellect in the 
 productions of his genius. 
 
 It is hoped that this slender volume will help the 
 younger section of the reading public — especially that 
 romantic youth of our country who have gone abroad 
 to fight its battles— to appreciate in a convenient form 
 the finest of our love lyrics, and enable them to dis- 
 criminate between the first and the second-rate, the 
 genuine and the artificial, in this kind of verse. If it 
 
 viii
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 achieves this purpose, it will not altogether have been 
 
 compiled in vain. 
 
 The opportunity is taken here of thanking those 
 who have kindly given permission for the inclusion 
 of the poems that are copyright— Mr. Austin Dobson, 
 The Lady Betty Balfour (Robert, Earl of Lytton), 
 the Trustees of the late Mr. Watts-Dunton (A. C. 
 Swinburne), Mr. William Heinemann (Arthur 
 Symons , Mr. John Lane (Rosamund M. Watson 
 and R. Le (iallienne). Messrs. Macmillan (Christina 
 Rossetti), Messrs. Ellis, Holdsworth and Smith (D. G. 
 Rossetti). Messrs. Smith, Elder (Dr. Bridges), and 
 Messrs. Constable [G. Meredith). 
 
 G. L. L. 
 
 /• inner, 1916. 
 
 II
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Dedication . 
 Preface 
 15TH Century 
 i6th Century 
 17TH Century 
 i8th Century 
 19TH Century 
 Index of Authors 
 Index of First Lines 
 
 TAG! 
 
 V 
 
 vii 
 
 3 
 
 59 
 96 
 
 1*5 
 182 
 
 184 
 
 1 1
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK OF 
 LOVE POEMS 
 
 i 5 th CENTURY. 
 I. 
 
 To Mistress Margaret Hussey. 
 
 MERRY Margaret 
 As midsummer flower, 
 Gentle as falcon 
 Or hawk of the tower : 
 With solace and gladness, 
 .Much mirth and no madness, 
 All good and no hadness ; 
 So joyously, 
 So maidenly, 
 Ho womanly 
 
 Her demeaning 
 
 In every thing, 
 Far, tar passing 
 
 Thai l '■in Indite, 
 
 Or ^iiII'm-.- to write 
 
 <,:iiih at falcon, i.e., ' Faleon-gentle, so called for her 
 tie and courteous condition und fashions.' — Turbervil' . 
 quoted bj Dya In hi edition of Skelton. 
 
 1 B
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 Of Merry Margaret 
 As midsummer flower, 
 Gentle as falcon 
 Or hawk of the tower. 
 
 As patient and still 
 
 And as full of good will 
 
 As fair Isaphill, 
 
 Coliander, 
 
 Sweet pomander. 
 
 Good Cassander ; 
 
 Stedfast of thought, 
 
 Well made, well wrought, 
 
 Far may be sought, 
 
 Ere that ye can find 
 
 So courteous, so kind, 
 
 As merry Margaret, 
 
 This midsummer flower, 
 
 Gentle as falcon 
 
 Or hawk of the tower. 
 
 John Skelton. 
 
 Isaphill, i.e., Hypsipyle, a queen of Lemnos who saved the 
 life of her father, Thoas. 
 
 Coliander, i.e., coriander seed, an aromatic. 
 
 pomander, i.e., a ball of perfumes. 
 
 Cassander, i.e., Cassandra, quoted for her chastity, having 
 rejected the advances of numerous admirers, Apollo among 
 others.
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 i 6th CENTURY. 
 II. 
 
 Lady Ann BothweWs Lament. 
 
 BALOW, my babe, lie still and sleep ! 
 It grieves me sore to see thee weep. 
 Wouldst thou be quiet Fse be glad, 
 Thy mourning makes my sorrow sad ; 
 Balow my boy, thy mother's joy, 
 Thy father breeds me great annoy — 
 Balow, la-low ! 
 
 When he began to court my love, 
 And with his sugred words me move, 
 His faynings false and flattering cheer 
 To in'' t li.it i [me did not appear : 
 But dow i w e most cruellye 
 Hi' imp- ne for my babe nor me — 
 Balow, la-low ! 
 
 Lie still. m\ darling, sleep awhile, 
 Ami when thou wak'sl thou'le sweetly smile 
 Bui -mile do! as i lis- fa! her did, 
 To oozeo maids: nay, God forbid! 
 But yei I fea v thou wilt go o 
 Thy fathei heart and face t<> bear — 
 Balow, la-low I 
 
 I cannot choose bul ever will 
 Be loving t<> t by fal ber st ill :
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 Where'er he go, where'er he ride, 
 My love with him doth still abide ; 
 In weal or woe, where'er he go, 
 My heart shall ne'er depart him fro — 
 Balow, la-low ! 
 
 But do not, do not, pretty mine, 
 To faynings false thy heart incline ! 
 Be loyal to thy lover true, 
 And never change her for a new : 
 If good or fair, of her have care, 
 For women's banning's wondrous sare — 
 Balow, la-low ! 
 
 Bairn, sin thy cruel father's gane. 
 Thy winsome smiles maun ease my pain ; 
 My babe and I'll together live ; 
 He'll comfort me when cares do grieve. 
 My babe and I right soft will lie, 
 And ne'er respect man's cruel tye — 
 Balow, la-low ! 
 
 Farewell, farewell, the falsest youth 
 
 That ever kist a woman's mouth ! 
 
 I wish all maids be warn'd by me 
 
 Never to trust man's curtesye ; 
 
 For if we do but chance to bow, 
 
 They'll use us then they care not how — 
 
 Balow, la- low ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 banning, i.e., curse. 
 There are several versions of this ballad. The copy of it in 
 the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry differs slightly from the 
 one printed above, but the title given to it there by Percy has 
 been adopted here. 
 
 4
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 III. 
 
 A Sweet Lullaby. 
 
 COME little babe, come silly soul, 
 Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief. 
 Born as I doubt to all our dole, 
 And to thy self unhappy chief : 
 Sing Lullaby and lap it warm, 
 Poor soul that thinks no creature harm. 
 
 Thou little think'st and less dost know. 
 The cause of this thy mother's moan, 
 Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe, 
 And I myself am all alone : 
 
 Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail? 
 
 And knowest not yet what thou dost ail. 
 
 (Ome little wretch, ah silly heart, 
 .Mine only joy, wbal can \ more? 
 If there be any wrong thy Bmarl 
 That may the destinies implore: 
 
 'Twas I, I say, against my will, 
 
 I wail i he t ime, bul be t hou still. 
 
 And dosi thou -mile, oh thy Bweet lace! 
 
 Would God Himself He might, thee sec. 
 
 No doubt thou woidd'st soon purchase grace, 
 
 I know right will, tor thee and me: 
 
 Hut come t" mother, babe, and play, 
 
 For tat her false Is fled away. 
 
 'ill;/, i.e., simple. dole, L.S., grist <■//<</, i.e., ohiefly. 
 
 6
 
 A SOLDIERS BOOK 
 
 Sweet boy, if it by fortune cbance, 
 Thy father home again to send, 
 If death do strike me with his lance, 
 Yet mayst thou me to him commend : 
 If any ask thy mother's name, 
 Tell how by love she purchased blame. 
 
 Then will his gentle heart soon yield, 
 
 I know him of a noble mind, 
 
 Although a Lion in the field, 
 
 A Lamb in town thou shalt him find : 
 Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid, 
 His sugar'd words hath me betray'd. 
 
 Then mayst thou joy and be right glad, 
 
 Although in woe I seem to moan. 
 
 Thy father is no rascal lad, 
 
 A noble youth of blood and bone : 
 
 His glancing looks, if he once smile, 
 Right honest women may beguile. 
 
 Come, little boy, and rock asleep, 
 
 Sing lullaby and be thou still ; 
 
 I that can do nought else but weep, 
 
 Will sit by thee and wail my fdl : 
 God bless my babe, and lullaby 
 From this thy father's quality! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 From The Arbor of Amorous Devices, 1597— an Anthology 
 by Nicholas Breton. 
 
 6
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 I 
 
 IV. 
 
 SAW my Lady weep, 
 And Sorrow proud to be advanced so 
 In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. 
 
 Her face was full of woe, 
 But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts 
 Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. 
 
 Sorrow was there made fair, 
 And Passion, wise; Tears, a delightful thing; 
 Silence, beyond all speech, a wisdom rare : 
 
 She made her sighs to sing, 
 And all things with so sweet a sadness move 
 As made my heart at once both grieve and love. 
 
 O fairer than aught else 
 The world can show, leave off in time to grieve! 
 Enough, enough: your joyful look excels: 
 
 Tears kill the heart, believe. 
 O strive not to be excellent in woe, 
 Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow. 
 
 A non. 
 
 From John Dowland's Third mid F.'int Bookc of Bongs or 
 Aku. 1003.
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 V. 
 A Supplication. 
 
 FORGET not yet the tried intent 
 Of such a truth as I have meant ; 
 My great travail so gladly spent, 
 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
 Forget not yet when first began 
 The weary life ye know, since whan 
 The suit, the service none tell can ; 
 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
 Forget not yet the great assays, 
 The cruel wrong, the scornful ways, 
 The painful patience in delays, 
 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
 Forget not! O, forget not this, 
 How long ago hath been, and is 
 The mind that never meant amiss — 
 
 Forget not yet! 
 
 Forget not then thine own approved 
 The which so long hath thee so loved, 
 Whose steadfast faith yet never moved— 
 
 Forget not this ! 
 
 Sir T. Wyat. 
 
 8
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Pastoral written by the Shcphcard Bonerto to 
 his beloved Shepheardessc Aglaia. 
 
 WHO can live in heart so glad 
 As the merry country lad ? 
 Who upon a fair green balk 
 May at pleasure* sit and walk, 
 And amid the azure skies, 
 See the morning sun arise : 
 While he hears in every spring, 
 How the birds do chirp and sing : 
 Or before the hounds in cry 
 See the hare go stealing by : 
 Or along the shallow brook, 
 Angling with a baited hook. 
 See the Bshee leap and play 
 In a ble8Sed sunny day : 
 Or to hear the partridge call, 
 Till she have her covey all : 
 Or to sec the subtle fox, 
 How the villain plies the box, 
 After feeding on bis prey, 
 How be closely Bneaks away, 
 Through the hedge and down the furrow 
 Till he gets Into Ins burrow : 
 Then I be bee to gal her homy. 
 And the little black-haired coney 
 i in .1 ha nb for sunny place 
 
 hull,-, I.e., n rid-' of onplougbed land. 
 

 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 With her forefeet wash her face ; 
 
 Are not these, with thousands moe 
 
 Than the courts of kings do know, 
 
 The true pleasing spirit's sights, 
 
 That may breed true love's delights ? 
 
 But with all this happiness 
 
 To behold that shepherdess, 
 
 To whose eyes all shepherds yield 
 
 All the fairest of the field, 
 
 Fair Aglaia, in whose face 
 
 Lives the shepherd's highest grace : 
 
 In whose worthy wonder praise 
 
 See what her true Shepherd says. 
 
 She is neither proud nor fine, 
 
 But in spirit more divine : 
 
 She can neither love nor leer, 
 
 But a sweeter smiling cheer : 
 
 She had never painted face, 
 
 But a sweeter smiling grace : 
 
 She can never love dissemble ; 
 
 Truth doth so her thoughts assemble, 
 
 That when wisdom guides her will, 
 
 She is kind and constant still. 
 
 All in sum, -she is that creature, 
 
 Of that truest comforts Nature, 
 
 In whose xvorthy wonder praise, etc., i.e., See what her true 
 Shepherd says in her praise, praise which deserves the wonder 
 it creates. 
 
 Of that truest comforts Nature, i.e., of that true kind from 
 which Nature itself draws comfort. 
 
 That doth shew, etc. , i.e., (of tha'j true kind) which shew 
 to an extraordinary degree how their praises are due to 
 qualities derived from Nature. 
 
 10
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 That doth shew (hut in exceedings) 
 
 How their praises had their breedings. 
 
 Let then poets feign their pleasure 
 
 In their fictions of love's treasure. 
 
 Proud high spirits seek their graces 
 
 In their idol painted faces : 
 
 My love's spirit's lowliness, 
 
 In affection's humbleness, 
 
 Under heaven no happiness 
 
 Seeks but in this Shepherdess. 
 
 For whose sake I say and swear, 
 
 By the passions that I bear, 
 
 Had I got a kingly grace, 
 
 I would leave my kingly place 
 
 And in heart be truly glad 
 
 To become a country lad ; 
 
 Hard to lie, and go full bare, 
 
 And to feed on hungry fare : 
 
 So I might but live to be, 
 
 Where I might but sit to see, 
 
 Once a day, or all day long, 
 
 The sweet subject of my song: 
 
 In Aglaia's only eyes 
 
 All my worldly paradise. 
 
 Nicholas Breton. 
 
 Third Pastoral from Breton's Pastionate Shepherd. 
 
 11
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 VII. 
 Phyllida and Corydon. 
 
 IN the merry month of May, 
 In a morn by break of day, 
 Forth I walk'd by the wood-side 
 When as May was in his pride : 
 There I spied all alone 
 Phyllida and Corydon. 
 Much ado there was, God wot ! 
 He would love and she woidd not. 
 She said, Never man was true ; 
 He said, None was false to you. 
 He said, He had loved her long: 
 She said, Love should have no wrong. 
 Corydon would kiss her then ; 
 She said, Maids must kiss no men 
 Till they did for good and all ; 
 Then she made the shepherd call 
 All the heavens to witness truth 
 Never loved a truer youth. 
 Thus with many a pretty oath, 
 Yea and nay, and faith and troth, 
 Such as silly shepherds use 
 When they will not Love abuse, 
 Love, which had been long deluded, 
 Was with kisses sweet concluded ; 
 And Phyllida, with garlands gay, 
 Was made the Lady of the May. 
 
 Nicholas Breton 
 
 From England's Helicon. 
 12
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 VIII. 
 Prothalamion. 
 
 CALM was the day, and through the trembling 
 air 
 Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play — 
 A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay 
 Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair : 
 When I, (whom sullen care 
 Through discontent of my long fruitless stay 
 In princes' court, and expectation vain 
 Of idle hopes, which still do fly away 
 Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain) 
 Walk'tl forth to ease my pain 
 Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames; 
 Whose rutty hank, the which his river hems, 
 Was painted all with variable flowers, 
 
 And all tin- meads adorn'd with dainty gems 
 
 Pit to deck maidens 1 bowers, 
 
 And crown their paramours 
 
 Againsl the bridal day, which Ls nol long: 
 
 Sweet Thames] run softly, till I end my song 
 
 There in a meadow by the river's side 
 A Bock of nymphs I chanced to espy, 
 AH lovely daughters of the flood thereby, 
 With goodly greenish looks all loose untied 
 \ each had been a bride j 
 
 18
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 And each one had a little wicker basket 
 Made of fine twigs, en trailed curiously. 
 In which they gather'd flowers to fill their flasket, 
 And with fine fingers cropt full feateously 
 The tender stalks on high. 
 Of every sort which in that meadow grew 
 They gather'd some ; the violet, pallid blue, 
 The little daisy that at evening closes, 
 The virgin lily and the primrose true, 
 With store of vermeil roses, 
 To deck their bridegroom's posies 
 Against the bridal day, which was not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 With that I saw two Swans of goodly hue 
 Come softly swimming down along the Lee ; 
 Two fairer birds I yet did never see ; 
 The snow which doth the top of Pindus strow 
 Did never whiter show, 
 
 Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be 
 For love of Leda, whiter did appear; 
 Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he. 
 Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near ; 
 So purely white they were 
 
 That even the gentle stream, the which them bare, 
 Seem'd foul to them, and bade his billows spare 
 To wet their silken feathers, lest they might 
 Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair, 
 And mar their beauties bright 
 That shone as Heaven's light 
 Against their bridal day, which was not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 entrailcd, i.e., twisted. feateously, i.e., elegantly. 
 
 14
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had flowers their 
 
 fill, 
 Ran all in haste to see that silver brood 
 As they came floating on the crystal flood ; 
 Whom when they saw, they stood amazed still 
 Their wondering eyes to fill ; 
 Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fair 
 Of fowls, so lovely, that they sure did deem 
 Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair 
 Which through the sky draw Venus' silver team ; 
 For sure they did not seem 
 To be begot of any earthly seed, 
 But lather Angels, or of Angels' breed ; 
 Yet were they bred of Bummer's heat, they say, 
 In sweetest season, when each flower and weed 
 The earth did fresh array ; 
 Bo fresh they seem'd as day, 
 Kv'n as their bridal day, which was not long: 
 Sweet Thames I run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 Then forth they all out of their baskets drew 
 
 Great Btor< <<i' flowers, the honour of the field, 
 
 That to tlir sense did fragranl odours yield. 
 
 All which upon those goodly birds they threw 
 
 And all t he wave did Bl P6W, 
 
 That like old Pencils 1 waters they did seem 
 
 When down along by pleasant Tempo's shore 
 
 Scat ter'd wit h How ers, t hrough Thessaly t hey si ream. 
 
 That they appear, through lilies' plenteous store. 
 
 Like a bride's chamber-floor. 
 
 Two ,,t those nymph- meanwhile two garland 
 
 hound 
 
 /.•/•..... i.e., on i'' rward. 
 16
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found, 
 The which presenting all in trim array, 
 Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crown'd; 
 Whilst one did sing this lay 
 Prepared against that day, 
 
 Against their bridal day, which was not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 ' Ye gentle birds ! the world's fair ornament, 
 
 And Heaven's glory, whom this happy hour 
 
 Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bower, 
 
 Joy may you have, and gentle heart's content 
 
 Of your love's couplement ; 
 
 And let fair Venus, that is queen of love, 
 
 With her heart-quelling son upon you smile, 
 
 Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove 
 
 All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile 
 
 For ever to assoil. 
 
 Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord, 
 
 And blessed plenty wait upon your board ; 
 
 And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound, 
 
 That fruitful issue may to you afford 
 
 Which may your foes confound, 
 
 And make your joys redound 
 
 Upon your bridal day, which is not long : 
 
 Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.' 
 
 So ended she ; and all the rest around 
 
 To her redoubled that her undersong, 
 
 Which said their bridal day should not be long : 
 
 And gentle Echo from the neighbour ground 
 
 Their accents did resound. 
 
 So forth those joyous birds did pass along 
 
 16
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 Adown the Lee that to them murmur'd low, 
 As he would speak but that he lack'd a tongue ; 
 Yet did by signs his glad affection show, 
 1 1. i king his stream run slow. 
 And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell 
 ; Gan flock about these twain, that did excel 
 The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend 
 The lesser stars. So they, enranged well. 
 Did on those two attend. 
 And their best service lend 
 
 Against their wedding day, which was not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 At length they all to merry London came, 
 
 To merry London, my most kindly nurse, 
 
 That to me gave this life's first native source, 
 
 Though from another place I take my name. 
 
 An house of ancient fame : 
 
 There when they came whereas those hrirky towers 
 
 The which on Thames' broad aged hack do ride, 
 
 Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers, 
 
 Th<r<- uhilonif wont the Templar-knights to bide, 
 
 Till they decay'd through pride; 
 
 Next whereunto there stands a stately place, 
 
 Where oft I gained gifts and goodly grace 
 
 Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell. 
 
 Whose want too well now feels my friendless case ; 
 
 But ah! here fits not well 
 
 Old woes, but joys to tell 
 
 Against the bridal day, which is DOt long: 
 
 Sweet Thames] run softly, til! I end tny song. 
 
 ■Iirml, i.e., sliiinie 
 
 17 c
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, 
 
 Great England's glory and the world's wide wonder. 
 
 Whose dreadful name late through all Spain did 
 
 thunder, 
 And Hercules' two pillars standing near 
 Did make to quake and fear : 
 Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry ! 
 That fillest England with thy triumphs' fame 
 Joy have thou of thy noble victory, 
 And endless happiness of thine own name 
 That promiseth the same ; 
 
 That through thy prowess and victorious arms 
 Thy country may be freed from foreign harms, 
 And great Elisa's glorious name may ring 
 Through all the world, till'd with thy wide alarms, 
 Which some brave Muse may sing 
 To ages following : 
 Upon the bridal day, which is not long : 
 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 From those high towers this noble lord issuing 
 
 Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair 
 
 In th' ocean billows he hath bathed fair, 
 
 Descended to the river's open viewing 
 
 With a great train ensuing. 
 
 Above the rest were goodly to be seen 
 
 Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature, 
 
 Beseeming well the bower of any queen, 
 
 With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature, 
 
 Fit for so goodly stature, 
 
 The noble peer referred to was Robert Devereux, second 
 Lord Essex, who had just taken Cadiz. 
 Elisa, i.e., Elizabeth. 
 
 18
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight 
 Which deck the baldric of the Heavens bright ; 
 They two, forth pacing to the river's side, 
 Received those two fair brides, their love's delight ; 
 Which, at th' appointed tide, 
 Each one did make his bride 
 Against their bridal day, which is not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 E. Spenser. 
 
 tains of Jove, i.e., the stars Castor and Pollux. 
 Imldric, i.e., belt; the zodiac. 
 
 This beautiful spousal poem, instinct with the spirit of 
 youthful romance, was written in honour of the Ladies Eliza- 
 beth and Katherine Somerset (the two swans), daughters of 
 the Earl of Worcester, who were espoused to Henry Gilford 
 and William Peters. 
 
 Although not a love lyric in the strictest sense of the term, 
 it comes suihciently within that category to be included here. 
 
 1!)
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 IX. 
 
 Reply to the Passionate Shepherd. 
 
 IF all the world and love were young, 
 And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 
 These pretty pleasures might me move 
 To live with thee and be thy Love. 
 
 But Time drives flocks from field to fold ; 
 When rivers rage and rocks grow cold ; 
 And Philomel becometh dumb ; 
 The rest complains of cares to come. 
 
 The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
 To wayward Winter reckoning yields : 
 A honey tongue, a heart of gall, 
 Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 
 
 Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 
 Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, 
 Soon break, soon wither — soon forgotten, 
 In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 
 
 Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, 
 Thy coral clasps and amber studs, — 
 All these in me no means can move 
 To come to thee and be thy Love. 
 
 20
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 But could youth last, and love still breed, 
 Had joys no date, nor age no need, 
 Then these delights my mind might move 
 To live with thee and be thy Love. 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. 
 
 The first stanza of this poem originally appeared by itself 
 in The Passionate Pilf/rim, 1599. 
 
 See Marlowe's ' Passionate Shepherd to his Love,' No. XVII., 
 to which this is the reply. 
 
 21
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 X. 
 
 WITH how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st 
 the skies ! 
 How silently, and with how wan a face ! 
 What, may it be that e'en in heavenly place 
 That busy archer his sharp arrows tries ! 
 
 Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes 
 Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case, 
 I read it in thy looks ; thy languished grace, 
 To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. 
 
 Then, e'en of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, 
 Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? 
 Are beauties there as proud as here they be? 
 Do they above love to be loved, and yet 
 
 Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? 
 Do they call virtue, there, ungratefulness? 
 
 Sir P. Sidney. 
 
 That busy archer, i.e., Cupid. descries, i.e., hows. 
 
 22
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XI. 
 
 COME, Sleep: O Sleep ! the certain knot of peace, 
 The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, 
 The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, 
 Th' indifferent judge between the high and low ; 
 
 With shield of proof shield me from out the prease 
 Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw : 
 make in me those civil wars to cease: 
 F will good tribute pay, it thou do so. 
 
 Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, 
 A chamber deaf of noise and blind of light, 
 
 A rosy garland and a weary head : 
 
 And if these things, as being thine in right, 
 
 .Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, 
 
 Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. 
 
 Sir I'. Sid/ney, 
 
 preaii . >■<■■, press, thioi 
 
 l i m Sidm i I ■ ophel and Stella, X.WIX. 
 
 2H
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 XII. 
 
 CUPID and my Campaspe play'd 
 At cards for kisses ; Cupid paid : 
 He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, 
 His mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; 
 Loses them too ; then down he throws 
 The coral of his lip, the rose 
 Growing on's cheek (but none knows how); 
 With these, the crystal of his brow, 
 And then the dimple on his chin ; 
 All these did my Campaspe win ; 
 And last he set her both his eyes — 
 She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 
 
 O Love ! has she done this to thee ? 
 
 What shall, alas ! become of me ? 
 
 J. Lylye. 
 
 Song from Lylye's Alexander and CampaspG. 
 
 24
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XIII. 
 RosalyncTs Madrigal. 
 
 LOVE in my bosom, like a bee, 
 Doth suck his sweet ; 
 Now with his wings he plays with me, 
 Now with his feet. 
 Within mine eyes he makes his nest, 
 His bed amidst my tender breast ; 
 My kisses are his daily feast, 
 And yet he robs me of my rest : 
 Ah ! wanton, will ye ? 
 
 And if 1 sleep, then percheth he 
 
 With pretty night, 
 And makes his pillow of my knee, 
 The livelong night. 
 Strike I my lute, he tunes the string ; 
 He music plays if so I sing ; 
 He lends me every lovely thing, 
 Yet cruel he my heart doth sting : 
 Whist, wanton, will ye? 
 
 Else I with roses every day 
 
 Will whip you hence, 
 And bind you. when you long to play. 
 For your offence ; 
 I'll shut my eyes to keep you in; 
 I'll make you fast, it for your sin; 
 I'll count your power not worth a pin; 
 — Alas! wh.it hereby shall I win, 
 
 if he gainsay me?
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 What if I beat the wanton boy 
 
 With many a rod? 
 He will repay me with annoy, 
 Because a god. 
 Then sit thon safely on my knee, 
 And let thy bower my bosom be; 
 Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee, 
 O Cupid ! so thou pity me. 
 
 Spare not, but play thee ! 
 T. Lodge. 
 
 From Lodge's Rosalind, 1590. 
 
 •v,
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XIV. 
 A Farewell to Arms. 
 
 (TO QUEEN ELIZABETH.) 
 
 HIS golden locks Time hath to silver turn'd; 
 O Time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing! 
 His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurn'd, 
 But .spurn'd in vain ; youth waneth by increasing : 
 Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading 
 
 seen ; 
 Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green. 
 
 His helmet now shall make a hive for bees; 
 
 And, lovers' sonnets turn'd to holy psalms. 
 A 1 1 1 ; l 1 1 - ; 1 1 -arms must now serve on his knees, 
 
 And Feed <>n prayers, which are Age his alms; 
 But though from court to cottage he depart, 
 His Saiui is Bure of bis unspotted heart. 
 
 And when he saddest sits in homely cell, 
 
 He'll teach his swains this carol for a song, — 
 
 'Blest be th<- hearts that wish my sovereign well, 
 Oursl !><• the souls thai think her any wrong. 1 
 
 Goddess, allow this aged man his right 
 
 To !"■ your beadsman now thai was your knight. 
 
 George Peele. 
 
 Poets at this period were wont to address 1 1 1 * - Maiden Queen 
 and other Kr'nt ladies in n lover likr, romantic strain, which 
 justifies the inclusion of this and a f''W similar poems. (See 
 No. LI.) 
 
 Bonnet from Pei I' Polyhymnia Describing the honourable 
 Triumph nt << Tilt, <u-.. i.v.ki. 
 
 Tt
 
 A SOLDIER'S HOOK 
 
 XV. 
 
 The Shepherd's Wife's Song. 
 
 AH, what is love ? It is a pretty thing, 
 As sweet unto a shepherd as a king ; 
 And sweeter too ; 
 For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, 
 And cares can make the sweetest love to frown : 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 His flocks are folded, he comes home at night. 
 As merry as a king in his delight ; 
 
 And merrier too ; 
 For kings bethink them what the state require, 
 Where shepherds careless carol by the fire : 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 
 
 He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat 
 
 His cream and curds as doth the king his meat ; 
 
 And blither too ; 
 For kings have often fears when they do sup, 
 Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup : 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 
 
 28
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound. 
 As doth the king upon his beds of down. 
 
 More sounder too ; 
 For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill. 
 Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill : 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 Thus with his wife he spends the year as blithe 
 As doth the king at every tide or sithe : 
 
 And blither too ; 
 For kings have wars and broils to take in hand, 
 Where shepherds laugh and love upon the land ; 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 Robert Greene. 
 
 spill, i.e. lose, xithe, i.e., time. 
 
 Song from Greene's Mournimi Garment, 1500. 
 
 21)
 
 A SOLDI KHS HOOK 
 
 XVI 
 
 The Passionate Shepherd to his Love. 
 
 COME live with me and be my Love, 
 And we will all the pleasures prove 
 That hills and valleys, dale and field, 
 And all the craggy mountains yield. 
 
 There will we sit upon the rocks 
 And see the shepherds feed their flocks, 
 By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals. 
 
 There will I make thee beds of roses 
 And a thousand fragrant posies, 
 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
 Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. 
 
 A gown made of the finest wool, 
 Which from our pretty lambs we pull, 
 Fair lindd slippers for the cold, 
 With buckles of the purest gold. 
 
 A belt of straw and ivy buds 
 With coral clasps and amber studs : 
 And if these pleasures may thee move, 
 Come live with me and be my Love. 
 30
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 Thy silver dishes for thy meat 
 As precious as the gods do eat, 
 Shall on an ivory table be 
 Prepared each day for thee and me. 
 
 The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
 For thy delight each May-morning : 
 If these delights thy mind may move, 
 Then live with me and be my Love. 
 
 C. Marlowe. 
 See No. X. 
 
 From England's Helicon. 
 
 This poem first appeared, wanting the 4th, Gth, and 7th 
 stanzas, in The Passionate Pilgrim which was published under 
 Shakespeare's name in 1599. 
 
 81
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Love's Farewell. 
 
 SINCE there's no help, come let us kiss and 
 part, — 
 Nay I have done, you get no more of me ; 
 And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, 
 That thus so cleanly I myself can free ; 
 Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 
 And when we meet at any time again, 
 Be it not seen in either of our brows 
 That we one jot of former love retain. 
 
 Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath, 
 When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies, 
 When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, 
 And innocence is closing up his eyes, 
 
 — Now if thou would'st, when all have given him 
 
 over, 
 From death to life thou might'st him yet recover ! 
 
 M. Drayton. 
 
 32
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Sowiet 15. 
 
 WHEN I consider every thing that grows 
 Holds in perfection but a little moment, 
 That this huge state presenteth nought but shows 
 Whereon the stars in secret influence comment ; 
 When I perceive that men as plants increase, 
 Cheered and cheek'd even by the selfsame sky; 
 Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, 
 And wear their brave state <>ut of memory; 
 Then the conceit of tins inconstant stay 
 Bete you most rich in youth before my sight, 
 Where wasteful time debateth with decay, 
 To change your day of youth to Bullied night; 
 And, all in war with time, for love of you, 
 As he takes from you. I engraft you new. 
 
 \Y. SluiLi -s/ii in; 
 
 conceit, i.e., idea. 
 
 :;:;
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Sonnet 18. 
 
 SHALL I compare thee to a summer's day ? 
 Thou art more lovely and more temperate : 
 Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
 And summer's lease hath all too short a date : 
 Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
 And often is his gold complexion dimm'd ; 
 And every fair from fair sometime declines, 
 By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd ; 
 But thy eternal summer shall not fade, 
 Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
 Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, 
 When in eternal lines to time thou growest ; 
 So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, 
 So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 
 
 W. Shakespeare. 
 
 fair, i.e., beauty. owest, i.e., ownest. 
 
 34
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Sonnet 25. 
 
 LET those who are in favour with their stars, 
 Of publick honour and proud titles boast, 
 Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, 
 Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. 
 Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread, 
 But as the marigold at the sun's eye ; 
 And in themselves their pride lies buried, 
 Pox at a frown they in their glory die. 
 The painful warrior famoused for fight, 
 After a thousand victories once foil'd, 
 [fl From the book of honour razed quite, 
 And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd : 
 Then happy I, that love and .1111 belov'd, 
 Where I may not remove, nor be reinov'd. 
 
 W. S/uikespcare. 
 
 Line '.), fight, is an emendation adopted by some of the 
 editors in place of the old reading, ' worth.' 
 
 86
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Sonnet 29. 
 
 WHEN in disgrace with fortune and men's 
 eyes, 
 I all alone beweep niy outcast state, 
 And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
 And look upon myself, and curse my fate, 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
 Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd, 
 Desiring this man's heart, and that man's scope, 
 With what I most enjoy contented least ; 
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
 Haply I think on thee, — and then my state 
 (Like to the lark at break of day arising 
 From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate ; 
 For thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth 
 
 brings, 
 That then I scorn to change my state with 
 kings. 
 
 W. Shakespeare. 
 
 36
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Sonnet 30. 
 
 WHEN to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 I summon up remembrance of things past, 
 I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 
 And with old woes new wail my dear times' 
 
 waste : 
 Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow, 
 For precious friends hid in death's dateless night. 
 And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd woe, 
 And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight. 
 Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
 And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
 The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
 Which I new pay as it' not paid before. 
 
 But if the while 1 think on thee, dear friend, 
 All losses are restor'd, and Borrows end. 
 
 \Y . 8hakeapeare. 
 
 datelem, i.e., endless. expetue, i.e., loss. 
 
 87
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Sonnet 32. 
 
 IF Thou survive my well-contented day 
 When that churl Death my hones with dust 
 shall cover, 
 And shalt by fortune once more re-survey 
 These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover ; 
 Compare them with the bettering of the time, 
 And though they be outstripped by every pen, 
 Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme 
 Exceeded by the height of happier men. 
 then vouchsafe me but this loving thought- 
 Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing 
 
 age, 
 A dearer birth than this his love had brought, 
 To march in ranks of better equipage : 
 But since he died, and poets better prove, 
 Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love. 
 
 W. Shakespeare- 
 
 reserve, i.e., preserve. 
 
 38
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Sonnet 33. 
 
 FULL many a glorious morning have I seen 
 Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, 
 Kissing with golden face the meadows green, 
 Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy ; 
 Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 
 With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
 And from the forlorn world his visage hide, 
 Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: 
 Even so my sun one early morn did shine 
 With all triumphant splendour on my brow; 
 But out ! alack ! he was but one hour mine, 
 The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. 
 
 Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ; 
 
 Suns of the world may .stain, when heaven's sun 
 
 Btaineth. 
 
 W. Slwkcspeare. 
 
 rack, i.e., vapours. stain, i.e., be stained. 
 
 Ktaineth, i.e., is stained. 
 
 :<y
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Sonnet 55. 
 
 NOT marble, nor the gilded monuments 
 Of princes, shall out - live this powerful 
 rhyme ; 
 But you shall shine more bright in these contents 
 Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. 
 When wasteful war shall statues overturn, 
 And broils root out the work of masonry, 
 Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn 
 The living record of your memory. 
 'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity 
 Shall you pace forth ; your praise shall still find 
 
 room, 
 Even in the eyes of all posterity 
 '1 hat wear this world out to the ending doom 
 So till the judgment that yourself arise, 
 You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 
 
 W. Shakespeare. 
 
 40
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Sonnet 57. 
 
 BEING your slave, what .should I do but tend 
 Upon the hours and times of your desire ? 
 I have no precious time at all to spend 
 Nor services to do, till you require : 
 Nor dare I chide the world-without-end-hour 
 Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, 
 Nor think the bitterness of absence sour 
 When you have bid your servant once adieu : 
 Nor dare 1 question with my jealous thought 
 Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, 
 But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought 
 Save, where you arc, how happy you make those; — 
 Bo line .1 fool is love, that in your will 
 Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. 
 
 W. Shakespeare. 
 
 41
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Sonnet 64. 
 
 WHEN I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd 
 The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age ; 
 When sometime lofty towers I see down-ras'd, 
 And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage ; 
 When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
 Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, 
 And the firm soil win of the wat'ry main, 
 Increasing store with loss, and loss with store ; 
 When I have seen such interchange of state. 
 Or state itself confounded to decay ; 
 Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — 
 That time will come and take my love away. 
 
 This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
 But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 
 
 W. Shakespeare. 
 
 42
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 S 07i)i et 65. 
 
 SINCE brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless 
 sea. 
 But sad mortality o'ereways their power, 
 How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, 
 Whose action is no stronger than a flower? 
 O, how sball summer's honey breath hold out 
 Against the wreckful siege of battering days. 
 When rocks impregnable are not so stout, 
 Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays? 
 O fearful meditation! where, alack! 
 Shall time's best jewel from time's chest lie hid? 
 Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back ? 
 Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? 
 
 O none, unless this miracle have might. 
 
 That in black ink my love may still shine bright. 
 
 ll'. 8hake8peare. 
 
 time'* chat, I.' ., the depository of what was once beautiful, 
 passed away and forgotten. 
 
 43
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 XXIX. 
 Sonnet 71. 
 
 NO longer mourn for me when I am dead, 
 Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
 Give warning to the world that I am fled 
 From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : 
 Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
 The hand that writ it ; for I love you so, 
 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, 
 If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
 O if (I say) you look upon this verse, 
 When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 
 Do not so much as my poor name rehearse ; 
 But let your love even with my life decay : 
 
 Lest the wise world should look into your moan, 
 And mock you with me after I am gone. 
 
 W. SJiakespeare. 
 
 44
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Sonnets 73 and 74. 
 
 THAT time of year thou may'st in me behold 
 "When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
 Upon those boughs which shake against the cold 
 Bare mind choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
 In me thou seest the twilight of such day, 
 As after sunset fadeth in the west, 
 Which by and by black night doth take away, 
 Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
 In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, 
 That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, 
 As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 
 Coiisuiu'd with that which it was nourish'd by. 
 
 This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more 
 strong, 
 
 To love thai well which thou must Leave ere long : 
 
 Bui be contented: when that fell arrest 
 Without all bail shall carrj me away, 
 
 \fy life hath in this line s< interest, 
 
 Whirh for memorial still with thee shall stay. 
 
 When thou raviewest this, thou (los| review 
 
 The very part was consecrate to thee. 
 
 The earth can have bul earth, which is bis due; 
 
 .My spirit la thine, the better part of me: 
 
 16
 
 A SOLDIERS BOOK 
 
 So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, 
 
 The prey of worms, my body being dead ; 
 
 The coward conquest of a wretch's knife, 
 
 Too base of thee to be remembered. 
 
 The worth of that, is that which it contains, 
 And that is this, and this with thee remains. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 This should be read as a double sonnet. 
 
 coward conquest of a wretch's knife : this probably refers 
 to the dissecting or anatomical knife. 
 
 46
 
 OF LOVE POEMS 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Sonnet 87. 
 
 FAREWELL! thou art too dear for my posses- 
 sing, 
 And like enough thou know'st thy estimate ; 
 The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; 
 My Bonds in thee are all determinate. 
 For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? 
 And for that riches where is my deserving? 
 The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, 
 And so my patent back again is swerving. 
 Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not 
 
 knowing, 
 Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; 
 80 thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 
 Comes borne again, on better judgment making. 
 Oral have I had the.-, as a dream doth flatter, 
 In sleep a king, but waking, no such matter. 
 
 11 '. Shakespeare, 
 
 determinate, i.e., concluded. 
 
 npiin mUprition growing, i.e., granted in error. 
 
 •17
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 XXXII. 
 Sonnet 90. 
 
 THEN hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now : 
 Now while the world is bent ray deeds to 
 cross, 
 Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, 
 And do not drop in for an after-loss : 
 Ah ! do not, when my heart hath scap'd this sorrow, 
 Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe : 
 Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, 
 To linger out a purpos'd overthrow. 
 If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, 
 When other petty griefs have done their spite, 
 But in the onset come ; so shall I taste 
 At first the very worst of fortune's might ; 
 
 And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, 
 Compar'd with loss of thee will not seem so. 
 
 W. SJuikespeare. 
 
 48
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Sonnet 97. 
 
 HOW like a winter hath my absence been 
 Prom thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
 What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen ! 
 What old December's bareness every where ! 
 And yet this time remov'd was summer's time! 
 The teeming autumn, hi^ with rich increase. 
 Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, 
 Like widow'd wombs after their lord's decease; 
 Yi 1 this abundant issue seem'd to me 
 I in! hope of orphans, and unfatliei 'd fruit; 
 For summer and his pleasures wait on thee. 
 And thou away, the very birds are mute: 
 Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer. 
 
 That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. 
 
 W. Shakespeare. 
 
 thin timr remob'd, i.e., the time in which he waa absent. 
 
 I'.i b
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Sonnet 98. 
 
 FROM you have I been absent in the spring, 
 When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, 
 Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing 
 That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. 
 Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
 Of different flowers in odour and in hue, 
 Could make me any summer's story tell, 
 Or from their proud lap pluck them where they 
 
 grew : 
 Nor did I wonder at the lilies white, 
 Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; 
 They were but sweet, but figures of delight, 
 Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 
 Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away, 
 As with your shadow I with these did play. 
 
 W, Shakespeare, 
 
 50
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Sonnet 102. 
 
 MY love is strengthen'd, though more weak in 
 seeming ; 
 I love not less, though less the show appear ; 
 That love is merchandiz'd, whose rich esteeming 
 The owner's tongue doth publish every where. 
 Our love was new, and then but in the spring, 
 When 1 was wont to greet it with my lays; 
 As Philomel in summer's front doth sing, 
 And stops his pipe in growth of riper days : 
 Not that the summer is less pleasant now 
 Than when hex mournful hymns did hush the night, 
 Bui thai wild musics: burthens every bough, 
 Ami sweets grown common lose their dear delight. 
 Therefore, 1 i k. < - her, I sometime hold my tongue, 
 Because I would not dull you with my song. 
 
 11 . Shakespeare. 
 
 51
 
 A SOLDIERS BOOK 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Sonnet 104. 
 
 1 
 
 TO me, fair friend, yon never can be old, 
 For as you were, when first your eye I ey'd, 
 Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold 
 Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; 
 Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd, 
 In process of the seasons have I seen, 
 Three April perfumes in three hot Junes bmn'd. 
 Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green, 
 Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand, 
 Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd ; 
 So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, 
 Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd. 
 For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, 
 Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead. 
 
 W. Shakespearr. 
 
 52
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 Sonnet 106. 
 
 WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time 
 I see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
 And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, 
 In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights. 
 Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, 
 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
 I see their antique pen would have express d 
 Even such a beauty as you master now. 
 So all their praises are but prophecies 
 Of this our time, all you prefiguring; 
 And. for they look'd but with divining eyes, 
 They had not skill enough your worth to sin^ : 
 Pot we, which now behold these present days, 
 
 Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 
 
 W. S/mkcspeare. 
 
 :,::
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Sonnet i 16. 
 
 LET me not to the marriage of true minds 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 Which alters when it alteration finds, 
 Or bends with the remover to remove : 
 O, no ; it is an ever-fixed mark, 
 That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 
 It is the star to every wandering bark, 
 Whose worth's unknown, although his height be 
 
 taken. 
 Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
 But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 
 If this be error, and upon ine prov'd, 
 I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. 
 
 W. Shakespeare. 
 
 54
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 O MI STRESS mine, where are you roaming? 
 O stay and hear ! your true-love's coming 
 That can sing both high and low ; 
 Trip no further, pretty sweeting, 
 Journeys end in lovers meeting — 
 
 Every wise man's son doth know. 
 
 What is Love? 'tis not hereafter; 
 
 Present mirth hath present laughter; 
 
 What's to come is still unsure; 
 In delay there lies no plenty,— 
 Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-tvventy, 
 
 Youth's a Stuff will not endure. 
 
 W. 8hakeapeare, 
 
 From Twelfth Night, Act ii. , Scene iii. 

 
 A SOLDIER'S HOOK 
 
 XL. 
 
 TAKE, take those lips away 
 That so sweetly were forsworn, 
 And those eyes, the break of day. 
 Lights that do mislead the morn : 
 But my kisses bring again, 
 
 Bring again — 
 Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, 
 Seal'd in vain ! 
 
 W. Shakespeare. 
 
 From Measure for Measure, Act iv., Scene i. 
 
 56
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 WHO is Silvia ? what is she, 
 That all our swains commend her ? 
 Holy, fair, and wise is she : 
 
 The heavens such grace did lend her, 
 That she might admired be. 
 
 I- she kind, as sin- is fair? 
 
 For beauty lives with kindness : 
 Love doth to her eyes repair. 
 
 To help him of his hlindness ; 
 And, being help'd, inhabits there. 
 
 Then to Silvia lei us sing, 
 
 That Silvia, is excelling ; 
 She excels each mortal thing, 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling : 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 
 II'. Shahispcurr. 
 
 From Tin Turn Gentlemen <-; Verona, Act i\. , Scene ii. 
 
 .> i
 
 A SOLDI EirS BOOK 
 
 XLII. 
 
 FOLLOW your saint, follow with accents sweet ! 
 Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet ! 
 There, wrapt in cloud of sorrow, pity move, 
 And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her 
 
 love : 
 But if she scorns my never-ceasing pain, 
 Then burst with sighing in her sight, and ne'er 
 return again ! 
 
 All that I sung still to her praise did tend ; 
 
 Still she was first, still she my songs did end : 
 
 Yet she my love and music both doth fly, 
 
 The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy : 
 
 Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight ! 
 
 It shall suffice that they were breathed and died 
 
 for her delight. 
 
 Thomas Campion. 
 
 58
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 17TH CENTURY. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 OH, gin I were a Baron's heir, 
 And could I braid wi' gems your hair, 
 And mak' ye braw as ye are fair, 
 
 Lassie, would ye lo'e me ? 
 And could I tak' ye to the town, 
 And show ye braw sights mony an ane, 
 And l>u*k ye fine in silken gown, 
 Lassie, would ye lo'e me ? 
 
 Or should ye be content t<> prove 
 
 In lowly life unfading love — 
 
 A heart that nought on earth could move — 
 
 Lassie, would ye lo'e me? 
 And ere the lav'rock wing the sky, 
 S;iy would ye to the forest hie, 
 Anil work wi' me Bae merrily . . . 
 
 Lassie, would ye lo'e nie ? 
 
 And when the Draw moon glistens o'er 
 Oor wee hit bield and heathery muir, 
 
 Will ye no greet that we're sae puir, 
 
 1.. 1 sie, for l lo'e ye ! 
 
 Kor I h.ie naught to offer ye, 
 
 Nae gow'd frae mine, nae pearl frae sea. 
 
 Nor am I come o' high degree. 
 
 Lassie, hut I lo'e ye ! 
 
 .1 11011. 
 
 •/in, ie., if. lav'roek, i.e., lurk. Meld, i.e., shelter. 
 
 muir, i.e., moor. greet, i.e., grieve. 
 
 59
 
 A SOLDI Kirs BOOK 
 
 XLIV. 
 Cherry-ripe. 
 
 THERE is a garden in her face 
 Where roses and white lilies blow ; 
 A heavenly paradise is that place, 
 
 Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow ; 
 There cherries grow that none may buy, 
 Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry. 
 
 Those cherries fairly do enclose 
 
 Of orient pearl a double row, 
 Which when her lovely laughter shows, 
 
 They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow : 
 Yet them no peer nor prince may buy, 
 Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry. 
 
 Her eyes like angels watch them still ; 
 
 Her brows like bended bows do stand, 
 Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill 
 
 All that approached with eye or hand 
 These sacred cherries to come nigh, 
 Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 From An Hoicrett Recreation i>i Mitricke, 1606, by Richard 
 Alison. 
 
 60
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XLV. 
 Fair Helen of Kirconuell. 
 
 I WISH I were where Helen lies ; 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 O that I were where Helen lies 
 On fair KirconneU lea ! 
 
 Curst be the heart that though! the thought, 
 And curst the hand that fired the shot, 
 When in uiy arms burd Helen drop). 
 And died to succour me! 
 
 think na hut my heart was sair 
 
 When my Love dropt down and spak uae mair ! 
 
 1 laid her down \vi' meikle care 
 
 On lair Kirconnell lea ! 
 
 As I went down the \va I ei ■-side. 
 
 None but my foe to be my guide. 
 None bat my foe to be my guide. 
 On fair K irconneil lea ; 
 
 I lighted down my sword to draw. 
 I hacked him in piece- sina'. 
 I hacked him in pieces snia", 
 
 For lier sake that died for me. 
 ( ' Helen fair, beyond compare I 
 
 III make a airland of thy hair 
 Shall hind my he. ill for cvermaii 
 
 Until the day I die. 
 
 i;i
 
 A SOLDIERS BOOK 
 
 O 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 ! ' 
 
 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. 
 
 1 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. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 burd, i.e., maiden. 
 
 From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. Another and 
 slightly different version is given in Robert Chambers' Songs 
 of Scotland. 
 
 Helen Irving, daughter of the laird of Kirconnell, in Dum- 
 friesshire, was beloved by two gentlemen and favoured one of 
 them. At a meeting between Helen and the favoured lover in 
 the churchyard of Kirconnell, the other suitor, Adam Fleming, 
 suddenly appeared and levelled his carbine at his rival. To 
 save her lover's iiie, Helen threw herself before him, received 
 the bullet in her bosom, and died in his arms. A mortal 
 combat then took place between the rivals, and Fleming was 
 cut to pieces. 
 
 62
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 LOVE not me for comely grace, 
 For my pleasing eye or face, 
 Nor for any outward part. 
 No, nor for my constant heart, — 
 For those may fail, or turn to ill, 
 So thou and I shall sever: 
 Keep therefore a true woman's eye, 
 And love me still, hut know not why — 
 So hast thou the same reason still 
 To doat upon me ever ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 From John Wilbye'a BtcvnA Set of Madrigdles, 1009. 
 
 68
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 OVER the mountains 
 And over the waves, 
 Under the fountains 
 
 And under the graves ; 
 Under floods that are deepest, 
 
 Which Neptune ohey ; 
 Over rocks that are steepest 
 Love will And out the way. 
 
 Where there is no place 
 
 For the glow-worm to lie ; 
 Where there is no space 
 
 For receipt of a fly ; 
 Where the midge dares 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 confined ; 
 And some do suppose him, 
 
 Poor thing, to he hlind ; 
 But if ne'er so close ye wall him, 
 
 Do the best that you may, 
 
 <>4
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 Blind love, if so ye call him, 
 Will find out his way. 
 
 You may train the eagle 
 
 To stoop to your fist ; 
 Or you may inveigle 
 
 The phoenix of the east ; 
 The lioness, ye may move her 
 
 To give o'er her prey ; 
 But you'll ne'er stop a lover ; 
 
 He will find out his way. 
 
 If the earth it should part him. 
 
 He would gallop it o'er; 
 If the mi- should o'erthwart him, 
 
 He would swim to the shore; 
 Should his Love become a swallow. 
 
 Through the air to stray, 
 Love will lend wings to follow, 
 
 And will find out the way. 
 
 Therc> is uo striving 
 
 To cross hi- int ent ; 
 There is no conl riving 
 
 His plots lo prevent ; 
 But if once the message lnvcI him 
 
 Thai hi- True Lot e dot h staj . 
 If I teal ii hi iuld come and meet him, 
 
 I ove will find out the way ! 
 
 .1 mm. 
 
 Four stanzas have been omitted. 
 
 This i"" mi i to !"• found in Evans's <>i<i Ballade, London, 
 1777, reprinted from im old black-letter copy. There ari 
 several versions of it containing alight differences. 
 
 66 !■•
 
 A SOLDIERS BOOK 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 Cares Coitfessor. 
 
 THE sea hath many thousand sands, 
 The sun hath motes as many ; 
 The sky is full of stars, and love 
 As full of woes as any : 
 Believe me, that do know the elf,' 
 And make no trial by thyself. 
 
 It is in truth a pretty toy 
 
 For babes to play withal ; 
 
 But O the honies of our youth 
 
 Are oft our age's gall ! 
 
 Self-proof in time will make thee know 
 
 He was a prophet told thee so : 
 
 A prophet that, Cassandra-like, 
 
 Tells truth without belief ; 
 
 For headstrong youth will run his race, 
 
 Although his goal be grief : 
 
 Love's martyr, when his heat is past, 
 
 Proves Care's confessor at the last. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 Sonf,' from Robert Jones's The Muses fjardin of Delights, 1610. 
 
 06
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 HE or she that hopes to gain 
 Love's best sweet without some pain, 
 Hopes in vain. 
 
 Cupid's livery no one wears 
 
 But must put on hopes ;tnd fears, 
 
 Smiles and tears, 
 
 And, like to April weather, 
 
 Rain and shine both together, 
 
 Both or neither. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 Reprinted by A. II. iiullen in Speculum Awuntis, from 
 Harl. MS. 6917, fol. 86. 
 
 67
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 Song. 
 
 THERE is a lady sweet and kind, 
 Was never face so pleased my mind ; 
 I did but see her passing by, 
 And yet I love her till I die ! 
 
 Her gestures, motions, and her smiles, 
 Her wit, her voice my heart beguile, 
 Beguile my heart, I know not why ; 
 And yet I love her till I die ! 
 
 Cupid is winged and doth range 
 Her country ; so my love doth change. 
 But change the earth or change the sky, 
 Yet will I love her till I die ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 Song from Thomas Ford's Musicke of Sundrie Kindex,' 
 1607. 
 
 In the verses as set to music by Ford three additional 
 stanzas are given — a 3rd, 4th, and 5th. 
 
 68
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LI. 
 Elizabeth of Bohemia. 
 
 YOU meaner beauties of the night, 
 That poorly satisfy our eyes 
 .Mere by your number than your light, 
 
 You common people of the skies, 
 What are you. when the Moon shall rise ? 
 
 You curious chanters of the wood 
 That warble forth dame Nature's lays, 
 
 Thinking your passions understood 
 
 By your weak accents ; what's your praise 
 
 When Philoint'l her voice dotfa raise? 
 
 You violets th.it first appear, 
 
 By your pure purple mantles known 
 Like the proud virgins of the year, 
 
 As if III'- Bpring were all your own, — 
 What an- you. when the Rose is blown? 
 
 So when my BCistrese shall he seen 
 In form ami beauty oi her mind, 
 
 B3 virtue Brst, then choice, a Queen, 
 Tell me, if .-.he were not deaign'd 
 
 Th' eclipb'- ami glory ot her kind? 
 
 sir //. Wotton, 
 
 See No. XV. Elis-aiji th of Bohemia, daughter of James I. 
 
 69
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 LII. 
 To his Forsaken Mistress. 
 
 I DO confess thou'i't smooth and fair, 
 And I might have gone near to love thee, 
 Had I not found the slightest prayer 
 
 That lips could move, had power to move thee ; 
 But I can let rhee now alone 
 As worthy to be loved by none. 
 
 I do confess thou'rt sweet ; yet find 
 Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, 
 
 Thy favours are but like the wind 
 That kisseth everything it meets : 
 
 And since thou canst with more than one, 
 
 Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none. 
 
 The morning rose that untouch'd stands 
 
 Arm'd with her briers, how sweet she smells ! 
 
 But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands, 
 Her sweets no longer with her dwells : 
 
 But scent and beauty both are gone, 
 
 And leaves fall from her, one by one. 
 
 Such fate ere long will thee betide 
 When thou hast handled been awhile, 
 
 With sere flowers to be thrown aside ; 
 And I shall sigh, while some will smile, 
 
 To see thy love to every one 
 
 Hath brought thee to be loved by none. 
 
 Sir Robert Ay ton. 
 
 This song appears in Playford's Select Ayre$, 1659, with 
 the above title * as set to music by Henry Lawes,' and has 
 usually been attributed to Ayton, who was Secretary to Queen 
 Anne, Consort of James I. 
 
 70
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 ABSENCE, hear thou this protestation 
 Against thy strength, 
 Distance, and length ; 
 Do what thou canst for alteration : 
 
 For hearts of truest mettle 
 Absence cloth join, and Time doth settle. 
 
 Who loves a mistress of such quality, 
 His mind hath found 
 Affection's ground 
 Beyond time, place, and mortality. 
 
 To hearts that cannot vary 
 Absence is present, Time doth tarry. 
 
 My senses want their outward motion 
 
 Which now within 
 
 Reason doth win, 
 Redoubled by her secret notion: 
 
 Lake rich men that take pleasure 
 
 In hiding more than handling treasure. 
 
 By absence this good nn-ans I gain, 
 That I 'an catch her, 
 Where none can match her, 
 In some close cornel <>t my brain; 
 
 There l embrace and kiss her ; 
 And so I both enjoy and miss her. 
 
 J. Donne. 
 
 71
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 LIV. 
 
 To Celia. 
 
 DRINK to rue 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. 
 
 I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
 
 Not so much honouring thee 
 As giving it a hope that there 
 
 It could not wither' d be ; 
 But thou thereon didst only breathe 
 
 And sent'st it back to me : 
 Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 
 
 Not of itself but thee ! 
 
 B. Jettison. 
 
 Song from The Forest, No. IX. (1616). 
 
 72
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LV. 
 Song. 
 
 PACK, clouds, away, and welcome day, 
 With night we banish sorrow ; 
 Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft 
 
 To give my Love good-morrow! 
 Wings from the wind to please her mind 
 
 Notes from the lark I'll borrow: 
 Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale sing, 
 To give my Love good-morrow: 
 To give my Love good-morrow 
 Notes from them both I'll borrow. 
 
 Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast, 
 
 Sing, birds in every furrow ; 
 A m . 1 from each hill. lei music shrill 
 Give my fair Love good-morrow I 
 Blackbird and thrush in every bush, 
 
 Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow I 
 Ymu pretty elves, amongsl yourselves 
 Sing my fair Love good-morrow; 
 
 To give my Love k l-morrow 
 
 Sing, birds, in every I'm row I 
 
 T. Heywood, 
 
 star?, I.e., starling. 
 i Bey wood's Thi /.'«/•< of Lucrece, L808.
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Ye Little Birds that sit and sing. 
 
 YE little birds that sit and sing 
 Amidst the shady valleys, 
 And see how Phillis sweetly walks 
 
 Within her garden-alleys ; 
 Go, pretty birds, about her bower ; 
 Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower; 
 Ah me ! methinks I see her frown ! 
 Ye pretty wantons, warble. 
 
 Go tell her through your chirping bills, 
 
 As you by me are bidden, 
 To her is only known my love, 
 
 Which from the world is hidden. 
 Go, pretty birds, and tell her so, 
 See that your notes strain not too low, 
 For still methinks I see her frown ; 
 Ye pretty wantons, warble. 
 
 Go tune your voices' harmony 
 
 And sing, I am her lover; 
 Strain loud and sweet, that every note 
 
 With sweet content may move her: 
 And she that hath the sweetest voice, 
 Tell her I will not change my choice ; 
 —Yet still methinks I see her frown ! 
 Ye pretty wantons, warble. 
 
 74
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 O fly ! make haste ! see, see, she falls 
 
 Into a pretty slumber ! 
 Sing round about her rosy bed 
 
 That waking she may wonder ; 
 Say to her, 'tis her lover true 
 That sendeth love to you, to you ! 
 And when you hear her kind reply, 
 Return with pleasant warblings. 
 
 T. Hcyicood. 
 
 From Heywood's Fair Maid of the Exchange, 1607. 
 
 75
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Song. 
 
 A SK me no more whither do stray 
 ,/jL The golden atoms of the day, 
 For in pure love heaven did prepare 
 Those powders to enrich your hair. 
 
 Ask me no more whither doth haste 
 The nightingale when May is past, 
 For in your sweet dividing throat 
 She winters and keeps warm her note. 
 
 Ask me no more where Jove hestows, 
 When June is past, the fading rose, 
 For in your beauty's orient deep 
 These flowers as in their causes sleep. 
 
 Ask me no more where those stars 'light 
 That downwards fall in dead of night, 
 For in your eyes they sit, and there 
 Fixed become as in their sphere. 
 
 Ask me no more if east or west 
 The Phcenix builds her spicy nest, 
 For unto you at last she flies, 
 And in your fragrant bosom dies. 
 
 T. Carew. 
 
 This order of the stanzas follows that in the Academy oj 
 Compliments. 
 
 70
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LVIII. 
 The True Beauty. 
 
 HE that loves a rosy cheek 
 Or a coral lip admires, 
 Or from star-like eyes doth seek 
 
 Fuel bo maintain his fires ; 
 As old Time makes these decay, 
 So his flames must waste away. 
 
 But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
 Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, 
 
 Hearts with equal love combined, 
 Kindle aever-dying fires: — 
 
 Where these are not, I despise 
 
 Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. 
 
 No tears, Celia, now shall win 
 My resolved heari to rel urn ; 
 
 1 have -iii r| ll( l thy soul within, 
 
 \nd flnd Daughl but pride and scorn; 
 
 I have learned thy arts and now 
 
 ( 'an di d.iin as much as i hou. 
 Some power, in my revenge, convey 
 
 That [ove to her I casl away ! 
 
 T. Carew. 
 
 in my revengt convey, etc., i.e., to rcvent-v me, may omi 
 Power convey to her bow great wan my love which she has 
 now lost. 
 
 77
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 LIX. 
 
 To Anthea, who may command him anything. 
 
 BID me to live, and I will live 
 Thy Protestant to be : 
 Or bid me love, and I will give 
 A loving heart to thee. 
 
 A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 
 
 A heart as sound and free 
 As in the whole world thou canst find, 
 
 That heart I'll give to thee. 
 
 Bid that heart stay, and it will stay, 
 
 To honour thy decree : 
 Or bid it languish quite away, 
 
 And't shall do so for thee. 
 
 Bid me to weep, and I will weep 
 
 While I have eyes to see ; 
 And having none, yet I will keep 
 
 A heart to weep for thee. 
 
 Bid me despair, and I'll despair, 
 
 Under that cypress tree ; 
 Or bid me die, and I will dare 
 
 E'en Death, to die for thee. 
 
 Thou art my life, my love, my heart, 
 
 The very eyes of me, 
 And hast command of every part, 
 
 To live and die for thee. 
 
 R. Herrick. 
 
 78
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LX. 
 Counsel to Maidens. 
 
 GATHER ye rose-buds while ye may, 
 Old Time is still a-flying : 
 And this same flower that smiles to-day, 
 To-morrow will he dying. 
 
 The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, 
 
 The higher he's a-getting 
 The sooner will his race he run. 
 
 And nearer he's to setting. 
 
 That age is hest which is the first 
 WIh'H youth and blood air wanner; 
 
 But being spent, the worse, and worst 
 Times, >t ill succeed t be former. 
 
 Then he not coy, fait use your time: 
 
 And while ye may, go marry : 
 For having lost l>ul once your prime, 
 You may for ever tarry. 
 
 R. lhirick. 
 
 Prom // '. -08. 
 
 79
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 LXI. 
 
 To Diamine. 
 
 SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes 
 Which starlike sparkle in their skies ; 
 Nor be you proud, that you can see 
 All hearts your captives ; yours yet free : 
 Be you not proud of that rich hair 
 Which wantons with the lovesick air ; 
 Whenas that ruby which you wear, 
 Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, 
 Will last to be a precious stone 
 When all your world of beauty's gone. 
 
 R. Herrick. 
 whenas, i.e., when. 
 
 
 80
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXII. 
 To Electra. 
 
 I DARK not ;isk ;i kiss, 
 I dare qoI Itk a smile, 
 Lest having that, <>r this, 
 I might grow proud 1 1 1 < - while. 
 
 So, no, i he utmost share 
 
 Of my desire shall be 
 Only in kiss t hat air 
 
 Thai lately kissed thee. 
 
 /,'. Herrick. 
 
 si a
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 TELL me no more how fair she is ; 
 I have no mind to hear 
 The story of that distant hliss 
 
 I never shall come near ; 
 By sad experience I have found 
 That her perfection is my wound. 
 
 And tell me not how fond I am 
 
 To tempt my daring fate, 
 From whence no triumph ever came 
 
 But to repent too late ; 
 There is some hope ere long I may 
 In silence dote myself away. 
 
 I ask no pity, Love, from thee, 
 
 Nor will thy justice blame ; 
 So that thou wilt not envy me 
 
 The glory of my flame, 
 Which crowns my heart whene'er it dies 
 In that it falls her sacrifice. 
 
 Henry King. 
 
 82
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 GO, lovely Rose ! 
 Tell her, that wastes her time and me, 
 That now she knows, 
 When I resemble her to thee, 
 How sweet and fair she seems to be. 
 
 Tell her that's young 
 And shuns to have her graces spied, 
 
 That hadst thou sprung 
 In deserts, where no men abide, 
 Thou must have uncommended died. 
 
 Small is the worth 
 Of beauty from the light retired: 
 
 Bid her come forth, 
 Suffer herself i" be desired, 
 And not blush bo t'> be admired. 
 
 Then die : thai Bhe 
 The common fate of all things rare 
 
 M iy read in t hee : 
 How -mall a pari of time they Bhare 
 
 That are so wondrous sweet and fair! 
 
 /•:. Waller. 
 
 83
 
 A SOLDIERS BOOK 
 
 LXV. 
 On a Girdle. 
 
 THAT which her slender waist confined 
 Shall now my joyful temples hind : 
 No monarch hut would give his crown 
 His arms might do what this has done. 
 
 It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, 
 
 The pale which held that lovely deer : 
 My joy, my grief, my hope, my love 
 Did all within this circle move. 
 
 A narrow compass ! and yet there 
 Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair ; 
 Give me hut what this ribband hound, 
 Take all the rest the Sun goes round. 
 
 A'. W aller. 
 
 K4
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 THE lark now leaves his wat'ry nest. 
 And climbing shakes his dewy wings. 
 Hi- takes this window for the East, 
 
 Ami to implore your light he sings — 
 Awake, awake! the morn will never rise 
 Till she ran dress her beauty at your eyes. 
 
 The merchant hows unto the Beaman's star, 
 
 The ploughman from the sun his season takes: 
 But still the lover wonders what they arc 
 
 Who look for day before his mistress wakes. 
 Awake, awake! break thro' your veils of lawn! 
 Then draw vom curtains, and begin the daw n ! 
 
 Sir William Dnvrnanl. 
 
 36
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 1 A Proper new Ballad to the Tune of 
 Pll never Love thee more! 
 
 MY dear and only Love, I pray 
 That little world of thee 
 Be govern'd by no other sway 
 
 Than purest monarchy ; 
 For if confusion have a part 
 
 (Which virtuous souls abhor), 
 And hold a synod in thine heart, 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 Like Alexander I will reign, 
 
 And I will reign alone ; 
 My thoughts did evermore disdain 
 
 A rival on my throne. 
 He either fears his fate too much, 
 
 Or his deserts are small, 
 That dares not put it to the touch, 
 
 To gain or lose it all. 
 
 But I will reign and govern still, 
 
 And always give the law, 
 And have each subject at my will, 
 
 And all to stand in awe : 
 But 'gainst my batteries if I find 
 
 Those storm, or vex me sore, 
 As if thou set me as a blind, 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 86
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 And in the empire of thine heart, 
 
 Where I should solely be, 
 If others do pretend a part 
 
 Or dare to vie with me, 
 Or if Comitiittces thou erect, 
 
 And go on such a score, 
 I'll laugh and sing at thy neglect, 
 
 And never love thee more. 
 
 But if thou wilt prove faithful then, 
 
 And constant of thy word. 
 I'll make thee glorious by my pen 
 
 And famous by my sword; 
 I'll serve thee in such noble ways 
 
 Was never heard before ; 
 I'll crown and deck thee all with bays, 
 
 And love thee more and more. 
 
 Marquia of Montrose. 
 
 HI
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 LXVIII. 
 To Lucasta, on going to the Wars. 
 
 TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind 
 That from the nunnery 
 Of thy chaste hreast and quiet mind, 
 To war and arms I fly. 
 
 True, a new mistress now I chase, 
 
 The first foe in the field ; 
 And with a stronger faith emhrace 
 
 A sword, a horse, a shield. 
 
 Yet this inconstancy is such 
 
 As you too shall adore ; 
 I could not love thee, Dear, so much. 
 
 Loved I not Honour more. 
 
 Colonel Lovelace. 
 
 This and the following poem from Lovelace's Lucasta, 1649. 
 
 88
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 To Alt lica from Prison. 
 
 WHEN Love with uneonfined wings 
 Hovers within my gates, 
 And my divine Althea brings 
 
 To whisper al the grates; 
 When I lie tangled in her hair 
 
 And fetter'd to her eye. 
 The Oods that wanton in the air 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When flowing cups run swiftly round 
 
 With no allaying Thames, 
 Our careless beads with rose- hound. 
 
 Our hearts with loyal dames; 
 When thirsty grief in wine we steep. 
 
 When healths and draughts go free — 
 
 Pishes t hat t [pple in t he deep 
 
 Know nn Buch liberty. 
 
 When, like committed linnets,) I 
 With shriller throal shall sing 
 
 The sweetness, mercy, majesty 
 And glories of my King : 
 
 When I shall voiee aloud how good 
 
 He i -. ii,,w greal mould be, 
 Enlarged winds, thai curl the Hood, 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 committed, I.e. . impri ton< 'I 
 99
 
 A SOLDIERS BOOK 
 
 Stone walls do not a prison make, 
 
 Nor iron bars a cage ; 
 Minds innocent and quiet take 
 
 That for an hermitage ; 
 If I have freedom in my love 
 
 And in my soul am free, 
 Angels alone, that soar above, 
 
 Enjoy such liberty. 
 
 Colonel Lovelace. 
 
 Lovelace was put in prison for his support of Charles I. 
 
 90
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 NOW sleep, and take thy rest, 
 Once grieved and pained wight 
 Since now she loves thee best 
 Who is thy heart's delight. 
 Let joy be thy soul's guest, 
 
 And care be banished quite, 
 Since she hath thee expressed 
 To be her favourite. 
 
 James Mubbe. 
 
 g from Mubbe's translation of Crlextina (1631). Act xiii. 
 
 ill
 
 A SOLDIER'S HOOK 
 
 I. XXI. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Written at Sea, in the First Dutch War (1665), the nis;ht 
 before an Engagement. 
 
 TO all you ladies now at 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 Nature 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 them twice a day — 
 With a fa, la, la, la, la. 
 
 The King with wonder and surprise 
 Will swear the seas grow hold, 
 
 92
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 Because the tides will higher rise 
 
 Than e'er they did of old : 
 But let him know it is our tears 
 Brings floods of grief to Whitehall stairs — 
 With a fa, la, la, la, la. 
 
 Should foggy Opdani chance to know 
 
 Our sad and dismal story, 
 The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, 
 
 And quit their fort at Goree : 
 For what resistance can they find 
 From men who've left their hearts behind ?- 
 With a fa, la, la, la, la. 
 
 Let wind and weather do its worst, 
 
 Be you to us hut kind : 
 Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, 
 
 Nb 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. 
 
 To pass our tedious hours away 
 
 We I lu-ow a merry main. 
 
 < )i else it serious ombre play : 
 
 l.ut uh\ should we in vain 
 Bacb other's ruin thus pursue? 
 We were undone when we left you 
 
 With a fa, la, la, la. I.i. 
 
 But now i. in fears tempestuous grow 
 
 And <-asi our hopes away : 
 Whilst you, regardless of our woe. 
 
 sit careless a t .> pla \ s 
 Perhaps permil some happier man
 
 A SOLDIERS BOOK 
 
 To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan — 
 With a fal, la, la, la, la. 
 
 When any mournful tune you hear, 
 
 That dies in every note 
 As if it sigh'd with each man's care 
 
 For being so remote, 
 Think then how often love we've made 
 To you, when all those tunes were play'd — 
 With a fa, la, la, la, la. 
 
 In justice you cannot refuse 
 
 To think of our distress, 
 When we for hopes of honour 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 for our tears : 
 
 Let's hear of no inconstancy — 
 
 We have too much of that at sea — 
 
 With a fa, la, la, la, la. 
 
 Earl of Dorset. 
 
 This gallant song, although wanting in marked tenderness 
 or passion, is included here on account of the note of genuine 
 feeling (as in stanzas 8, 9, and 10) behind its somewhat forced 
 cheerfulness of expression. It is the lack of this element, 
 indispensable in every true love lyric, which has led to the 
 omission from this collection of Andrew Marvell's To his coy 
 Mistress, a fine poem, but conspicuous for its cynicism and 
 material appeal. 
 
 04
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXXII. 
 Constancy. 
 
 I CANNOT change as others do, 
 Though you unjustly scorn ; 
 Since that poor swain that sighs for you 
 
 For you alone was horn. 
 No, Phillis, no ; your heart to move 
 
 A surer way I'll try ; 
 And. to revenge my slighted love, 
 AY ill still love on and die. 
 
 When kill'd with grief Amyntas lies, 
 
 And you to mind shall call 
 The sighs that now unpitied rise, 
 
 The tears that vainly tall — 
 That welcome hour, that ends this smart, 
 
 Will t hen begin your pain : 
 For such a faithful tender heart 
 
 (an never ln-eak in vain. 
 
 Earl of Rochester. 
 
 u:>
 
 A SOLDIEKS HOOK 
 
 i 8th CENTURY. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Unhappy Love. 
 
 I SEE she fiies me everywhere, 
 Her eyes her scorn discover : 
 But what's her scorn, or my despair. 
 Since 'tis my fate to love her ? 
 Were she but kind whom I adore, 
 I might live longer, but not love her more. 
 
 . I iion. 
 
 Fiom The Hive — A Collection of the Most Celebrated Songs, 
 1729. 
 
 96
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Black-eyed Susan. 
 
 ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, 
 The streamers waving in the wind, 
 When black-eyed Susan came aboard ; 
 
 ' O ! where shall I my true-love find ? 
 Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true 
 If my -wot William sails among the crew.' 
 
 William, who high upon the yard 
 
 Rock'il with the billow to and fro, 
 ii as her well-known voice he heard 
 
 Hi- righ'd, and east his eyes below: 
 The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, 
 Ami quick as Lightning on the deck he stands. 
 
 So the BWeel lark, high poised in air, 
 shnt> close bis pinion- to hi- breast 
 It chance hi- mate's ahrill call he hear, 
 
 And drops at once into her nest: — 
 The noblest eaptain in the British llec-t 
 
 Might envy William- lip those kisses sweet. 
 
 'O Susan, Susan, lovely de i r, 
 
 M> vows shall ever true remain; 
 l .• me kiss off thai falling tear ; 
 
 \\f only pari to meel again. 
 Change as ye list) ye winds; my heart shad i„- 
 The faithful compass thai -till point-, to thee.
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 ' Believe not what the landsmen say 
 Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind : 
 
 They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, 
 In every port a mistress find : 
 
 Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 
 
 For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go. 
 
 ' If to fair India's coast we sail, 
 Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, 
 
 Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, 
 Thy skin is ivory so white. 
 
 Thus every beauteous object that I view 
 
 Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 
 
 ' Though battle call me from thy arms, 
 
 Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; 
 Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms 
 
 William shall to his Dear return. 
 Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, 
 Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.' 
 
 The boatswain gave the dreadful word. 
 The sails their swelling bosom spread 
 
 No longer must she stay aboard ; 
 
 They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head. 
 
 Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land ; 
 
 • Adieu ! ' she cries ; and waved her lily hand. 
 
 J. Gay. 
 
 98
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly 
 And finds too late that men betray, — 
 What charm can soothe her melancholy, 
 
 What art can wash her guilt away? 
 
 The only art her guilt to cover, 
 To hide her shame from every eye, 
 To give repentance to her lover 
 And wring his bosom, is — to die. 
 
 (). Goldsmith. 
 
 From The Vicar oj Wakefield. Olivia's Song (Chap. XXIV). 
 
 m
 
 A SOLDIERS BOOK 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 To Mary Unwin. 
 
 MARY ! T 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 since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee 
 
 mine. 
 
 W. Cotcper. 
 
 100
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 To Mary Unwin. 
 
 THE twentieth year is well-nigh past 
 Since first our sky was overcast ; 
 Ah, would that this might be the last ! 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 
 I see thee daily weaker grow — 
 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Thy needles, once ;i shining store, 
 For my Bake restless heretofore, 
 Now rust disused, and shine no more ; 
 My Mary ! 
 
 For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil 
 The same kind office Eor me still, 
 
 Thy Bight new BeCOnda not thy will, 
 
 My Mary ! 
 
 But well thou play'dsl the housewife's part, 
 And all thy threads with magic art 
 Have wound themselves about this heart, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Thy indistinct expressions srriu 
 
 Like language uttcr'd in ;i dream : 
 Yet me they charm, vrhate'ex the theme, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 mi
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 
 Are still more lovely in my sight 
 Than golden beams of orient light, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 For conld I view nor them nor thee, 
 What sight worth seeing could I see ? 
 The sun would rise in vain for me, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Partakers of thy sad decline 
 Thy hands their little force resign ; 
 Yet, gently prest, press gently mine, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st 
 That new at every step thou mov st 
 Upheld by two ; yet still thou lov'st, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 And still to love, though prest with ill, 
 In wintry age to feel no chill, 
 With me is to be lovely still, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 But ah ! by constant heed I know 
 How oft the sadness that I show 
 Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 And shoidd my future lot be cast 
 
 With much resemblance of the past, 
 
 Thy worn-out heart will hreak at last — 
 
 My Mary ! 
 
 W. Cowper. 
 
 102
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Auld Robin Gray. 
 
 WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the 
 kye a hame, 
 And a" the warld to rest are gane, 
 The waee o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, 
 While my gudeman lies sound hy me. 
 
 Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his 
 
 luide ; 
 But saving a croun he had naething else heside : 
 Tc make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to 
 
 sea : 
 And the croun and tin- pund were haith for me. 
 
 Hi- h.nliui lii-i-n iuv.i' a week hut only twa. 
 
 When my father brak his arm, and the cow was 
 
 BtOWD awa ; 
 .My mother -he fell sick, and my J:uuie at the sea — 
 Ami auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me. 
 
 My father couldna work, and my mother couldna 
 
 ii : 
 I loil'il day ami night, hill their luead I couldna 
 
 win : 
 
 Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in 
 hi- e'e 
 . Jennie, for their B»ken, o, many me! 
 
 108
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 My heart it said nay ; I look'd for Jamie back ; 
 But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a 
 
 wrack ; 
 His ship it was a wrack — why didna Jamie dee? 
 Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me ? 
 
 My father urgit sair : my mother didna speak ; 
 But she look'd in my face till my heart was like 
 
 to break : 
 They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the 
 
 sea ; 
 Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. 
 
 I hadna been a wife a week but only four, 
 When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, 
 I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he 
 Till he said, I'm come hame to marry thee. 
 
 sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ; 
 We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away ; 
 
 1 wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee ; 
 And why was I born to say, Wae's me ! 
 
 I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin : 
 I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; 
 But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be, 
 For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. 
 
 Lady A. Lindsay. 
 
 greet, i.e., cry. carena, i.e., care not. daurna, i.e., dare not. 
 
 
 104
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Love's Secret. 
 
 NEVER seek to tell thy love, 
 Love that never told can be ; 
 For the gentle wind doth move 
 Silently, invisibly. 
 
 I told my love, I told my love, 
 
 I told her all my heart, 
 Trembling, cold, in ghastly tears : — 
 
 Ah ! she did depart. 
 
 Soon after she w.is gone from me 
 
 A i raveller came Wy, 
 Silently, Invisibly : 
 
 He took her wii h a sigli. 
 
 II. Blake. 
 
 lo.>
 
 A SOLDIERS BOOK 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Highland Mary. 
 
 YE banks and braes and streams around 
 The castle o' Montgomery, 
 Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 
 
 Your waters never drumlie ! 
 There simmer first unfauld her robes, 
 
 And there the langest tarry ; 
 For there I took the last fareweel 
 O' my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, 
 
 How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 
 As underneath their fragrant shade 
 
 I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
 The golden hours on angel wings 
 
 Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
 For dear to me as light and life 
 
 Was my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace 
 
 Our parting was fu' tender ; 
 And pledging aft to meet again. 
 
 We tore oursels asunder ; 
 But, Oh 1 fell Death's untimely frost, 
 
 That nipt my flower sae early ! 
 Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 
 
 That wraps my Highland Mary ! 
 
 106
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 
 
 I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
 And closed for aye the sparkling glance 
 
 That dwelt on me sae kindly ; 
 And mouldering now in silent dust 
 
 That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
 But still within my bosom's core 
 
 Shall live my Highland Mary. 
 
 R, Bhdis. 
 
 drumlie, i.e., miry. Iiirk, i.e., birch. aft, i.e., often. 
 
 107
 
 A 
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Farezvell to Nancy. 
 E fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
 
 Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 
 Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, 
 Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee ! 
 
 Who shall say that Fortune grieves him 
 While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
 Me, nae oheerfu' twinkle lights me. 
 Dark despair around benights me. 
 
 I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy ; 
 Naething could resist my Nancy; 
 But to see her was to love her, 
 Love but her, and love for ever. 
 
 Had we never loved sae kindly, 
 Had we never loved sae blindly, 
 Never met — or never parted, 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 
 
 Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
 Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
 Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
 Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! 
 
 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! 
 Ae fareweel, alas, for ever ! 
 Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, 
 Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee ! 
 
 R. Bums. 
 
 ae, i.e., one. ilka, i.e., every. wage, i.e., stake, plight. 
 
 108
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 The Banks o'Doon. 
 
 YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 
 How can ye blume sae fair ! 
 How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
 And I sae fu' o' care ! 
 
 Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird 
 
 That sings upon the bough ; 
 Thou minds me o' the happy days 
 
 \\*h<n my Pause Luve was true. 
 
 Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird 
 
 Thai sings beside thy mate; 
 For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 
 
 And wist n;i o 1 my fate. 
 
 Aft hae 1 roved l>y bonnie Doon 
 
 To Bee i In' woodbine I u ine, 
 And ilka bird sang o' its love; 
 
 And sae did I o' mine 
 
 \\"\ Lightsome In-art I pu'd a rose 
 
 l-'i iir ,iif ii - i horny I roe : 
 And my Pause Luver etaw the rose. 
 
 Hut left the thorn \\i me. 
 
 /.'. /turns. 
 
 tt'iir, i.e., stole. 
 
 re are two versions of this poem. The Other one, in 
 
 addition to various minor • 1 i it. hit, . ha an extra penultimafc 
 
 The above version, however, is usually considered 
 
 • 
 
 Id!)
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 Song. 
 
 OWERE my Love yon lilac fair, 
 Wi' purple blossoms to the spring, 
 And I a bird to shelter there, 
 
 When wearied on my little wing ; 
 How I wad mourn when it was torn 
 By autumn wild and winter rude ! 
 But I wad sing on wanton wing 
 
 When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. 
 
 O gin my Love were yon red rose 
 
 That grows upon the castle wa', 
 And I mysel a drap o' dew, 
 
 Into her bonnie breast to fa : ; 
 O there beyond expression blest, 
 
 I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 
 .Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 
 
 Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light. 
 
 R. Burns. 
 
 110
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Mary M orison. 
 
 OMARY, at thy window be, 
 It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! 
 Those smiles and glances let me see 
 That make the miser's treasure poor : 
 How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 
 A weary slave t'rae sun to sun. 
 Could I the rich reward secure. 
 The Lovely Mary Morison. 
 
 Zestreen when to the trembling string 
 The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 
 To thee my fancy took its wing, — 
 I -at. IhiI neither heard nor saw: 
 Tho' this was fair, and I hat was liraw, 
 And yon the toast of a' the town, 
 I -igh'd, and said ainang them a', 
 • Y<- are na .Mary Morison.' 
 
 O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 
 Wlia for thy sake wad gladly dee? 
 
 Or canst thou break that heart of his, 
 Whase only faut is loving thee? 
 
 If love for love thou wilt na gie. 
 
 At least be pity to me shown : 
 
 A thought ungentle canna he 
 The thought & Mary Morison. 
 
 I\. /{urns. 
 
 bide, i.e.. endure. itowre, i.e., dust, turmoil. 
 
 hrtnr, i.e., smart, fine. 
 
 Ill
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Song. 
 
 OMY Luve's like a red, red rose 
 That's newly sprung in June : 
 
 my Luve's like the melodie 
 That's sweetly play'd in tune. 
 
 As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 
 
 So deep in hive am I : 
 And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry : 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
 And the rocks melt wi' the sun ; 
 
 1 will luve thee still, my dear, 
 While the sands o* life shall run. 
 
 And fare thee weel, my only Luve ! 
 
 And fare thee weel awhile ! 
 And I will come again, my Luve, 
 
 Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 
 
 R. Bums. 
 
 112
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 A Wish. 
 
 MINE be a cot beside tbe hill ; 
 A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear ; 
 A willowy brook that turns a mill, 
 With many a fall shall linger near. 
 
 The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch 
 Shall twitter From her clay-built nest: 
 Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, 
 And share my meal, a welcome guest. 
 
 Around my ivied porch shall spring 
 Bach fragrant flower thai drinks the dew: 
 And Lucy al her wheel, shall sing 
 In russet-gown ;m<l apron blue. 
 
 The pillage church among the trees, 
 \\ here Aral our marriage-vows were given, 
 With merry peals shall swell the breeze 
 And point with taper spire to Heaven. 
 
 8. Hoy as. 
 
 118
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 The Sleeping Beauty. 
 
 SLEEP on, and dream of Heaven awhile — 
 Tho' shut so close thy laughing eyes, 
 Thy rosy lips still wear a smile 
 And move, and hreathe delicious sighs ! 
 
 Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks 
 And mantle o'er her neck of snow : 
 Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks 
 What most I wish — and fear to know ! 
 
 She starts, she trembles, and she weeps ! 
 Her fair hands folded on her breast : 
 — And now, how like a saint she sleeps ! 
 A seraph in the realms of rest 1 
 
 Sleep on secure ! Above controul 
 Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee : 
 And may the secret of thy soul 
 Remain within its sanctuary ! 
 
 S. Rogers. 
 
 114
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 19TH CENTURY. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 SHE was a Phantom of delight 
 When first she gleam'd upon my sight ; 
 A lovely Apparition, sent 
 To be a moment's ornament ; 
 Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; 
 Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; 
 But all things else about her drawn 
 Prom May-time and the cheerful dawn; 
 A dancing Bhape, an image gay, 
 To haunt, to Btartle, and waylay. 
 
 I saw her upon Dearer view, 
 
 A Spirit, yet a Woman tool 
 
 Her household motions lighl and free, 
 
 And steps «>f virgin-liberty ; 
 
 A countenance in which <li<l meet 
 
 Swi'.-t records, promises as sweet ; 
 
 A creature not too bright or good 
 
 For human nature's daily food, 
 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 
 PraJ e, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 
 
 And now l see with eye serene 
 The very pulse <>i the machine; 
 
 11.,
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
 A traveller between life and death : 
 The reason firm, the temperate will, 
 Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; 
 A perfect woman, nobly plann'd 
 To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
 And yet a Spirit still, and bright 
 With something of an angel-light. 
 
 W. Wordstoorth. 
 
 116
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways 
 Beside the springs of Dove ; 
 A maid whom there were none to praise. 
 And very few to love. 
 
 A violet by a mossy stone 
 
 Half-hidden from the eye! 
 — Fair as a star, when only one 
 
 Is shining in the sky. 
 
 She lived unknown, and few could know 
 
 When Lucy ceased to be ; 
 
 But she is in her grave, and, oh, 
 
 The difference to me! 
 
 \V. Wordsworth. 
 
 117
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 xc. 
 
 THREE years she grew in sun and shower ; 
 Then Nature said, ' A lovelier flower 
 On earth was never sown : 
 This Child I to myself will take; 
 She shall be mine, and I will make 
 A lady of my own. 
 
 'Myself will to my darling be 
 
 Both law and impulse : and with me 
 
 The girl, in rock and plain, 
 
 In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 
 
 Shall feel an overseeing power 
 
 To kindle or restrain. 
 
 ' She shall be sportive as the fawn 
 That wild with glee across the lawn 
 Or up the mountain springs ; 
 And her's shall be the breathing balm, 
 And her's the silence and the calm 
 Of mute insensate things. 
 
 'The floating clouds their state shall lend 
 
 To her ; for her the willow bend ; 
 
 Nor shall she fail to see 
 
 Ev'n in the motions of the storm 
 
 Grace that shall mould the maiden's form 
 
 By silent sympathy, 
 
 118
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 4 The stars of midnight shall be dear 
 
 To her ; and she shall lean her ear 
 
 In many a secret place 
 
 Where rivulets dance their wayward round, 
 
 And beauty born of murmuring sound 
 
 Shall pass into her face. 
 
 ' And vital let-lings of delight 
 
 Shall rear her form to stately height, 
 
 Her virgin bosom swell : 
 
 Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
 
 While she and I together live 
 
 Here in this happy dell.' 
 
 Thus Nature spake— The work was done — 
 
 Bom Boon my Lucy's race was run ! 
 
 She died and left to me 
 
 This heath, this calm and quiet scene : 
 
 The memory of what has been, 
 
 And never more will be. 
 
 II". Wordaivovtli. 
 
 110
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 XCI. 
 To a distant Friend. 
 
 WHY art thou silent? Is thy love a plant 
 Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air 
 Of absence withers what was once so fair ? 
 Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant? 
 
 Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant, 
 Bound to thy service with unceasing care — 
 The mind's least generous wish a mendicant 
 For nought but what thy happiness could spare. 
 
 Speak ! — though this soft warm heart, once free to 
 
 hold 
 A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, 
 Be left more desolate, more dreary cold 
 
 Than a forsaken bird's nest fill'd with snow 
 
 'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine — 
 
 Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may 
 
 know ! 
 
 W. Wordsworth. 
 
 As Wordsworth has told us himself, this sonnet was written 
 without reference to any individual. 
 
 120
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 The Maid of Neidpath. 
 
 O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see, 
 And lovers' ears in hearing ; 
 And love, in life's extremity, 
 
 Can lend an hour of cheering. 
 Disease had been in .Mary's bower 
 And slow decay from mourning, 
 Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower 
 To watch her Love's returning. 
 
 All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, 
 
 Her form decay'd by pining, 
 Till through her wasted hand, at night, 
 
 You saw the taper shining. 
 ! ; lit.- a Bull 1-y bed Lc hue 
 
 Across her check was Hying; 
 By fiis so ashy pale she grew 
 
 Her maidens thought her dying. 
 
 V. I keenest powers to see and hear 
 
 Seem d in her frame residing ; 
 Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear 
 
 She knew her lover's riding : 
 BSre scarce a distant form was kenn'd 
 
 She beard and waved to greet bun, 
 And o'er i be bat I lemenl did bend 
 
 As on t he wing to meet him. 
 
 121
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 He came — he pass'd — an heedless gaze 
 
 As o'er some stranger glancing ; 
 Her welcome spoke in faltering phrase, 
 
 Lost in his courser's prancing — 
 The castle-arch, whose hollow tone 
 
 Returns each whisper spoken, 
 Could scarcely catch the feeble moan 
 
 AVhich told her heart was broken. 
 
 Sir W. Scott. 
 
 A son of the Laird of Tushielaw, in Ettrick Forest, was in 
 love with a daughter of the Earl of March of Neidpath Castle, 
 near Peebles, and had been banished abroad, as the alliance 
 was thought unsuitable by the lady's parents. She fell into a 
 consumption through grief, and, to save her life, her father 
 consented to Tushielaw's recall. But she was so changed in 
 appearance, that her lover failed to recognise her. 
 
 122
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Lewti, or the Circassian Love-chaunt. 
 
 AT midnight by the stream I roved, 
 To forget the form I loved. 
 Image of Lewti ! from my mind 
 Depart! for Lewti is not kind. 
 
 The Moon was high, the moonlight gleam 
 
 And the shadow of a star 
 Heaved upon Tamaha's stream : 
 
 But the rock shone brighter far, 
 The rock half sheltered from my view 
 By pendent boughs of tressy yew — 
 So shines my Lewti'e forehead fair, 
 Gleaming through her sable hair. 
 Image of Lewti! from my mind 
 Depart ; for Lewi i is not kind. 
 
 I saw a cloud of palest hue, 
 
 Onward to the moon it passed; 
 
 Still brighter and more bright it grew, 
 
 With Moating colours not a few, 
 TiJl it reached t be <>n at last i 
 
 Then the cloud was wholly bright) 
 
 Wit h a rich and amber light I 
 
 \nd so with many a hope I seek. 
 And with such joy I lind my Lewti; 
 
 Ami even so my pale wan cheek 
 
 Drinks in as deep a Bush of beauty ; 
 Nay, breacheroui Image I leave my mind. 
 
 If Lcwtj never will be kind. 
 
 128
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 The little cloud — it floats away, 
 
 Away it goes ; away so soon ? 
 Alas ! it has no power to stay : 
 Its hues are dim, its hues are grey — 
 
 Away it passes from the moon ! 
 How mournfully it seems to fly, 
 
 Ever fading more and more, 
 To joyless regions of the sky — 
 
 And now 'tis whiter than before ! 
 As white as my poor cheek will be, 
 
 When, Lewti ! on my couch I lie, 
 A dying man for love of thee. 
 Nay, treacherous image ! leave my mind — 
 And yet, thou didst not look unkind. 
 
 I saw a vapour in the sky, 
 
 Thin, and white, and very high : 
 1 ne'er beheld so thin a cloud : 
 
 Perhaps the breezes that can fly 
 
 Now below and now above, 
 Have snatched aloft the lawny shroud 
 
 Of Lady fair — that died for love. 
 For maids, as well as youths, have perished 
 From fruitless love too fondly cherished. 
 Nay, treacherous image ! leave my mind — 
 For Lewti never will be kind. 
 
 Hush ! my heedless feet from under 
 Slip the crumbling banks for ever : 
 
 Like echoes to a distant thunder, 
 They plunge into the gentle river. 
 
 The river-swans have heard my tread, 
 
 And startle from their reedy bed. 
 
 124
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 O beauteous birds ! methinks ye measure 
 Your movements to some heavenly tune! 
 
 beauteous birds ! "tis such a pleasure 
 To see you move beneath the moon, 
 
 1 would it were your true delight 
 To sleep by day and wake all night. 
 
 I know the place where Lewti lies, 
 When silent night has closed her eyes: 
 
 It is a breezy jasmine-bower, 
 The nightingale sings o'er her head : 
 
 Voice of the night ! had I the power 
 That leafy labyrinth to thread. 
 And creep, like thee, with Boundless tread, 
 I then mighl view her bosom white 
 Heaving Lovely to my sight, 
 As these two swans together heave 
 On the gently swelling wave. 
 
 Oh ! that Bhe saw me in a dream, 
 An<l dreaml that l had died tor care; 
 
 All paic ;ui(l wasted I would serin. 
 
 Y> t fair withal, as spirits are! 
 I'd <lif Indeed, it l might see 
 
 Her bosom hea\ >■. b m\ heave tor j 
 
 Soothe, gentle image] soothe my mind! 
 To-morrow Lewti may be kind. 
 
 S. T. Colvndgt. 
 
 I2E
 
 A SOLDIERS BOOK 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Love. 
 
 ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
 Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
 All are but ministers of Love, 
 And feed his sacred flame. 
 
 Oft in my waking dreams do I 
 Live o'er again that happy hour, 
 When midway on the mount I lay, 
 Beside the ruin'd tower. 
 
 The moonshine stealing o'er the scene 
 Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
 And she was there, my hope, my joy, 
 My own dear Genevieve ! 
 
 She leaned against the armdd man, 
 The statue of the arm^d knight ; 
 She stood and listen'd to my lay, 
 Amid the lingering light. 
 
 Few sorrows hath she of her own, 
 My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! 
 She loves me best, whene'er I sing 
 The songs that make her grieve. 
 
 I play'd a soft and doleful air, 
 I sang an old and moving story — 
 An old rude song, that suited well 
 That ruin wild and hoary. 
 
 126
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 She listen'd with a flitting blush, 
 With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 
 For well she knew, I could not choose 
 But gaze upon her face. 
 
 I told her of the Knight that wore 
 Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
 And that for ten long years he woo'd 
 The Lady of the Land. 
 
 I told her how he pined : and ah ! 
 The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
 With which I sung another's love 
 Interpreted my own. 
 
 She listen'd with a flitting blush, 
 With downcasl eyes, and modest grace; 
 And she forgave me, that I gazed 
 Too fondly on her face I 
 
 Hut uh'-ii I told the cruel scorn 
 
 Thai crazed that bold and lovely Knight, 
 
 And lh.it 1m- rruvs'il tin- mount ;i i n-\voods. 
 Nor rest cd day not- eight : 
 
 That sometimes from the savage den. 
 And sometimes from tin- darksome shade, 
 And sometimes starting up at oner 
 In green and Bunny glade, — 
 
 There came and look'd him in the face 
 An angel beaut Iful and bright : 
 
 And i iiat in- kmu it w.i a Fiend, 
 This miserable Knight ! 
 
 i
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 And that unknowing what he did, 
 He leap'd amid a murderous band, 
 And saved from outrage worse than death 
 The Lady of the Land ; — 
 
 And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees ; 
 And how she tended him in vain — 
 And ever strove to expiate 
 
 The scorn that crazed his brain ; — 
 
 And that she nursed him in a cave, 
 And how his madness went away, 
 When on the yellow forest-leaves 
 A dying man he lay ; — 
 
 His dying words — but when I reach'd 
 That tenderest strain of all the ditty, 
 My faltering voice and pausing harp 
 Disturb' d her soul with pity ! 
 
 All impulses of soul and sense 
 Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve ; 
 The music and the doleful tale, 
 The rich and balmy eve ; 
 
 And hopes, and fears that kindle bope, 
 An undistinguishable throng, 
 And gentle wishes long subdued, 
 Subdued and cherish'd long ! 
 
 She wept with pity and delight, 
 She blush'd with love, and virgin shame ; 
 And like the murmur of a dream, 
 I heard her breathe my name. 
 
 128
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 Her bosom heaved — she stepp'd aside, 
 As conscious of my look she slept — 
 Then suddenly, with timorous eye 
 She fled to me and wept. 
 
 She half inclosed me with her arms, 
 She press'd me with a meek embrace ; 
 And bending back her head, look'd up 
 And gazed upon my face. 
 
 'Twas partly love, and partly fear, 
 And partly 'twas ;i bashful art 
 That I ini^ht rather feel, than see, 
 The swelling of her heart. 
 
 I calm'd her fears, and she was calm, 
 And told her love with virgin pride; 
 And so I won my Genevieve, 
 
 My bright and beauteous Bride. 
 
 8. T, ( 'oleridge. 
 
 129
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 xcv. 
 
 The Beech Tree's Petition. 
 
 O LEAVE this barren spot to me! 
 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree ! 
 Though bush or floweret never grow 
 My dark unwarming shade below ; 
 Nor summer bud perfume the dew 
 Of rosy blush, or yellow hixe ; 
 Nor fruits of autumn, blossom -born, 
 My green and glossy leaves adorn ; 
 Nor murmuring tribes from me derive 
 Th' ambrosial amber of the hive ; 
 Yet leave this barren spot to me ; 
 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree ! 
 
 Thrice twenty summers I have seen 
 The sky grow bright, the forest green ; 
 And many a wintry wind have stood 
 In blooraless, fruitless solitude, 
 Since childhood in my pleasant bower 
 First spent its sweet and sportive hour ; 
 Since youthful lovers in my shade 
 Their vows of truth and rapture made, 
 And on my trunk's surviving frame 
 Carved many a long-forgotten name. 
 Oh ! by the sighs of gentle sound, 
 First breathed upon this sacred ground ; 
 By all that Love has whisper'd here, 
 Or Beauty heard with ravish'd ear ; 
 As Love's own altar honour me : 
 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree ! 
 
 T. Campbell. 
 130
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Love and Age. 
 
 IPLAY'D with you 'mid cowslips blowing, 
 When I was six and you were four ; 
 When garlands weaving, flower-balls throwing, 
 
 Were pleasures soon to please no more. 
 Through groves and meads, o'er grass and heather, 
 
 With little playmates, to and fro, 
 We wunder'd h;md in hand together; 
 But that was sixty years ago. 
 
 i grew a lovely roseate maiden, 
 
 And still our early love was strong; 
 Still with no care our days were laden, 
 
 They glided joyously along; 
 And I did love you very dearly, 
 
 Bow dearly words want power to show: 
 I thought your hearl was touched as nearly; 
 
 But thai was fifty years ago. 
 
 Then other lovers '.one around you, 
 Your beauty grew From year to year, 
 
 tad many I gplendid^cil cle found you 
 
 The centre of ii> glittering Bphere. 
 w you then, flrsl vowe forsaking, 
 On rank and wealth your hand bestow 
 u then I thoughl my hearl was breaking I 
 Bui thai was Forty years ago. 
 
 .1 I lived on, to wed anol her ; 
 ihe ga'v e me to repine ; 
 Lnd when l heard you were a mother, 
 
 i did not u i h i he children none. 
 
 LSI
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 My own young flock, in fair progression, 
 Made up a pleasant Christinas row : 
 
 My joy in them was past expression ; 
 But that was thirty years ago. 
 
 You grew a matron plump and comely, 
 
 You dwelt in fashion's brightest blaze ; 
 My earthly lot was far more homely ; 
 
 But I too had my festal days. 
 No merrier eyes have ever glisten'd 
 
 Around the hearth-stone's wintry glow, 
 Than when my youngest child was christen'd ; 
 
 But that was twenty years ago. 
 
 Time pass'd. My eldest girl was married, 
 
 And 1 am now a grandsire gray ; 
 One pet of four years old I've carried 
 
 Among the wild -flowered meads to play. 
 In our old fields of childish pleasure, 
 
 Where now, as then, the cowslips blow, 
 She fills her basket's ample measure ; 
 
 And that is not ten years ago. 
 
 But though first love's impassion'd blindness 
 
 Has pass'd away in colder light, 
 I still have thought of you with kindness, 
 
 And shall do, till our last good-night. 
 The ever-rolling silent hours 
 
 Will bring a time we shall not know, 
 When our young days of gathering flowers 
 
 Will be an hundred years ago. 
 
 T. L. Peacock, 
 
 132
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 There be none of Beauty's Daughters. 
 
 THERE be none of Beauty's daughters 
 With a magic like Thee ; 
 And like music on the waters 
 
 Is thy sweet voice to me: 
 When, as if its sound were causing 
 The charmed ocean's pausing, 
 The waves lie still and gleaming, 
 And the lull'd winds seem dreaming : 
 
 And the midnight moon is weaving 
 Her bright chain o'er the deep, 
 
 Whose bread is gently heaving 
 A« an Infant's asleep : 
 
 Bo i he spirit bows before I bee 
 
 To listen and adore thee; 
 
 With a full inn -(.ii emotion, 
 
 lake the swell of Summer's ocean. 
 
 /.<./■'/ Byron, 
 
 188
 
 A SOLDIERS BOOK 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 SHE walks in beauty, like the night 
 Of cloudless climes and starry skies, 
 And all that's best of dark and bright 
 Meet in her aspect and her eyes ; 
 Thus mellow'd to that tender light 
 Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 
 
 One shade the more, one ray the less. 
 Had half impair'd the nameless grace 
 Which waves in every raven tress 
 Or softly lightens o'er her face, 
 Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
 How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. 
 
 And on that cheek and o'er that brow 
 
 So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 
 
 The smiles that win, the tints that glow 
 
 But tell of days in goodness spent, — 
 
 A mind at peace with all below, 
 
 A heart whose love is innocent. 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 From Hebrew Melodies. Written after seeing Mrs. Wilmot 
 Horton at a ball, dressed in mourning, with numerous spangles 
 on her dress. 
 
 134
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 OTALK not to me of a name great in story ; 
 The days of our youth are the days of our 
 glory ; 
 And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty, 
 Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. 
 
 What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is 
 wrinkled ? 
 
 Tis but as a dead flower with May - dew be- 
 sprinkled : 
 
 Then away with all such from the head that is 
 hoary — 
 
 What care I for the wreaths that can only give 
 glory '? 
 
 Oh Fame !— if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 
 T\v;is less for the sake of thy high - sounding 
 
 phrases, 
 Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one dis- 
 
 co\ 
 She thought that F was not unworthy to love her. 
 
 There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found 
 
 t hee ; 
 Ber glance wai the besl ot the rays that surround 
 
 i he 
 When il sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my 
 
 ■tory, 
 1 kin'vv it was love, and I felt it was glory, 
 
 i.md Byron. 
 
 186
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 Elegy on Thyrza. 
 
 AND thou art dead, as young and fair 
 As aught of mortal birth ; 
 And forms so soft and charms so rare 
 
 Too soon return'd to Earth ! 
 Though Earth received them in her bed, 
 And o'er the spot the crowd may tread 
 
 In carelessness or mirth, 
 There is an eye which could not brook 
 A moment on that grave to look. 
 
 I will not ask where thou liest low 
 
 Nor gaze upon the spot ; 
 There flowers or weeds at will may grow 
 
 So I behold them not : 
 It is enough for me to prove 
 That what 1 loved, and long must love, 
 
 Like common earth can rot ; 
 To me there needs no stone to tell 
 'Tis Nothing that I loved so well. 
 
 Yet did I love thee to the last, 
 
 As fervently as thou 
 Who didst not change through all the past 
 
 And canst not alter now. 
 The love where Death has set his seal 
 Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, 
 
 Nor falsehood disavow: 
 And, what were worse, thou canst not see 
 Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. 
 
 136
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 The better days of life were ours ; 
 
 The worst can be but mine ; 
 The sun that cheers, the storm that lours, 
 
 Shall never more be thine. 
 The silence of that dreamless sleep 
 I envy now too much to weep ; 
 
 Xor need I to repine 
 That all those charms have pass'd away 
 I might have watch'd through long decay. 
 
 The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd, 
 
 Must fall the earliest prey; 
 Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, 
 
 The leaves must drop away. 
 And yet it were a greater grief 
 To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, 
 
 Than see it pluck' d to-day ; 
 Since earthly eye. but ill can bear 
 To trace the change to foul from fair. 
 
 I know not if I could have borne 
 
 To see thy beauties fade; 
 The night that follow'd such a morn 
 
 Had worn ;i deeper shade : 
 Thy day without ;i cloud bath past, 
 And thon wnt Lovely to tli ( ' last, 
 
 Extinguish'd, not decay'd : 
 \ stars thai shool along the sky 
 shine brightest as they fall from high. 
 
 \ once I wept, if I could wr.-p. 
 
 My tears might well he shed 
 
 To think 1 was not near, to keep 
 
 One vigil o'er thy bed i 
 187
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, 
 To fold thee in a faint embrace, 
 
 Uphold thy drooping head ; 
 And show that love, however vain, 
 Nor thou nor I can feel again. 
 
 Yet how much less it were to gain, 
 
 Though thou hast left me free, 
 The loveliest things that still remain 
 
 Than thus remember thee ! 
 The all of thine that cannot die 
 Through dark and dread Eternity 
 
 Returns again to me, 
 And more thy buried love endears 
 Than aught except its living years. 
 
 Lord Byron, 
 
 138
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CI. 
 
 Love's Philosophy. 
 
 THE fountains mingle with the river 
 And the rivers with the ocean, 
 The winds of heaven mix for ever 
 With a sweet emotion ; 
 Nothing in the world is single, 
 All things by a law divine 
 In one another's being mingle — 
 Why not I with thine? 
 
 Bee the mountains kins high heaven, 
 And the waves clasp one another; 
 No Bister-flower would In; forgiven 
 
 ff it disdain'd its brother; 
 
 And the sunlight clasps the earth, 
 And the moonbeams kiss the sea — 
 Wli.it ate all these kissings worth, 
 If thou kiss not me ? 
 
 /'. /;. Shdley. 
 
 i:«»
 
 A SOLDIER'S HOOK 
 
 CII. 
 Indian Serenade. 
 
 I ARISE from dreams of Thee 
 In the first sweet sleep of night, 
 When the winds are breathing low 
 And the stars are shining bright: 
 I arise from dreams of thee, 
 And a spirit in my feet 
 Hath led me— who knows how? 
 To thy chamber-window, Sweet ! 
 
 The wandering airs they faint 
 
 On the dark, the silent stream— 
 
 The champak odours fail 
 
 Like sweet thoughts in a dream ; 
 
 The nightingale's complaint 
 
 It dies upon her heart, 
 
 As I must die on thine 
 
 O beloved as thou art ! 
 
 lift me from the grass ! 
 
 1 die, I faint, I fail ! 
 
 Let thy love in kisses rain 
 On my lips and eyelids pale. 
 My cheek is cold and white, alas 1 
 My heart beats loud and fast; 
 Oh ! press it close to thine again 
 Where it will break at last. 
 
 P. B. Shelley. 
 
 140
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CHI. 
 
 WHEN I have fears that I may cease to he 
 Before my pen has glean'd my teeming 
 brain, 
 Before high-piled hooks, in eharact'ry 
 Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain ; 
 
 When I hehold, upon the night's starr'd face, 
 Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, 
 And think that I may never live to trace 
 Their Bhadows, with the magic hand of chance; 
 
 And when 1 feel, fair Creature of an hour! 
 That 1 shall nevet look upon thee more, 
 Never have relish in the faery power 
 Of unreflecting love — then on the shore 
 
 Of the wide world I stand alone, and think 
 Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink. 
 
 ./. KeatSt 
 
 Ml
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 CIV. 
 
 BRIGHT Star! would I were steadfast as thou 
 art — 
 Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, 
 And watching, with eternal lids apart, 
 Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite, 
 
 The moving waters at their priestlike task 
 Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, 
 Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask 
 Of snow upon the mountains and the moors : 
 
 No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, 
 Pillow'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast 
 To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, 
 Awake for ever in a sweet unrest ; 
 
 Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, 
 And so live ever,— or else swoon to death. 
 
 ■/. Keats. 
 
 Keats' last poem. 
 
 142
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 cv. 
 
 True Loveliness. 
 
 IT is not beauty I demand, 
 A crystal brow, the moon's despair, 
 Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand, 
 Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair : 
 
 Tell me not of your starry eyes, 
 Your lips that seem on roses fed, 
 Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies 
 Nor bleeps for kissing of his bed: — 
 
 A bloomy pair <>i vermeil cheeks, 
 Like Bebe's in her ruddiesl hours, 
 A breath thai softer music speaks 
 Than summer winds a-wooing Bowers. 
 
 These are i>m gauds: nay, what are lips? 
 ( (oral beneal li I he ocean-si ream, 
 wiin-i- in i ti k when your adventurer slips, 
 I'ull off he perisheth on them. 
 
 Ami whai are cheeks, i>ui ensigns of1 
 Thai wave h"t youth to fields of blood? 
 Did Belen'a breast, though ne'er m> soft, 
 Do Greece or ilium any good P 
 
 L48
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 Eyes can with baleful ardour burn ; 
 Poison can breathe, that erst perfumed ; 
 There's many a white hand holds an urn 
 With lovers' hearts to dust consumed. 
 
 For crystal brows there's nought within, 
 They are but empty cells for pride : 
 He who the Siren's hair would win 
 Is mostly strangled in the tide. 
 
 Give me, instead of beauty's bust, 
 A tender heart, a loyal mind, 
 Which with temptation I would trust, 
 Yet never linked with error find, — 
 
 One in whose gentle bosom I 
 Could pour my secret heart of woes, 
 Like the care-burthened honey-fly 
 That hides his murmurs in the rose, — 
 
 My earthly comforter ! whose love 
 So indefeasible might be, 
 That when my spirit wonned above, 
 Hers could not stay, for sympathy. 
 
 G. Darley. 
 
 144
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 Song. 
 
 SHE is not fair to outward view 
 As many maidens be, 
 Her loveliness I never knew 
 
 Until she smiled on me ; 
 o. then I saw her eye was bright, 
 A well of love, a spring of light! 
 
 But now her looks are coy and cold, 
 To mine they ne'er reply, 
 And yet I cease not to behold 
 
 Tin* love-lighl in her eye : 
 Her \ iiv Frowns ai e fairer far 
 Than Bmiles of other maidens are. 
 
 //. Coleridge, 
 
 i i..
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 CVII. 
 
 Ruth. 
 
 SHE stood breast-high amid the corn, 
 Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, 
 Like the sweetheart of the sun, 
 Who many a glowing kiss had won. 
 
 On her cheek an autumn flush, 
 Deeply ripen'd ; — such a blush 
 In the midst of brown was born, 
 Like red poppies grown with corn. 
 
 Round her eyes her tresses fell, 
 Which were blackest none could tell, 
 But long lashes veil'd a light, 
 That had else been all too bright. 
 
 And her hat, with shady brim, 
 Made her tressy forehead dim ; 
 Thus she stood amid the stooks, 
 Praising God with sweetest looks : — 
 
 Sure, I said, Heav'n did not mean, 
 Where I reap thou shouldst but glean, 
 Lay thy sheaf adown and come, 
 Share my harvest and my home. 
 
 T. Hood. 
 
 146
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CVIII. 
 Ballad. 
 
 IT was not in the Winter 
 Our loving lot was cast : 
 It was the time of roses — 
 
 We pluck'd them as we pass'd ! 
 
 That churlish season never frown'd 
 
 On early lovers yet: 
 O no — the world was newly crown'd 
 
 With flowers when first we met! 
 
 Twas twilight, and I hade you go. 
 
 But still you held me fasl ; 
 It was the time of roses — 
 
 We pluck'd them as we pass'd! 
 
 What else could peer thy glowing cheek, 
 Thai tears began to b1 ml ? 
 
 Ami when I ask. I the like of Love, 
 
 You matched a damask hud ; 
 
 \iid oped ii to the dainty core, 
 still glowing to the last. — 
 
 It Wafl the time Of Hoses, 
 
 \\'e pluck'd t hem u we pass'd ! 
 
 T. Hood. 
 
 1 17
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 CIX. 
 
 The Surprise. 
 
 AS there I left the road in May, 
 And took my way along a ground, 
 I found a glade with girls at play, 
 By leafy boughs close-hemm'd around, 
 And there, with stores of harmless joys, 
 They plied their tongues, in merry noise ; 
 Though little did they seem to fear 
 So queer a stranger might be near ; 
 Teeh-hee ! Look here ! Hah ! ha ! Look there t 
 And oh ! so playsome, oh ! so fair. 
 
 And one would dance as one would spring, 
 
 Or bob or bow with leering smiles, 
 
 And one would swing, or sit and sing, 
 
 Or sew a stitch or two at whiles, 
 
 And one skipp'd on with downcast face, 
 
 All heedless, to my very place, 
 
 And there, in fright, with one foot out, 
 
 Made one dead step and turn'd about. 
 
 Heeh, hee, oh ! oh ! ooh ! oo ! — Look there ! 
 
 And oh ! so playsome, oh ! so fair. 
 
 Away they scampsr'd all, full speed, 
 By boughs that swung along their ti'ack, 
 As rabbits out of wood at feed, 
 At sight of men all scamper back. 
 
 148
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 And one pull'd on behind her heel, 
 
 A thread of cotton, off her reel, 
 
 And oh ! to follow that white clue, 
 
 I felt I fain could scamper too. 
 
 Teeh, hee, run here. Eeh ! ee ! Look there ! 
 
 And oh ! so playsome, oh ! so fair. 
 
 W. Barnes. 
 
 1 in
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 CX. 
 
 IF thou must love me, let it be for nought 
 Except for love's sake only. Do not say 
 ' I love her for her smile . . . her look . . . her way 
 Of speaking gently, . . . for a trick of thought 
 That falls in well with mine, and certes brought 
 A sen.se of pleasant ease on such a day ' — 
 For these things in themselves, Beloved, may 
 Be changed, or change for thee, — and love so 
 
 wrought. 
 May be unwrought so. Neither love me for 
 Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, 
 Since one might well forget to weep who bore 
 Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby. 
 But love me for love's sake, that evermore 
 Thou may'st love on through love's eternity. 
 
 E. B. Broivning 
 
 150
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 A Dead Rose. 
 
 OROSE ! who dares to name thee ? 
 No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet ; 
 But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble- wheat, — 
 Kept seven years in a drawer — thy titles shame 
 thee. 
 
 The breeze that used to blow thee 
 Between tbe hedge-row thorns, and take away 
 An odour up the lane to last all day, — 
 
 It breathing now, unsweetend would forgo thee. 
 
 The sun thai used to smite thee, 
 AimI mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn. 
 Till beam appear'd to bl n, and flower to burn, — 
 
 H mining now, with not a line would light thee. 
 
 The dew I hal used to wet thee, 
 And, white first, grow incarnadined, because 
 It lay upon thee where the crimson was, — 
 
 It dropping now, would darken where 11 met 
 thee. 
 
 The fly that lit upon thee, 
 
 To -i i 'i'h the tendrils of its tiny feet) 
 Along thy leafs pure edges, after heat, — 
 If lighting now, would coldly overrun thee. 
 
 16]
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 The bee that once did suck thee, 
 And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive, 
 And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive, — 
 
 If passing now, — would blindly overlook thee. 
 
 The heart doth recognise thee, 
 Alone, alone ! The heart doth smell thee sweet, 
 Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete — 
 
 Though seeing now those changes that disguise 
 thee. 
 
 Yes, and the heart doth owe thee 
 More love, dead rose, than to any roses bold 
 Which Julia wears at dances, smiling cold ; — 
 
 Lie still upon this heart which breaks below thee I 
 
 E. B. Browning. 
 
 
 152
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CXII. 
 The Brook-side. 
 
 I WANDER' D by the brook-side, 
 I wander'd by the mill, — 
 I could not hear the brook now, 
 The noisy wheel was still ; 
 There was no burr of grasshopper, 
 Nor chirp of any bird, 
 But' the beating of my own heart 
 Wis all the sound I heard. 
 
 I sat beneath the elm-tree, 
 
 I watch'd the long, long shade, 
 
 Ami afl it grew still longer, 
 
 I did not feel afraid : 
 
 I "i I listen il Iih- ;i footfall, 
 
 I listen'd for a word, — 
 
 But' thf beating of my own heart 
 
 W.i- all the sound I braid. 
 
 Hi- came nut, no, be came not, — 
 Tii'- aighl came on alone, 
 
 Tin- little star.- sal , mil' by on'-, 
 
 Bach "ii bis golden t brone : 
 
 Tin- evening air pass'd by my cheek, 
 
 Tin- leaves above wire stirrM, 
 
 Hut ' the beat lng of my own In mi t 
 
 \v i • ;iii i ii.- sound I beard.
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 Fast silent tears were flowing, 
 When something stood behind, — 
 A hand was on my shoulder, 
 I knew its touch was kind : 
 It drew me nearer — nearer, — 
 We did not speak one word, 
 For' the beating of our own hearts 
 Was all the sound we heard. 
 
 Lord Houghton. 
 
 154
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 Tears, idle tears. 
 
 ' / ""ir~ v KARS, idle tears, I know not what they 
 
 X. mean : 
 
 Tears from the depth of some divine despair 
 Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, 
 In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, 
 And thinking of the days that are no more. 
 
 • Presh as the first beam glittering on a sail, 
 That brings our friends up from the underworld, 
 Bad as the last which reddens over one, 
 
 That sinks with ;ill we love below the verge ; 
 Bo Bad, bo Fresh, the days thai are no more. 
 
 'Ah, sad and Btrange as in dark summer dawns 
 The earliest pipe of balf-awakened birds 
 To dying ears, when unto dying eyt-s 
 The casemenl -lowly grows a glimmering square; 
 •So itrange, the days thai are do more. 
 
 • Dear as remembered kisses after death, 
 Ami Bweei as those by hopeless fancy Feigned 
 On Lips thai are tor others; deep as love. 
 
 Deep M lirst love, and Wild With all regret; 
 
 <> Death In Life, the days thai are do more.' 
 
 Lord Tennyson 
 
 HonK from The I'm 
 
 I ;>.">
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 The Miller's Daughter. 
 
 IT is the miller's daughter, 
 And she is grown so dear, so dear, 
 That I would be the jewel 
 
 That trembles in her ear : 
 For hid in ringlets day and night, 
 I'd touch her neck so warm and white. 
 
 And I would be the girdle 
 
 About her dainty dainty waist, 
 
 And her heart would beat against me, 
 In sorrow and in rest : 
 
 And 1 should know if it beat right, 
 
 I'd clasp it round so close and tight. 
 
 And I would be the necklace, 
 And all day long to fall and rise 
 
 Upon her balmy bosom, 
 
 With her laughter or her sighs : 
 
 And I would lie so light, so light, 
 
 I scarce should be unclasp'd at night. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 Song from The Miller's Daughter. 
 
 150
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CXV. 
 
 Maud. 
 
 COME into the garden, Maud, 
 For the black bat, Night, has flown, 
 Come into the garden, Maud, 
 
 I am here at the gate alone ; 
 And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, 
 And the musk of the roses blown. 
 
 For ;i breeze of morning moves, 
 And the planet <>r Love is on high, 
 
 Beginning to faint in the light that she loves 
 On ,i bed of daffodil sky. 
 
 To faint in the light of the sun she loves, 
 To faint in his light, and to die. 
 
 All night have the roses beard 
 
 'I'ln' Hut.', violin. baSSOOO : 
 
 All nighl baa the casement jessamine Btirr'd 
 
 To i In- da acers dancing in i one i 
 Till ;i silence fell with tin- waking bird, 
 
 And ;i hush wil h I In- s.'l I in;/ n. 
 
 I iid to t be lily, ■ There is but one 
 
 Willi whom she has heart to In- gay. 
 
 When will the dancers leave ber alone? 
 
 She Is weary of dance and play. 1 
 
 Now halt to th>- letting i d are gone, 
 
 \ nd half to I be rising day . 
 Low on the -and ami loud on the stone 
 
 The last wheel echoe a \\ ay, 
 
 157
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 I said to the rose, ' The brief night goes 
 
 In babble and revel and wine. 
 O young lord-lover, what sighs are those 
 
 For one that will never be thine? 
 But mine, but mine,' so I sware to the rose, 
 
 'For ever and ever, mine.' 
 
 And the soul of the rose went into my blood, 
 
 As the music clash'd in the hall ; 
 And long by the garden lake I stood, 
 
 For I heard your rivulet fall 
 From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, 
 
 Our wood, that is clearer than all; 
 
 From the meadow your walks have left so sweet 
 That whenever a March-wind sighs 
 
 He sets the jewel-print of your feet 
 In violets blue as your eyes, 
 
 To the woody hollows in which we meet 
 And the valleys of Paradise. 
 
 The slender acacia would not shake 
 
 One long milk-bloom on the tree ; 
 The white lake-blossom fell into the lake, 
 
 As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ; 
 But the rose was awake all night for your sake, 
 
 Knowing your promise to me ; 
 The lilies and roses were all awake, 
 
 They sigh'd for the dawn and thee. 
 
 Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, 
 Come hither, the dances are done, 
 
 In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, 
 Queen lily and rose in one ; 
 
 158
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, 
 To the flowers, and be their sun. 
 
 There has fallen a splendid tear 
 
 Prom the passion-flower at the gate. 
 Sin* is coming, my dove, my dear; 
 
 She is coming, my life, my fate; 
 The red rose cries, ' She is near, she is near ; ' 
 
 And the white rose weeps. 'She is late;' 
 The larkspur listens. ■ I hear, I hear ; ' 
 
 And the lily whispers, ' 1 wait.' 
 
 She is coming, my own, my sweet ; 
 
 Were it ever so airy a tread. 
 My heart would hear her and beat, 
 
 Were it earth in an earthy bed; 
 .My dust would licit her and heat, 
 
 Had I lain for a century dead; 
 Would start ■Hid tremble under her feet, 
 
 And blossom in purple and red. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 This, although extracted iroin Tennyson's Muud. is in a 
 <iill>rent metre from the rent of the composition and ia a poem 
 complete in itself. 
 
 I :,y
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 The Church Porch. 
 
 ALTHOUGH T enter not, 
 Yet round about the spot 
 Sometimes I hover : 
 And at the sacred gate, 
 With longing eyes I wait, 
 Expectant of her. 
 
 The Minster bell tolls out 
 Above the city's rout, 
 
 And noise and humming : 
 They've stopped the chiming bell : 
 I hear the organ's swell ; 
 
 She's coming — coming 1 
 
 My l;uly comes at last, 
 Timid, and stepping fast, 
 
 And hastening hither, 
 With modest eyes downcast : 
 She comes -she's here — she's past- 
 
 May heaven go with her ! 
 
 Kneel, undisturb'd, fair Saint ! 
 Pour out your praise or plaint 
 
 Meekly and duly ; 
 I will not enter there, 
 To sully your pure prayer 
 
 With thoughts unruly. 
 
 1G0
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 But suffer me to pace 
 Round the forbidden place, 
 
 Lingering a minute, 
 Like outcast spirits who wait. 
 And see through Heaven's gate 
 
 Angels within it. 
 
 W. M. Thackeray. 
 
 From Pevdennis, Chap. XXXI. 
 
 L61 
 
 u
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 M" 
 
 CXVII. 
 Afinie Laurie. 
 
 AXWELLTON braes are bonnie, 
 Where early fa's the dew, 
 And it's there that Annie Laurie 
 
 Gi'ed me her promise true ; 
 Gi'ed me her promise true, 
 
 Which ne'er forgot will be, 
 And for bonnie Annie Laurie, 
 I'd lay me down and dee. 
 
 Her brow is like the snaw-drift, 
 
 Her neck is like the swan, 
 Her face it is the fairest 
 
 That e'er the sun shone on ; 
 That e'er the sun shone on, 
 
 And dark blue is her e'e ; 
 And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
 
 I'd lay me down and dee. 
 
 Like dew on the gowan lying, 
 Is the fa' o' her fairy feet ; 
 And like winds in summer sighing, 
 
 Her voice is low and sweet ; 
 Her voice is low and sweet, 
 
 And she's a' the world to me ; 
 And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
 I'd lay me down and dee. 
 
 Lady John Scott. 
 From Wood's Songs of Scotland. 
 
 This poem is founded upon an old song reprinted in 
 Chambers' Songs of Scotland and supposed to be by Mr. 
 Douglas of Fingland upon Anne, one of the daughters of Sir 
 Kobert Laurie, created baronet of Mazwellton in 1685. 
 
 162 

 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 At Her Window. 
 
 Ah, minstrel, how strange is 
 
 The carol you sing! 
 Let Psyche who ranges 
 
 The garden of spring, 
 Remember the changes 
 
 December will bring. 
 
 BEATING Heart ! we come again 
 Where my Love reposes : 
 This is Mah.-l's window-pane ; 
 These are Mabel's roses. 
 
 Is she nested? Does she kneel 
 
 In the twilight stilly, 
 Lily clad from throat to heel, 
 
 She, my virgin Lily ? 
 
 • n the wan. the wistful stars, 
 Fading, will Forsake her; 
 Blvee of light, on beamy bars, 
 Whisper then, and wake her. 
 
 Lei this friendly pebble plead 
 
 At her flowery grating; 
 Ff she hear me will .sin- heed ? 
 
 Mabel, l mu wa/Uing. 
 
 Mabel will be deck'd anon, 
 Zoned In bride 1 • apparel ; 
 
 Happy zone ! bark to jron 
 Pas ion ihaken carol I 
 
 108
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 Sing thy song, thou tranced thrush, 
 Pipe thy best, thy clearest ; — 
 
 Hush, her lattice moves, O hush — 
 Dearest Mabel! — dearest . . . 
 
 F. Locker-Lampson. 
 
 164
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 The Reason Why. 
 
 ASK why I love the roses fair, 
 And whence they come and whose they 
 were ; 
 They come from her, and not alone, — 
 They bring her sweetness with their own. 
 
 Or ask me why I love her so ; 
 I know not: this is all I know, 
 These roses bud and bloom, and twine 
 As she round ihi> fund heart of mine. 
 
 And thi* is why I love the flowers, 
 
 Once they were hers, they're mine — they're oursl 
 
 I love her, and they soon will die, 
 
 And now you know tin- Reason Why. 
 
 1<\ I.tifkt ■•/■- 1 a .ii/ison. 
 
 106
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 CXX. 
 
 Any Poet to His Love. 
 
 IMMORTAL Verse! Is mine the strain 
 To last and live? As ages wane 
 Will one be found to twine the bays, 
 Or praise me then as now you praise? 
 
 Will there be one to praise ? Ah no ! 
 My laurel leaf may never grow ; 
 My bust is in the quarry yet, 
 Oblivion weaves my coronet. 
 
 Immortal for a month — a week! 
 The garlands wither as I speak ; 
 The song will die, the harp's unstrung, 
 But, singing, have I vainly sung? 
 
 Yon deign'd to lend an ear the while 
 I trill'd my lay. I won your smile. 
 Now, let it die, or let it live,— 
 My verse was all I had to give. 
 
 The linnet flies on wistful wings, 
 
 And finds a bower, and lights and sings ; 
 
 Enough if my poor verse endures 
 
 To light and live— to die in yours. 
 
 F. Locker- Lampson. 
 
 166
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 Silent Noon. 
 
 YOUR hands lie open in the long fresh grass, — 
 The finger-points look through like rosy 
 blooms : 
 Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and 
 glooms 
 'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass. 
 All round OUT nest, f;ir as the eye can pass, 
 Are golden kingcup-fields with silver edge 
 Where the row-parsley skirts the hawthorn-hedge. 
 Tia visible silence, still as the hour-glass. 
 
 Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragon-fly 
 Hangs like a blue thread loosen'd from the sky: — 
 
 So this wing'd hour is dropt to us from above. 
 Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower, 
 This close-companion'd Inarticulate hour 
 
 When two-fold silence was the song of love. 
 
 D. O, Roesettii 
 
 107
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 CXXII. 
 
 Song. 
 
 LOVE within the lover's breast 
 / Burns like Hesper in the west, 
 O'er the ashes of the sun, 
 Till the day and night are done ; 
 Then when dawn drives up her car — 
 Lo ! it is the morning star. 
 
 Love ! thy love pours down on mine 
 
 As the sunlight on the vine, 
 
 As the snow rill on the vale, 
 
 As the salt breeze in the sail ; 
 
 As the song unto the bird 
 
 On my lips thy name is heard. 
 
 As a dewdrop on the rose 
 In thy heart my passion glows, 
 As a skylark to the sky, 
 Up into thy breast I fly ; 
 As a sea-shell of the sea 
 Ever shall I sing of thee. 
 
 G. Meredith. 
 
 108
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 WHEN I am dead, my dearest, 
 Sing no sad songs for me; 
 Plant thou no roses at my head, 
 
 Nor shady cypress tree : 
 Be the green grass above me 
 
 With showers and dewdrops wet ; 
 And if thou wilt, remember, 
 And if thou wilt, forget. 
 
 I shall not see the shadows, 
 I shall qoI feel the rain ; 
 
 I hall not hear the nightingale 
 Sing on, as if in pain : 
 
 And dreaming through the twilight 
 
 That doth not rise nor set , 
 Haply I may remember, 
 
 Ami haply may forget. 
 
 C. a. Roautti. 
 
 Mi'.l
 
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 Love's After-years. 
 A Game at Chess. 
 
 MY little love, do you remember, 
 Ere we were grown so sadly wise 
 Those evenings in the bleak December, 
 Curtained warm from the snowy weather, 
 When you and T played chess together, 
 
 Checkmated by each other's eyes? 
 Ah, still I see your soft white hand 
 
 Hovering warm o'er Queen and Knight. 
 Brave Pawns in valiant battle stand : 
 The double Castles guard the wings: 
 The Bishop, bent on distant things, 
 Moves sidling, through the fight. 
 Our fingers touch,— and glances meet, 
 
 And falter ; falls your golden hair 
 Against my cheek ; your bosom sweet 
 Is heaving ; down the field, your Queen 
 Rides slow her soldiery between, 
 
 And checks me unaware. 
 Ah me ! the little battle's done ; 
 
 Disperst is all its chivalry ; 
 Full many a move, since then, have we 
 'Mid life's perplexing chequers made, 
 And many a game with Fortune played,— 
 What is it we have won ? 
 This, this at least— if this alone ;— 
 
 170
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 That never, never, never more, 
 
 As in those old still nights of yore, 
 (Ere we were grown so sadly wise) 
 Can you and I shut out the skies, 
 
 Shut out the world, and wintry weather, 
 And, eyes exchanging warmth with eyes, 
 
 Play chess, as then we played, together. 
 
 Earl of Lytton {Owen Meredith). 
 
 171
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 A Match. 
 
 IF love were what the rose is, 
 And I were like the leaf, 
 Our lives would grow together 
 In sad or singing weather, 
 Blown fields or flowerful closes, 
 Green pleasure or gray grief ; 
 If love were what the rose is, 
 And I were like the leaf. 
 
 If I were what the words are, 
 And love were like the tune, 
 With double sound and single 
 Delight our lips would mingle, 
 With kisses glad as birds are 
 
 That get sweet rain at noon ; 
 If I were what the words are, 
 And love were like the tune. 
 
 If you were life, my darling, 
 And I your love were death, 
 
 We'd shine and snow together 
 
 Ere March made sweet the weather 
 
 With daffodil and starling 
 And hours of fruitful breath ; 
 
 If you were life, my darling, 
 And I your love were death. 
 
 172
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 If you were thrall to sorrow, 
 
 And I were page to joy, 
 We'd play for lives and seasons 
 With loving looks and treasons 
 And tears of night and morrow 
 And laughs of maid and boy; 
 If you were thrall to sorrow, 
 And I were page to joy. 
 
 If you were April's lady 
 
 And I were lord in May, 
 We'd throw with haves for hours 
 And draw for day with flowers, 
 Till day like night were shady 
 
 And night were bright like day ; 
 If you were April's lady, 
 And I were lord in May. 
 
 If yiMi wen- queen of pleasure, 
 
 And I were king of pain. 
 We'd hum down love together, 
 Pluck out his flying-feather, 
 Ami teacn his (eel a measure, 
 
 And find lii- muni h a i ■■in : 
 
 n you were queen of pleasure, 
 
 Ami i were kini_c of pain. 
 
 .1. ( '. Stoinburne. 
 
 173
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 The Ladies of St. James's. 
 
 THE ladies of St. James's 
 Go swinging to the play ; 
 Their footmen go before them, 
 
 With a ' Stand by ! Clear the way ! ' 
 But Phyllida, my Phyllida ! 
 
 She takes her buckled shoon, 
 When we go out a-courting 
 Beneath the harvest moon. 
 
 The ladies of St. James's 
 
 Wear satin on their backs ; 
 They sit all night at Ombre, 
 
 With candles all of wax : 
 But Phyllida, my Phyllida ! 
 
 She dons her russet gown, 
 And runs to gather May dew 
 
 Before the world is down. 
 
 The ladies of St. James's! 
 
 They are so fine and fair, 
 You'd think a box of essences 
 
 Was broken in the air ; 
 But Phyllida, my Phyllida! 
 
 The breath of heath and furze, 
 When breezes blow at morning, 
 
 Is not so fresh as hers. 
 
 The ladies of St. James's ! 
 
 They're painted to the eyes ; 
 Their white it stays for ever, 
 
 Their red it never dies; 
 174
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 But Phyllida, my Phyllida ! 
 
 Her colour comes and goes ; 
 It trembles to a lily, — 
 
 It wavers to a rose. 
 
 The ladies of St. James's ! 
 
 You scarce can understand 
 The half of all their speeches, 
 
 Their phrases are so grand : 
 But Phyllida, my Phyllida ! 
 
 Her shy and simple words 
 Are clear as after rain-drops 
 
 The music of the birds. 
 
 The ladies of St. James's 
 
 They have their fits and freaks ; 
 They smile on you — for seconds. 
 
 They frown on you — for weeks ; 
 But Phyllida, my Phyllida ! 
 
 Come cit her b1 orm or Rhine, 
 Prom Shrove-tide unto 8hrove-tide, 
 
 I a K\ ' true and mine 
 
 My Phyllidal my Phyllidal 
 I care not though I hey heap 
 
 The hearts oi all St. Jams 
 :>1 (jive me ill Co keep i 
 
 I oare not whose t he beaut Lee 
 ot .ill i he world may '>*•, 
 
 I , i Phyllida for Phyllida 
 
 Is all tin' \\ orld to mi- ! 
 
 //. . I us/ i a Dobton. 
 
 17",
 
 A SOLDI EirS BOOK 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 Song: 
 
 HAS summer come without the rose, 
 Or left the bird behind ? 
 Is the blue changed above thee, 
 
 O world ! or am I blind ? 
 Will you change every flower that grows, 
 
 Or only change this spot, 
 Where she who said, I love thee, 
 Now says, I love thee not ? 
 
 The skies seem'd true above thee, 
 
 The rose true on the tree : 
 The bird seem'd true the summer through, 
 
 But all proved false to me. 
 World ! is there one good thing in you, 
 
 Life, love, or death— or what? 
 Since lips that sang, I love thae, 
 
 Have said, I love thee not? 
 
 I think the sun's kiss will scarce fall 
 
 Into one flower's gold cup : 
 I think the bird will miss me, 
 
 And give the summer up. 
 O sweet place! desolate in tall 
 
 Wild grass, have you forgot 
 How her lips loved to kiss me, 
 
 Now that they kiss me not? 
 176
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 Be false or fair above me, 
 
 Come back with any face. 
 Hummer ! — do I care what you do ? 
 
 You cannot change one place — 
 The grass, the leaves, the earth, the dew, 
 
 The grave I make the spot — 
 Here, where she used to love me, 
 
 Here, where she loves ine not. 
 
 A. CfShaughne88y. 
 
 177
 
 A SOLDIER'S BOOK 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 SO sweet love seemed that April morn, 
 When first we kissed beside the thorn, 
 So strangely sweet, it was not strange 
 We thought that love could never change. 
 
 But I can tell — let truth be told— 
 That love will change in growing old : 
 Though day by day is nought to see, 
 So delicate his motions be 
 
 And in the end 'twill come to pass 
 Quite to forget what once he was, 
 Nor even in fancy to recall 
 The pleasure that was all in all. 
 
 His little spring, that sweet we found, 
 So deep in summer floods is drowned, 
 I wonder, bathed in joy complete, 
 How love so young could be so sweet. 
 
 R. Uridines. 
 
 17«
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 ' Requiescat! 
 
 BURY tne deep when T am dead. 
 Far from the woods where sweet birds sing; 
 Lap me in sullen Btone and lead. 
 Leal my poor dual ahould feel the Spring. 
 
 Never a Bower !»■ near me set. 
 Nor starry cup nor slender stem. 
 Anemone nor violet. 
 i.. i my poor dusi remember them. 
 
 And you wherever you may laic — 
 
 Dearer than birds, or (lowers, or dew — 
 Never, ah me, pass ne\ er I here, 
 
 Leal my poor dual should dream of you. 
 
 h'nsii inn ml Marriott W'titsun. 
 
 From Vetpertilia and other Vena. 
 
 170
 
 A SOLDIERS BOOK 
 
 CXXX. 
 
 Memory. 
 
 AS a perfume doth remain 
 In the folds where it hath lain. 
 So the thought of you, remaining 
 Deeply folded in my brain, 
 
 Will not leave me : all things leave me 
 You remain. 
 
 Other thoughts may come and go, 
 Other moments I may know 
 
 That shall waft me, in their going, 
 As a breath blown to and fro, 
 
 Fragrant memories : fragrant memories 
 Come and go. 
 
 Only thoughts of you remain 
 
 In my heart where they have lain, 
 
 Perfumed thoughts of you, remaining, 
 A hid sweetness, in my brain. 
 
 Others leave me : all things leave me : 
 
 You remain. 
 
 Arthur Symons. 
 
 180
 
 OF LOVE POEMS. 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 An Inscription. 
 
 PRECIOUS the box that Mary brake 
 Of spikenard for her Master's sake, 
 But all ! ii held nought half so dear 
 As the sweet dust that whitens here. 
 The greater wonder who shall say : 
 To make so white a soul of clay, 
 From clay to win a face so fair, 
 Those strange grea I eyes, that sunlit hair 
 A-ripple o'er her witty brain,— 
 Or i urn all hack to dual again. 
 Who knows but, in some happy hour, 
 The God whose strange alchemic power 
 Wrought her of dust, again may turn 
 
 To woman this immortal urn. 
 
 22, /./• i in// ii-n a, i, 
 
 From Robert Louv 8teventon and othei Poems. 
 
 INI
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS 
 
 Anonymous, ii, hi, iv, xliii-l, lxxiii. 
 Ayton, Sir Robert (1570-1638), lit. 
 
 Barnes, William (1801-1886), cix. 
 
 Blake, William (1757-1827), lxxix. 
 
 Breton, Nicholas (1542-1626), vi, vii. 
 
 Bridges (Robert), (b. 1844), CXXVin. 
 
 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett (1806-1861), ex, CXIi 
 
 Burns, Robert (1759-1796), i.xxx i.xxxv. 
 
 Byron, George Gordon Noel, Lord (1788-1824), xcvu-c. 
 
 Campbell, Thomas (1777-1844), XCV. 
 
 Campion, Thomas (1567? 1610), xi.n. 
 
 Carew, Thomas (1589-1639), i.vii, lviii. 
 
 Coleridge, Hartley (1796-1849), cvi. 
 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772 1834), xcui, xciv. 
 
 Cowper, William (1731 1800), lxxvi, lxxvii. 
 
 Uarley, George (1795-1846), CV. 
 
 Davenant, Sir William (16Q6 1668), lxvi. 
 
 Dobson, Austin (b. L840), cxxvi. 
 
 Donne, John (1573 1631), nil. 
 
 Dorset, Charles Sackville, Karl of (1638-1706), i.xxi. 
 
 Drayton, Michael (1563-1631), XVII. 
 
 C.w, John (1685-1732), lxxiv. 
 Greene, Robert (1560-1592), xv. 
 Goldsmith, Oliver (1728-1774), lxxv. 
 
 Merrick, Robert (1591 1674), lix-lxii. 
 
 Hey wood, Thomas (157 ?-1650), lv, lvi. 
 
 Hood, Thomas (1798 1846), evil, < vm. 
 
 Houghton, Robert Monckton Mil nes, Lord (1809-1885), CXII. 
 
 Jonson, Ben (1574-1637), liv. 
 
 Keats, John (1795-1821), cm, Civ. 
 King, Bishop Henry (1592-1669), lxhi. 
 
 182
 
 INDKX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 Le (iAi.i.iKNNi:, Richard (b. 1866), cxxxr. 
 
 Lindsay, Lady Anne (1750-1S25). i.xxvm. 
 
 Locker-Lampson, Frederick (1821-1895), < xvin-cxx. 
 
 Lodge, Thomas (1556 1625), xiii. 
 
 Lovelace. Colonel Richard (1618-1658), lxviii, LXIX. 
 
 Lylye, John (1554 L600), xn. 
 
 Lytton, Robert, Karl of (Owen Meredith) (1831-1882), cxxiv. 
 
 Mahiik, James e. 1631), i.xx. 
 Marlowe, Christopher (1562 1593), xvi. 
 Meredith, George (1828 1909), cxxn. 
 Montrose, James, .Marquis of (1612-1650), ixvii. 
 
 O'Shaugetnbsst, Arthur William Edgar) 1844 138] I, cxxvn. 
 
 k. Thomas Love 1785 1866), xcvi. 
 e L55E : 1607 . xiv. 
 
 RALBIGH, Sir Walter (1552 1618), ix. 
 
 bester, John Wilmot, Earl <>( (HUT 1680), lxxii. 
 
 ere, Samuel 1762 l-."..".. i.wwi. lxxxvti. 
 Rossetti, Christina Georgina (1830 1894 . i win. 
 . Dante Gabriel (1828 1882), i wi. 
 
 s, ..i i. Lady John 1809 1900), < \\ a. 
 
 >ir Walter 1771 L832 \. ii. 
 Shakespeare, William (1584 1616), win xi.i. 
 Shelley, Pei 322), ci, en 
 
 Sidney, Sir Philip 1554 L586 . x. xi. 
 
 ■It. »n. John (1 W0« 1529), i 
 Spen er, Edmund 1 1552 1599), vrn. 
 Swinburne, Algernon Charles (1881 1909), i \w. 
 Symoo exxx. 
 
 Mliv.l. Lord 'l-" 1 .' 1892 . < \m c \v 
 Tha William Makepeace (1811 1868), i \\ I 
 
 \v mi i f. Edmund L0Q lxh i \\ 
 
 Wats.. I. I; imund Marriott (1863 1912), CXZIX. 
 W..tt..n. Sir Henrj 15( u. 
 
 Wordsworth, William (1770 i860), i.xwvm \< i. 
 Wyat, Sir Thomas (1508 1542), \. 

 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 Absence, hear thou this protestation (Donne) 
 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever (Burns) 
 Ah, what is love? It is a pretty tiling [Greene] 
 All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd (Oay) 
 All thoughts, all passions, all delights (S. T. Cole 
 
 ridge) 
 
 Although I enter not (Thackeray) 
 
 And thou art dead, as young and fair (Byron) 
 
 As a perfume doth remain (Symons). 
 
 As there I left the road in May (Barnes) 
 
 A.sh me no more whither do stray (Carew) 
 
 Ask why I love the roses fair (Locker-Lampson) 
 
 At midnight by the stream I roved (»S*. T. Coleridgt i 
 
 Balow, my babe, lie still and sleep! (Anon.) 
 Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
 
 (Shakespeare) .... ... 
 
 Beating Heart ! we come again (Locker-La mpson) 
 
 Bid me to live, and I will live (Herrick) 
 
 Bright Star ! would I were steadfast as thou art— 
 
 (Keats) 
 
 Bury me deep when I am dead (Rosa , mi ml M. 
 
 Watson) 
 
 Calm was the day, and through the trembling air 
 
 (Spenser) 
 
 Come into the garden, Maud (Tennyson). 
 Com<- little babe, come sillj soul (Anon.) 
 Come live with me and !><• my Love (Marlowe) 
 Come, sleep: O Sleep! the certain knot of peace 
 
 {Sidney) 
 
 • lipid and my Campaspe* play'd (Lylye) ■ 
 
 DRINK to me only with thine eyes (Jonson) . 
 
 184 
 
 PAGE 
 
 71 
 
 108 
 
 28 
 
 97 
 
 120 
 160 
 136 
 180 
 148 
 76 
 165 
 123 
 
 3 
 
 41 
 163 
 
 78 
 
 142 
 179 
 
 13 
 
 157 
 
 5 
 
 30 
 
 23 
 24 
 
 72
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing 
 
 [Shakeapean | . 
 
 Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet 
 
 ( ampion) 
 
 Forget not yet the tried intent [Wyat) . 
 
 From you have I been absent in the spring (Shake 
 
 spea 
 
 Full many a glorious morning have I seen (Shake 
 speare) 
 
 Gathbb ye rose-buds while ye may (Herrick) 
 Go lovely Rosel | WaUer) . . ' . 
 
 ELas summer come without the rose (O'Shanghnessy) 
 He or sin- thai hopes to gain (Anon.) 
 lie thai loves a rosy ehrek (Carew 
 His golden locks Time bath bo silver turn'd [Peele] 
 How like a winter hath my absence been (Shakt 
 spea 
 
 F arise from dreams of Thee [Shelley) 
 I oannol change as others do (Rochester) 
 
 I daie noi ask a kiss (Herrick). ■ . • 
 I do confess thou'rl smooth and fair i lyton) 
 It all the world and love wen- young (Raleigh) 
 
 If love were what the rose is | StC i n h u e 111 I 
 
 If ihou iniisi love me, let it be for nought (E B 
 Browning 
 
 ii Thou survive mj well-contented day (Shake 
 //- ........ 
 
 hiinioitai Vei ■ ' I mine- tin- strain [Locker 
 I wmp ■■■• ■ 
 
 In i he merrj mont h of Maj /;- ■< / 
 
 I play'd with yon 'mid cowslips blowing (Peacock 
 
 i i w my Lad] v. eep I nom .... 
 
 i . . be flit everywhere I non i 
 
 ii- ii bea uty I demand < Darley) 
 
 i the millet daughter I TV wn >/ on • 
 
 It was noi in t he Wintei Hood) 
 
 I wander'd bj the brook Ide [Houghto 
 
 is:, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 47 
 
 58 
 
 8 
 
 50 
 
 30 
 
 ?.) 
 83 
 
 176 
 67 
 
 77 
 27 
 
 49 
 
 llii 
 95 
 81 
 70 
 20 
 
 172 
 
 IfiO 
 
 :w 
 
 186 
 12 
 
 187 
 
 I 
 
 143 
 166 
 117 
 168
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies (Anon.) . 
 
 Let me not bo the marriage of true minds [Shake 
 
 spear r) 
 
 Let those who are in favour with their stars 
 
 [Shakespeare) 
 
 Love in my bosom, like a bee (Lodge) 
 Love not me for comely grace (Anon.) 
 Love within the lover's breast ((1. Meredith) . 
 
 I'M.i: 
 
 54 
 
 36 
 
 25 
 
 68 
 
 168 
 
 Mary! I want a lyre with other strings ICowper] 
 Maxwellton braes are bonnie (Lady J. Scoff) . 
 
 Merry Margaret (Skelton i 
 
 Mine be a cot beside the hill (Rogers) 
 My dear and only Love, I pray (Montrose) 
 My little love, do you remember (Lyfton). 
 My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in 
 seeming (Shakespeare) 
 
 Never seek to tell thy love (Blake) . 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead (Shake 
 
 speare) 
 
 Not marble, nor the gilded monuments (Shake 
 
 speare) 
 
 Now sleep, and take thy rest [Mabbe) 
 
 On, gin I were a Baron's heir (Anon. ) 
 
 O leave this barren spot to me ! (Campbell) . 
 
 O lovers' eyes are sharp to see (Sir IT. Scott) 
 
 O Mary, at thy window be (Burns) . 
 
 O mistress mine, where are you roaming? (Shake 
 
 speare) 
 
 O my Luve's like a red, red rose (Burns) 
 
 O Rose ! who dares to name thee ? (E. B. Browning) 
 
 O talk not to me of a name great in story (Byron) 
 
 Over the mountains (Anon.) 
 
 O were my Love yon lilac fair (Burns) . 
 
 l'.\< k, clouds, away, and welcome day (Heyicood) 
 Precious the box that Mary brake (Le Hallienne) . 
 
 180 
 
 100 
 L62 
 
 1 
 LIS 
 
 86 
 
 170 
 
 51 
 
 105 
 
 44 
 
 40 
 9] 
 
 59 
 130 
 
 121 
 
 111 
 
 55 
 112 
 
 l.-)l 
 
 135 
 
 64 
 
 110 
 
 7:i 
 181
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 SHALL I compare thee to a summer's clay? iS/iakr 
 
 tpeare) 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden ways ( Words 
 
 worth) 
 
 She La not tail to outward view i //. Coleridge) 
 She stood breast-higb amid the corn (Hood) . 
 She walks in beauty, like the night (Byron) 
 She was a Phantom of delight [Wordsworth) 
 Sine*- brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless 
 
 sea [Shakespeare) 
 
 Since there's no help, come let US kiss and par 
 
 Drayton > 
 
 Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile [Sogers) 
 So sweet love seemed that April nioiii [Bridges) 
 Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes (Herrick) 
 
 Take, () take those lips away [Shakespeare) . 
 
 Tears, idle tears. I know not what they mean 
 
 Tennyson 
 
 Tell me no more how fair she is [King) ■ 
 Tell me not, Sweet, 1 am unkind [Lovelace) ■ 
 That time "i year thou may's! in me behoh 
 [Shakespeare) ....... 
 
 That which her slender waist confined [Waller) 
 The fountains mingle with the river (Shelley) 
 
 The ladies ol St. James's [Dobson) ■ 
 The lark now leaves his wat'rv nest i I In r, ,i<i nl) 
 Then hate me when thou will ; it ever, now 
 [8hakespeart i ...... 
 
 There be none ol I'.eaulv's daughters (ByrOn) 
 
 There is .1 garden in her face {Anon.) 
 
 There is a lailv sweet ami kind [Anon l 
 
 The '•■' bath man] thousand sandi I Inon.) . 
 
 The twentieth year is well ni'j.h past (Cowper) 
 Tlii' she j^rew in sun and shower ' Words 
 
 worth ........ 
 
 To all you ladies now at land [Dorset) 
 To me, fair friend, v<,u never can be <>iri [ShcUct 
 
 
 Win n I .mi dead, mj dearest [C Rossetti) 
 
 l'AUK 
 
 M 
 
 117 
 145 
 14f> 
 134 
 115 
 
 4=5 
 
 ;$2 
 
 114 
 
 ITS 
 
 80 
 
 56 
 
 l.V) 
 82 
 88 
 
 4.") 
 
 84 
 
 188 
 
 171 
 
 a 
 
 L38 
 60 
 
 68 
 
 in; 
 li)l 
 
 lis 
 
 "J 
 
 58 
 169 
 
 1ST
 
 INDKX OK FIRST LINKS. 
 
 When I consider every thing that grows [Shake 
 
 sptare) 
 
 When I have fears that I may cease to be [Keats) 
 When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd 
 
 {Shakespeare) 
 
 When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes 
 
 (Slutkeftpeare) 
 
 When in the chronicle of wasted time [Shake 
 
 apeare) 
 
 When lovely woman stoops to folly {Goldsmith] 
 When Love with unconfined wings (Lovelace) 
 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye a 
 
 hame [Lady A. Lindsay) .... 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 
 {Shakes pe« re) 
 
 Who can live in heart so glad (Breton) . 
 Who is Silvia? what is she (Shakespeare) 
 Why art thou silent ? Is thy love a plant ( Words 
 
 worth ) 
 
 With how sari steps, Moon, thou climb'st th 
 
 skies [Sidney) 
 
 Yk banks and braes and streams around [Burns) 
 Yc banks and braes o' bonnie Doon (Burns) . 
 Ye little birds that sit and sing (Hei/wood) . 
 You meaner beauties of the night (Wottmi) . 
 Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass [D. (•' 
 Jiossettl) 
 
 :« 
 Ml 
 
 42 
 
 36 
 
 S3 
 
 99 
 89 
 
 103 
 
 37 
 
 9 
 
 57 
 
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 M 
 
 107 
 
 ..•/.•/.'<.,•'■ ' . . ■ . Printers.
 
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