MORE WELCOME THAN THE SPRING.
Welcome, welcome, do I sing,
Far more welcome than the spring;
He that parteth from you never
Shall enjoy a spring for ever.
Love, that to the voice is near,
Breaking from your ivory pale,
Need not walk abroad to hear
The delightful nightingale.
Love, that looks still on your eyes,
Though the winter have begun
To benumb our arteries,
Shall not want the summer's sun.
Love, that still may see your cheeks,
Where all rareness still reposes,
He's a fool, if e'er he seeks
Other lilies, other roses.
Love, to whom your soft lip yields,
And perceives your breath in kissing,
All the odours of the fields
Never, never shall be missing.
Love, that question would anew
What fair Eden was of old,
Let him rightly study you,
And a brief of that behold.
Welcome, welcome, then I sing,
Far more welcome than the spring;
He that parteth from you never,
Shall enjoy a spring for ever.
Wm. Browne (born 1590, died 1645).
WHAT WILL THEY SAY OF YOU AND ME?
What of you and me, my lady, What will they say of you and me?
They will say of you, my gentle lady, Your heart is love and kindness' throne, And it becomes you to confer it
On him who gave you all his own; And that as now, both firm and faithful, So will you ever, ever be. What of you and me, my lady,
What will they say of you and me?
They will say of me, my gentle lady,
That I for you all else forgot :
And Heaven's dark vengeance would have scathed me
Its darkest vengeance-had I not.
My love, what envy will pursue us, Thus link'd in softest sympathy!What of you and me, my lady,
What will they say of you and me ?
They will say of you, my gentle lady,
A thousand things, in praises sweet-
That other maidens may be lovely,
But none so lovely and discreet.
They will wreathe for you the crown of beauty,
And you the Queen of Love shall be.
What of you and me, my lady,
What will they say of you and me?
They will say of me, my gentle lady,
That I have found a prize divine-
A prize too bright for toils so trifling,-
So trifling as these toils of mine;
And that from heights so proud and lofty
Deeper the fall is wont to be.
What of you and me, my lady,
What will they say of you and me?
John Bowring from the Spanish).
TO A LADY, WITH A BOUQUET. Flowers to the fair to you these flowers I bring,
And strive to greet you with an earlier spring;
Flowers sweet, and gay, and delicate like you;
Emblems of innocence, and beauty too. With flowers the Graces bind their yellow hair,
And flowery wreaths consenting lovers wear.
Flowers, the sole luxury which Nature knew,
In Eden's pure and guiltless garden grew.
To loftier forms are rougher tasks assign'd;
The sheltering oak resists the stormy wind,
The tougher yew repels invading foes,
And the tall pine for future navies grows :
But this soft family, to cares unknown,
Were born for pleasure and delight alone.
Gay without toil, and lovely without art,
They spring to cheer the sense and glad the
heart.
Nor blush, my fair, to own you copy these; Your best, your sweetest empire is-to please.
To condescend with dignity, to command with kindness, and sweetness of manners, are points to be aimed at by a wise woman in courtship. S. Richardson,
A GENTLE HEART.
I know that Beauty's power is great To lead to love the heedless mind; That brilliant eyes may flit like stars, Yet leave an influence behind; That lips, like ruby amulets,
Oft hold unwilling souls in thrall; Their spells are numberless-and yet A gentle heart is worth them all.
I know that Wit can lightly win
What earthly charms have never won;
That beauty fades before her light
As moonlight pales before the sun;
That words enchant like elfin darts,
Although invisibly they fall,
And yet, though thousands own their might, A gentle heart is worth them all.
I know that Wealth can purchase love:
The best on earth are bought with gold;
That Power needs but to nod his head
To win a myriad to his fold.
All these in turn must cling to rank,
Like grape-vines to the sunny wall :
The world is sway'd by them, and yet
A gentle heart is worth them all.
Sweet dames, remember, when ye strive
To hold a lover in your thrall,
Wit, Beauty, Wealth, and Power may aid-
A gentle heart is worth them all.
Charles Godfrey Leland.
THE WITCHERY OF BEAUTY.
Since first my dazzled eyes were thrown On that bewitching face,
Like ruin'd birds, robb'd of their young, Lamenting, frighted, and undone,
I fly from place to place. Framed by some cruel powers above,
So nice she is, and fair;
None from undoing can remove,
Since all, who are not blind, must love;
Who are not vain, despair.
A LOVER'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS BELOVED'S JEWEL
Oh for thy history now! Hadst thou a tongue
To whisper of thy secrets, I could lay
Upon thy jewell'd tracery mine ear,
And dream myself in heaven. Thou hast been worn
In that fair creature's side, and thou hast felt The bounding of the haughtiest blood that e'er Sprang from the heart of woman; and thy gold
Has lain upon her forehead in the hour
Of sadness, when the weary thoughts came fast,
And life was but a bitterness with all
Its vividness and beauty. She has gazed
In her fair girlhood on thy snowy pearls,
And mused away the hours, and she has bent
On thee the downcast radiance of her eye
When a deep tone was eloquent in her ear;
And thou hast lain upon her cheek, and prest
Back on her heart its beatings, and put by
From her vein'd temples the luxurious curls,
And, in her peaceful sleep, when she has lain
In her unconscious beauty, and the dreams
Of her high heart came goldenly and soft,
Thou hast been there unchidden, and hast felt
The swelling of the clear, transparent veins,
As the rich blood rush'd through them warm
and fast.
I am impatient as I gaze on thee,
Thou inarticulate jewel! Thou hast heard
With thy dull ear such music - the low tone
Of a young sister's tenderness, when night
Hath folded them together like one flower-
The sudden snatch of a remember'd song
Warbled capriciously-the careless word
Lightly betraying the inaudible thought
Working within the heart, and, more than all,
Thou hast been lifted, when the fervent prayer
For a loved mother, or the sleeping one
Lying beside her, trembled on her lip,
And the warm tear that from her eye stole out
As the soft flash came over it, has lain
Amid thy shining jewels like a star.
WOMAN THE LIGHT OF NATURE'S
DOMAIN.
For me, I'm woman's slave confest--
Without her, hopeless and unblest.
And so are all, gainsay who can;
For what would be the life of man,
If left in desert or in isle,
Unlighted up by beauty's smile?
Ev'n though he boasted monarch's name,
And o'er his own sex reign'd supreme,
With thousands bending to his sway,
If lovely woman were away,
What were his life? what could it be?
A vapour on a shoreless sea;
A troubled cloud in darkness toss'd,
Amongst the waste of waters lost;
A ship deserted in the gale,
Without a steersman or a sail,
A star, or beacon-light before,
Or hope of haven evermore;
A thing without a human tie,
Unloved to live,-unwept to die.
Then let us own through nature's reign,
Woman the light of her domain !
King.
THE PRECIOUS BOON OF WOMAN'S LOVE.
Lady! whose soft and dovelike eye,
Beaming with love's own witchery,
Hath from our album's pages caught
Feelings responsive to thy thought;
Sweet lady! twine no sacred ties
With pleasure's heartless votaries!
Hide thy soul's richness! like that flower
Whose sweet aroma to no power
But the pure sunshine is reveal'd,—
Long, long, midst leaves and moss con-
But when secure of well-tried worth,
Then pour its hidden treasures forth,
And blend thy trusting tenderness
With man's strong, deep devotedness;
Nor turn thee with a scornful eye'
From faith a kingdom could not buy!
And thou, fond lover! to whose truth
Woman entrusts her hopes, her youth,
Her very life--oh! guard and cherish
Feelings which once neglected, perish!
Keep her fair form and spotless mind
Within thy heart of hearts enshrined;
Be thou the oak, round which may twine
The graceful foliage of the vine;
And ask to bless thee from above,
The precious boon of woman's love!
Anon.
In vigilance, scarce more intense
Than I; when her voice holds my sense
Contented in suspense.
Her mention of a thing, august or poor,
Makes it far nobler than it was before:
As where the sun strikes life will gush,
And what is pale receive a flush,
Rich hues, a richer blush.
My lady's name, when I hear strangers use,
Not meaning her, to me sounds lax misuse :
I love none but my lady's name;
Maud, Grace, Rose, Marian, all the same,
Are harsh, or blank and tame.
Thomas Woolner.
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