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When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine, That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun. Romeo and Juliet, Actili. Sc. 2.

SHAKESPEARE. Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting-stars attend thee;

And the elves also,

Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

The Night Piece to Jula.
The sweetest garland to the sweetest maid.

To a Lady, with a Present of Flowers.



When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that.

IVinter's Tale, Adiv. SC, 4.


Some asked me where the Rubies grew,

And nothing I did say,
But with my finger pointed to

The lips of Julia.
The Rock of Rubies, and the Quarrie of Pearls, R HERRICK

Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones, -- Come and buy ;
Il so be you ask me where
They do grow, I answer, there,
Where my Julia's lips do smile,
There's the land, or cherry-isle.

Cherry Ripe.


Except I be by Sylvia in the night,
There is no music in the nightingale.

Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act iii. Sc. 1.


But thy eternal summer shall not fade.

Sonnet XVIII.


Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life!
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!

The Bride of Abydos. Cant. ii.


THE POET's ADMIRATION. That eagle's fate and mine are one,

Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own,

Wherewith he wont to soar so liigh. To a lady singing a Song of his Composius.


Is she not more than painting can express,
Or youthful poets fancy when they love?

The Fair Penitent, dat iii. Sc. I.


'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,
Than aught in the world beside, — Jessy !



Banish all compliments but single truth.

Faithful Shepherdess.



IF IT BE TRUE THAT ANY BEAUTEOUS | Forgive me if I cannot turn away

From those sweet eyes that are my earthly

heaven, If it be true that any beauteous thing

For they are guiding stars, benignly given Raises the pure and just desire of man

To tempt my footsteps to the upward way; From earth to Goil, the eternal fount of all,

And if I dwell too fondly in thy sight, Such I believe my love ; for as in her

I live and love in God's peculiar light. So fair, in whom I all besides forget,

MICHAEL ANGELO (Italian). Translation I view the gentle work of her Creator,

I have no care for any other thing,
Whilst thus I love. Nor is it marvellous,
Since the effect is not of my own power,
If the soul doth, by nature tempted forth,

WERE I AS BASE AS IS THE LOWLY Enamored through the eyes,

Repose upon the eyes which it resembleth,
And through them riseth to the Primal Love,

WERE I as base as is the lowly plain,
As to its end, and honors in aılmiring ;

And you, my Love, as high as heaven above, For who adores the Maker needs must love his Yet should the thoughts of me your humble work.

MICHAEL ANGELO (Italian). Translation
of J. E. TAYLOR.

Ascend to heaven, in honor of my Love.


Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
And yoni, niy Love, as humble and as low
As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
Wheresoc'er you were, with you my Love should


MUSES, that sing Love's sensual empirie,
And lovers kindling your enraged fires
At Cupid's bonfires burning in the eye,
Blown with the empty breath of vain desires ;
You, that prefer the painted cabinet
Before the wealthy jewels it doth store ye,
That all your joys in dying figures set,
And stain the living substance of your glory ;
Abjure those joys, abhor their memory ;
Anıl let my love the honored subject be
Of love and honor's complete history !
Your eyes were never yet let in to sec
The majesty and riches of the mind,
That dwell in darkness; for your god is blind.

Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
My love should shine on you like to the sun,
Aud look upon you with ten thousand eyes
Till heaven waxed blind, and till the world were


Wheresoe'er I am, below, or else above you, Wheresoe'er you are, my heart shall truly love you.


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Such be your gentle motion,

Till life's last pulse shall beat ;
Like summer's beam, and summer's stream,

Float ou, in joy, to meet
A calmer sea, where shull cease,
A purer sky, where all is peace.



When Delia on the plain appears,
Awed by a thousand tender fears,
I would approach, but dare not move ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
Whene'er she speaks, my ravished car
No other voice than hers can hear ;
No other wit but hers approve ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
If she some other swain commend,
Though I was once his fondest friend,
His instant enemy I prove ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
When she is absent, I no more
Delight in all that pleased before,
The clearest spring, the shadiest grove ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
When fond of power, of beauty vain,
Her nets she spread for every swain,
I strove to hate, but vainly strove ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.


It was a friar of orders gray

Walked forth to tell his beaus ; And he inet with a lady fair

Clad in a pilgrim's weeds.

“Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar ;

I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine

My true-love thou didst see."

“And how should I know your true-love

From many another one ?" “O, by his cockle hat, and staff,

And by his sandal shoon.

“But chiefly by his face and mien,

That were so fair to view ; His flaxen locks that sweetly curled,

And eyes of lovely blue."

MY TRUE-LOVE HATH MY HEART. My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,

By just exchange one to the other given : I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,

There never was a better bargain driven : My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.

“O lady, he is dead and gone !

Lady, he's dead and gone : And at his head a green grass turf,

And at his heels a stone.

His heart in me keeps him and me in one ;

My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides : He loves my heart, for once it was his own ;

I cherish his because in me it bides :
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.

“Within these holy cloisters long

He languished, and he died, Lamenting of a lady's love,

And 'plaining of her pride.



Here bore him barefaced on his bier

Six proper youths and tall, And many a tear bedewed his grave

Within yon kirkyard wall."

I saw two clouds at morning,

Tinged by the rising sun,
And in the dawn they floated on,

And mingled into one ;
I thought that morning cloud was blest,
It moved so sweetly to the west.

“ And art thon dead, thou gentle youth ?

And art thou (lead and gone? And didst thou die for love of me?

Break, cruel heart of stone !”

“But first upon my true-love's grave

My weary limbs I 'll lay, And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf

That wraps his breathless clay."

Yet stay, fair lady ; rest awhile

Beneath this cloister wall; The cold wind through the hawthorn blows,

And drizzly raiu doth fall."

“O, stay me not, thou holy friar,

O, stay ne not, I pray ; No drizzly rain that falls on me

Can wash my fault away.”

“Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,

And dry those pearly tears ; For see, beneath this


gray Thy own true-love appears.

0, weep not, lady, weep not so;

Some ghostly comfort seek ;
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,

Nor tears bedew thy cheek."

“0, do not, do not, holy friar,

My sorrow now reprove ;
For I have lost the sweetest youth

That e'er won lady's love.

“And now, alas ! for thy sad loss

I'll evermore weep and sigh ; For thee I only wished to live,

For thee I wish to die."

“Weep no more, lady, weep no more,

Thy sorrow is in vain ;
For violets plucked, the sweetest showers

Will ne'er make grow again.


"Our joys as winged dreams do fly ;

Why then should sorrow last ? Since grief but aggravates thy loss,

Grieve not for what is past."

“Here forced by grief and hopeless love,

These holy weeds I sought ;
And here, amid these lonely walls,

To end my days I thought.
“But haply, for my year of grace

Is not, yet passed away,
Might I still hope to win thy love,

No longer would I stay."

'O, say not so, thou holy friar;

I pray thee, say not so;
For since my true-love died for me,

'T is meet my tears should flow.

“And will he never come again?

Will he ne'er come again ?
Ah, no! he is dead, and laid in his grave,

Forever to remain.

Now farewell grief, and welcome joy

Once more unto my heart ;
For since I have found thee, lovely youth,
We nevermore will part."

Adapted froin old ballads by THOMAS PERCY

“ His cheek was redder than the rose ;

The comeliest youth was he!
But he is dead and laid in his grave:

Alas, and woe is me!”



“Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever :
One foot on sea and one on land,

To one thing constant never.

“TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,

And guide my lonely way
To where yon taper cheers the vale

With hospitable ray.

“Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,

And left thee sad and heavy ;
For young men ever were fickle found,

Since summer trees were leafy."

“For here forlorn and lost I tread,

With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilis, immeasurably spread,

Seem lengthening as I go."

“Now say not so, thou holy friar,

I pray thee say not so ;
My love he had the truest heart,

0, he was ever true !

'Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries,

“To tempt the dangerous gloom; For yonder faithless phantom flies

To lure thee to thy doom.

“And art thion dead, thou much-loved youth,

And didst thou die for me?
Then farewell home ; for evermore

A pilgrim I will be.

“ Here to the houseless child of want

My door is open still;
And though my portion is but scant,

I give it with good will.

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