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The bow, the band, shall fall to dust; The shining arrows waste with rust; And all of Love that earth can claim, Be but a memory and a name.

Not thus his nobler part shall dwell,
A prisoner in this narrow cell;
But he whom now we hide from men
In the dark ground, shall live again --

Shall break these clods, a form of light,
With nobler mien and purer sight,
And in th' eternal glory stand,
Highest and nearest God's right hand.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Sonnet.

THE doubt which ye misdeem, fair love, is vain,
That fondly fear to lose your liberty;

When, losing one, two liberties ye gain,

And make him bound that bondage erst did fly.

Sweet be the bands the which true love doth tye

Without constraint, or dread of any ill: The gentle bird feels no captivity

Within her cage; but sings and feeds her fill; There pride dare not approach, nor discord spill The league 'twixt them that loyal love hath bound;

But simple truth, and mutual good-will,

Seeks, with sweet peace, to salve each other's

wound;

There faith doth fearless dwell in brazen tower, And spotless pleasure builds her sacred bower. EDMUND SPENSER.

Love not.

LOVE not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay! Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flow

ers

Things that are made to fade and fall away.
Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours.

Love not!

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AWAY! let naught to love displeasing,
My Winifreda, move your care;
Let naught delay the heavenly blessing,
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.
What though no grants of royal donors
With pompous titles grace our blood;
We'll shine in more substantial honors,
And to be noble we'll be good.

Our name, while virtue thus we tender,

Will sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke: And all the great ones, they shall wonder How they respect such little folk.

What though from fortune's lavish bounty

No mighty treasures we possess; We'll find within our pittance plenty, And be content without excess.

Still shall each kind returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give;
For we will live a life of reason,

And that's the only life to live.

Through youth and age in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread;
Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed.

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How should I love the pretty creatures,
While 'round my knees they fondly clung,
To see them look their mother's features,
To hear them lisp their mother's tongue!

And when with envy, time, transported,
Shall think to rob us of our joys,
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go wooing in my boys.

Song.

ANONYMOUS.

GATHER ye rose-buds as ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

The age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Time still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

And while ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.

ROBERT HERRICK.

The Hebrew Wedding.

BRIDAL SONG.

To the sound of timbrels sweet
Moving slow our solemn feet,
We have borne thee on the road
To the virgin's blest abode;
With thy yellow torches gleaming,
And thy scarlet mantle streaming,
And the canopy above
Swaying as we slowly move.

Thou hast left the joyous feast,

And the mirth and wine have ceased;

And now we set thee down before
The jealously-unclosing door,
That the favored youth admits
Where the veiled virgin sits
In the bliss of maiden fear,
Waiting our soft tread to hear,
And the music's brisker din
At the bridegroom's entering in,
Entering in, a welcome guest,
To the chamber of his rest.

CHORUS OF MAIDENS.

Now the jocund song is thine,
Bride of David's kingly line!
How thy dove-like bosom trembleth,
And thy shrouded eye resembleth
Violets, when the dews of eve

A moist and tremulous glitter leave
On the bashful, sealed lid!
Close within the bride-veil hid,
Motionless thou sit'st and mute,
Save that, at the soft salute
Of each entering maiden friend,
Thou dost rise and softly bend.

Hark! a brisker, merrier glee!
The door unfolds-'tis he! 'tis he!
Thus we lift our lamps to meet him!
Thus we touch our lutes to greet him!
Thou shalt give a fonder meeting,
Thou shalt give a tenderer greeting!
HENRY HART MILMAN.

Epithalamion.

YE learned sisters, which have oftentimes
Beene to the ayding others to adorne,
Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful rymes,
That even the greatest did not greatly scorne
To heare theyr names sung in your simple lays,
But joyed in theyr praise;

And when ye list your own mishaps to mourne,
Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck did

rayse,

Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne, And teach the woods and waters to lament Your doleful dreriment;

Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside;
And, having all your heads with girlands crowned,
Helpe me mine owne love's prayses to resound,
Ne let the same of any be envide.
So Orpheus did for his owne bride;
So I unto my selfe alone will sing;
The woods shal to me answer, and my echo ring.

Early, before the world's light-giving lampe
His golden beame upon the hils doth spred,
Having disperst the night's uncheerful dampe,
Doe ye awake; and with fresh lustyhed
Go to the bowre of my beloved love,
My truest turtle dove;

Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake,

And long since ready forth his maske to move,

With his bright torch that flames with many a

flake,

And many a bachelor to waite on him,

In theyr fresh garments trim.

Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight;

For loe the wished day is come at last,

That shal, for all the paynes and sorrowes past,
Pay to her usury of long delight!
And, whylest she doth her dight,
Doe ye to her of joy and solace sing,

That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Bring with you all the nymphs that you can heare,
Both of the rivers and the forests greene,

And of the sea that neighbours to her neare;
All with gay girlands goodly wel beseene.
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay girland,

For my fayre love, of lillyes and of roses,
Bound, true-love-wise, with a blue silk riband.
And let them make great store of bridale posies;
And let them eke bring store of other flowers,
To deck the bridale bowers.

And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread,
For feare the stones her tender foot should wrong,
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along,
And diapred lyke the discolored mead.
Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt,
For she will waken strayt;

The whiles do ye this song unto her sing,

The woods shal to you answer, and your echo ring.

EPITHALAMION.

Ye nymphs of Mulla, which with carefull heed
The silver-scaly trouts do tend full well,
And greedy pikes which used therein to feed,
(Those trouts and pikes all others doe excell;)
And ye, likewise, which keepe the rushy lake,
Where none do fishes take-

Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight,
Helpe quickly her to dight!

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But first come, ye fayre houres, which were begot
In Jove's sweet paradise of day and night;
Which do the seasons of the year allot;
And all that ever in this world is fayre,

Bynd up the locks the which hang scattered | Do make and still repayre!
light,

And in his waters, which your mirror make,
Behold your faces as the christall bright,

That when you come whereas my love doth lie
No blemish she may spie.

And eke, ye lightfoot mayds, which keepe the dore
That on the hoary mountayne used to towre-
And the wylde wolves, which seeke them to de-
voure,

And ye, three handmayds of the Cyprian queene,
The which do still adorn her beauteous pride,
Helpe to adorn my beautifullest bride;
And, as ye her array, still throw between
Some graces to be seene;

And, as ye used to Venus, to her sing,
The whiles the woods shal answer, and your echo
ring.

With your steele darts doe chace from coming Now is my love all ready forth to come—

neare

Be also present here,

To helpe to decke her, and to helpe to sing,

Let all the virgins, therefore, well awayt;
And ye fresh boys, that tend upon her groome,
Prepare yourselves; for he is comming strayt.

That all the woods may answer, and your echo Set all your things in seemely-good array,
ring.

Wake now, my love, awake; for it is time:
The rosy morne long since left Tithon's bed,
All ready to her silver coache to clyme;
And Phoebus 'gins to shew his glorious hed.
Hark! how the cheerfull birds do chaunt theyr
laies,

And carroll of love's praise!

The merry larke his mattins sings aloft;

The thrush replyes; the mavis descant playes;
The ouzell shrills; the ruddock warbles soft:
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,
To this daye's merriment.

Ah! my deare love, why do ye sleepe thus long?
When meeter were that ye should now awake,
T'awayt the comming of your joyous make;
And hearken to the birds' love-learned song,
The dewy leaves among!

For they of joy and pleasance to you sing,

Fit for so joyfull day

The joyfulest day that ever sun did see.
Fair sun! shew forth thy favourable ray,
And let thy lifull heat not fervent be,
For feare of burning her sunshyny face,
Her beauty to disgrace.

O fayrest Phoebus! father of the Muse!
If ever I did honour thee aright,

Or sing the thing that mote thy minde delight,
Do not thy servant's simple boone refuse;
But let this day, let this one day, be mine;
Let all the rest be thine,

Then I thy soverayne prayeses loud will sing,
That all the woods shal answer, and theyr echo
ring.

Harke! how the minstrels 'gin to shrill aloud
Their merry musick that resounds from far-
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling croud
That well agree withouten breach or jar.

That all the woods them answer, and theyr echo But most of all the damzels do delite

ring.

My love is now awake out of her dreame;
And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmed were
With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly
beame,

More bright than Hesperus his head doth reare.

When they their tymbrels smyte,

And thereunto do daunce and carrol sweet,
That all the sences they do ravish quite;

The whiles the boyes run up and doune the
street,

Crying aloud with strong, confused noyce,
As if it were one voyce:

Hymen, Io Hymen, Hymen! they do shout,
That even to the heavens theyr shouting shrill
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill;

To which the people standing all about,
As in approvance, do thereto applaud,

And loud advaunce her laud;

And evermore they Hymen, Hymen! sing,

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see,
The inward beauty of her lively spright,
Garnisht with heavenly gifts of high degree,

Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,

And stand astonisht, lyke to those which red
Medusae's mazeful hed.

That all the woods them answer, and theyr echo ring. There dwells sweet love, and constant chastity,

Loe! where she comes along with portly pace,
Lyke Phœbe, from her chamber of the east.
Arysing forth to run her mighty race,

Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best.
So well it her beseems that ye would weene
Some angell she had beene.

Her long, loose, yellow locks lyke golden wyre,
Sprinkled with perle, and perling flowres atweene,
Do lyke a golden mantle her attyre;

And, being crowned with a girland greene,
Seem lyke some mayden queene.

Her modest eyes abashed to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,

Upon the lowly ground affixed are;
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold,
But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud,
So farre from being proud.

Nathlesse do ye still loud her prayses sing,

Unspotted fayth, and comely womanhood,
Regard of honour, and mild modesty ;
There vertue raynes as queene in royal throne,
And giveth lawes alone,

The which the base affections do obey,
And yeeld theyr services unto her will;
Ne thought of things uncomely ever may
Thereto approach, to tempt her mind to ill.
Had ye once seene these her celestial treasures,
And unrevealed pleasures,

Then would ye wonder, and her prayses sing,
That all the woods should answer, and your echo
ring.

Open the temple gates unto my love!

Open them wide, that she may enter in!

And all the postes adorne as doth behove,
And all the pillars deck with girlands trim,
For to receyve this saynt with honour dew,

That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. That commeth in to you!

Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see
So fayre a creature in your towne before?
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,
Adornd with beauty's grace and vertue's store?
Her goodly eyes lyke saphyres shining bright;
Her forehead ivory white;

With trembling steps and humble reverence
She commeth in before th' Almighty's view.
Of her, ye virgins, learne obedience,—
When so ye come into those holy places,
To humble your proud faces.

Bring her up to th' high altar, that she may
The sacred ceremonies there partake,

Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath The which do endlesse matrimony make;

rudded;

Her lips lyke cherries charming men to byte;
Her brest lyke to a bowl of cream uncrudded;
Her paps lyke lyllies budded;

Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre;
And all her body like a pallace fayre,
Ascending up with many a stately stayre,
To honour's seat and chastity's sweet bowre.
Why stand ye still, ye virgins, in amaze
Upon her so to gaze,

Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing,

And let the roaring organs loudly play
The praises of the Lord in lively notes;
The whiles, with hollow throates,

The choristers the joyous antheme sing,
That all the woods may answer, and their echo
ring.

Behold! whiles she before the altar stands, Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes, And blesseth her with his two happy hands, How the red roses flush up in her cheekes,

To which the woods did answer, and your echo And the pure snow with goodly vermill stayne,

ring?

Like crimson dyde in grayne:

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