love poem

Early astir in this midsummer time
In the Queen's close, sweet hour in this sweet clime,
I stray at will to hear the throstle sing
Among the trees that round her garden cling;
I, Ronsard, in my youthood's joyous prime,
And by the Queen's desire, beneath the lime
She loves, to sing to her again the rhyme,
The daintiest of all the rhymes I bring,
My rhyme of Love.
But yet despite this July's leafy time,
The Queen's praise, birds' songs, odourous rose and thyme,
This heartache close to me, so close, will cling

S WINFORD Tune .

How sweet, how heav'nly is the sight,
When those that love the Lord
In one another's peace delight,
And so fulfil his word.

When each can feel his brother sigh,
And with him bear a part;
When sorrow flows from eye to eye,
And joy from heart to heart.

When, free from envy, scorn, and pride,
Our wishes all above,

Come with me my love and wander,
Where the moon is shining bright;
And the stars in beauteous splendor,
Softly shed their silv'ry light.
Where the nightingale is singing,
His soft blithesome melody,
And each breeze sweet perfume bringing,
I'll whisper words of love to thee.

M ADAN 's Tune .

Father, our hearts would now aspire,
On wings of faith and strong desire,
To thy celestial courts above,
Where all is glory, peace, and love.

We praise thee for the boundless grace
Extended to our fallen race,
When we, in our first parents, fell
From Eden to the gates of hell.

We praise the Son, who freely came
From heav'n to bear our sin and shame;
Who fought, who conquer'd, all our foes,
And bore the weight of all our woes.

IN THE MEASURE OF THE ORIGINAL .

With cheeks where eternal paradise bloom'd,
Sweet Eaili the soul of Kais had consum'd.
Transported her heavenly graces he view'd:
Of slumber no more he thought, nor of food,
Love rais'd in their glowing bosoms his throne,
Adopting the chosen pair as his own.
Together on flowery seats they repos'd;
Their lips not one idle moment were clos'd.
To mortals they gave no hint of their smart:
Love only the secret drew from each heart.

By classic Cam a lovely maiden grew:
The sun scarce shone upon her tender birth
Ere she was left, the loneliest thing on earth,
An orphan bent by every wind that blew.
But He who ne'er forsakes the fatherless,
Who led confiding Ruth by hand unseen
The freely scatter'd barley-ears to glean,
Was ever with her in her loneliness.
Thus in her solitude her mind became
Of gentleness and love the sanctuary.
Thither one day, 'twas in that season merry
In which the Cuckoo sings her own sweet name,

The Crimson Clouds, with Gold array'd,
O'er the rich Dawn their Pomp display'd;
The Sun in blushing Beams arose,
The Mountains glitter as he goes;
The tow'ring Lark her Anthems sings,
And Heav'n's blew Arch melodious rings;
The tuneful Thrush kept Time below,
The frisking Lambs leap to and fro;
Each feather'd Warbler stretch'd his Throat,
And Eccho answer'd ev'ry Note.

Myrtilla now, relenting Maid,
Was walking by a verdant Shade,
There loosely dress'd in lovely Green,

HAIL ! Hymen , thou propitious god of joy,
Come, now, thy genial influence employ,
Perfume with odours thy hymenial grove,
To bless this happy pair with endles love.
No perjur'd oaths are here, no impious pray'r,
The transcient hopes of fortune's gifts to share,
But here two faithful hearts impartial join'd,
To make a happy pair in one combin'd;
When closely link'd in matrimonial bands,
Th' auspicious god the mutual pair commands,
Sincerity the pow'r their motto names,
And love's records the blest proceeding claims.

A PASTORAL

Beneath a rev'rend oak, whose spreading boughs
Hung o'er the plain and form'd a pleasing shade,
Two lovers lay exchanging mutual vows; —
The young P HILANDER and his long-lov'd maid.

Not less in love than Eden's loving pair,
With fond embraces each encircling each;
Strangers to discontent, no pain or care,
Save what fond love creates, their breasts could reach.

I.

The stormy ocean roving,
My William seeks the foe;
Ah me! the pain of loving,
To war when lovers go!

II.

O! why my locks so yellow,
Should rosy garlands bind,
When trembles yonder willow,
As blows the sullen wind?

III.

Ye nymphs, who feel no anguish,
My garlands gay ye wove,
But I in absence languish,
And fear for him I love.

IV.

Nor yet the sprays of willow
Shall wave my temples o'er,
But weeds, that ocean's billow