love poems

TO ANNA-LOUISA, ON HER ODE TO FANCY .

Say , child of Phaebus and the eldest Grace,
Whose lyre melodious, and enchanting face,
The blendid title of thy birth proclaim;
Say, lovely Naiad of Castalia's streams,
Why thus thy Muse on Fiction's pillow dreams,
And fondly woos the rainbow-mantled Dame?
When stern Misfortune, with her Gorgon frown,
Congeals the fairy face of Bliss to stone,
Hope to the horns of Fancy's altar flies;

Some happy days we proved
While thou my heart possest,
I loving thee and loved,
Thou blessing me and blest.
When thou becam'st a foe
Disdain replaced desire,
With disdain I tell thee so,
While mingled shame and ire
From my gift neglected, flow,
As I strip the leaves now faded
From the Laurel wreaths I braided.

Here an amorous old Miss lies alone , but unwilling:
In the rent of a Tenant she found a bad shilling;
So, as Love ready-made and the taxes were high,
She resolv'd in the balance of credits to die.

EPITAPH ON A VERY HANDSOME, BUT VAIN, UNINTERESTING, AND SELFISH Woman .

H ERE lies a figure exquisitely made:
Clos'd are the eyes that shone with bright parade: —
The Loves had finish'd each exterior part,
But Grace and Beauty overlook'd the Heart .

Here I bid you all adieu,
I no more am one of you;
Ideots that are left above,
Dupes to Fortune or to Love!

FROM THE GERMAN OF GOËTHE

Unnoticed in the lonely mead,
A Violet rear'd its modest head,
A sweet and lovely flower;
A blooming maid came gadding by,
With vacant heart, and gladsome eye,
And tripp'd with sportive careless tread.

" Ah! " thought the Violet, " had I now
The Rose's matchless form and glow,
Though transient were the power;
To be but pluck'd by that sweet maid,
And on her virgin bosom laid; —
Bless'd fate, what more could Heaven bestow? "

WHICH A DYING LOVER DIRECTED HIS FRIENDS TO FILL WITH HIS
ASHES PULVERIZED .

M ARK the pure crystal that contains
All that of Strephon's love remains;
Dust — in whose emblem is express'd
That Love must never hope to rest.

The hand of Death his parting soul disarms:
He dies, in Virtue's love — in Beauty's arms:
Descending Angels consecrate the tear,
And they accept him — from an Angel here .

To covet an appropriate bliss,
The Decalogue has made a sin;
But envy at a common kiss
Makes a poor guilt, not worth a pin.
Mine 's an offence that Kings might share,
It reaches Envy's proudest height;
A Sun-beam the inspiring Fair,
And Love my envy'd Brother's right.

Y E Guardian Angels, who discover
How dearly all her Children love her,
Oh, listen to the Filial Prayer,
And shield her, with a Mother's care!
To charm, as long as breath endures,
The power is hers — the gift is yours;
Grant — for it 's all that we implore —
Her life — till she is lov'd no more!