love poems

R ECIT .

Transform'd in female shape, as old and lame,
The god Vertumnus to Pomona came,
And while the goddess all her store display'd,
He thus address'd the heavenly maid.

A IR

Goddess lovely and divine,
Guardian of each fruitful tree,
A while thy darling joys decline,
And lend an ear to love and me.
Blooming beauties should be kind
And take the blessings while they may,
For time is swift, and love is blind,

Saw you the nymph whom I adore?
Saw you the goddess of my heart?
And can you bid me love no more?
And can you think I feel no smart?

So many charms around her shine
Who can the sweet temptation fly?
Spite of her scorn she's so divine
That I must love her though I die.

It tells, in its lonely sighs,
In its miserere wild,
Its love for a far-off ocean-home,
This exiled ocean-child.

I send it unto thee,
Type of my own full heart,
That sings and sighs for its native land,
Though doomed to dwell apart.

And when in thy listening ear
Its plaintive music rings,
Let it tell of the love for thee and thine,

To the Tune of " Sally in Our Alley "

Since singing's grown so much in vogue
With this harmonious nation,
'Tis fit we suit our epilogue
Unto your darling passion.
Then from the courtier to the cit,
As France has done before us,
Let box, let gallery and pit
All bear a bob in chorus.

We want, Alas, the voice and gift
Of charming Senesini;
Permit us, then, to make a shift
With Signor Cibberini.
What tho' his lays he cannot raise
To soft Cuzzoni's treble,

" Take this, a kiss " — Such words fell on mine ear,
As through the green gloom of a lawny glade,
For Love's high feast arrayed
In blood-red raiment, Love himself drew near.
With motion, voice and look divinely blent,
Like one sweet sound of many an instrument,
He came and breathed on me, then smiled and drew
From a small casket stored with balmy bliss
Such drops of honey-dew,
As his mouth, beelike, sips
From the warm, flower-soft lips
Of all who ever kissed beneath the moon; —
Saying as he gave the boon,

BY NEWTON .

She was just risen from her bended knee,
But yet peace seem'd not with her piety;
For there was paleness upon her young cheek,
And thoughts upon the lips which never speak,
But wring the heart that at the last they break.
Alas! how much of misery may be read
In that wan forehead, and that bow'd-down head! —
Her eye is on a picture: woe that ever
Love should thus struggle with a vain endeavour
Against itself: it is a common tale,

I'll sing of Heroes , and of Kings ;
In mighty Numbers, mighty things,
Begin, my Muse ; but lo, the strings
To my great Song rebellious prove;
The strings will sound of nought but Love .
I broke them all, and put on new;
'Tis this or nothing sure will do.
These sure (said I) will me obey;
These sure Heroick Notes will play.
Straight I began with thundring Jove ,
And all the'immortal Pow'ers but Love.
Love smil'ed, and from my'enfeebled Lyre
Came gentle airs, such as inspire
Melting love, and soft desire.

I live with love encompassed round,
And glowing light that is not mine,
And yet am sad; for, truth to tell,
It is not I you love so well;
Some fair Immortal, robed and crowned,
You hold within your heart's dear shrine.

Cast out the Goddess! let me in;
Faulty I am, yet all your own,
But this bright phantom you enthrone
Is such as mortal may not win.

And yet this beauty that you see
Is like to mine, though nobler far;
Your radiant guest resembles me
E'en as the sun is like a star.

Alas, for the blight of my fancies!
 Alas, for the fall of my pride!
I planned, in my girlish romances,
 To be a philosopher's bride.

I pictured him learned and witty,
 The sage and the lover combined,
Not scorning to say I was pretty,
 Nor only adoring my mind .

No elderly, spectacled Mentor,
 But one who would worship and woo;
Perhaps I might take an inventor,
 Or even a poet would do.

And tender and gay and well-favoured,
 My fate overtook me at last:
I saw, and I heard, and I wavered,

This morn thy gallant bark, love,
Sailed on a sunny sea;
'Tis noon, and tempests dark, love,
Have wrecked it on the lee.
Ah woe! Ah woe! Ah woe!
By spirits of the deep
He's cradled on the billow
To his unwaking sleep.

Thou liest upon the shore, love,
Beside the knelling surge,
But sea-nymphs evermore, love,
Shall sadly chaunt thy dirge.
Oh come! Oh come! Oh come!
Ye spirits of the deep,
While near his seaweed pillow
My lonely watch I keep.

From far across the sea, love,