love poems

A Pastoral

Two nymphs to whom the pow'rs of verse belong,
Alike ambitious to excel in song,
With equal sweetness sang alternate strains,
And courteous echo told the list'ning plains;
That of her lover sung, this of her friend;
Ye rural nymphs and village swains attend.

C ELIA .

O Love, soft sov'reign, ruler of the heart!
Deep are thy wounds, and pleasing is the smart;

Being in Love.

Aske Lover, ere thou dyest; let one poor breath
Steale from thy lips, to tell her of thy Death;
Doating Idolater! can silence bring
Thy Saint propitious? or will Cupid fling
One arrow for thy palenes? leave to trye
This silent Courtship of a sickly eye;
Witty to tyranny: She too well knowes
This but the incense of thy private vowes,
That breaks forth at thine eyes, and doth betray
The sacrifice thy wounded heart would pay;
Aske her, foole, aske her, if words cannot move,

In the morning of Life, when our feelings are new,
And our pathway is pleasant with sunshine and dew;
When many-toned music pervadeth the air,
And the commonest thing that we look on is fair, —
How sweet the first passion, that prompts us to stray
With one who adds beauty to beautiful May!
While a voice seems to steal through the shade of the bowers,
Singing — " Love is the odour of heavenly flowers! "

When wedded, and home groweth bright with the bride,
An angel to walk through the world by our side, —

Well , if that's our fate,
I would rather go down with those I love
Than float among those I hate.

Scott's Run o'erflowed my father's land
As in our woodland, walking there,
I went with Eunice hand in hand —
Gentle was she, unwooed and fair!
To tell her better than in speech
I, while she wove for me a wreath,
Cut her initials on a beech
And mine, who loved her, underneath.

" What's this? " spoke Eunice, coy to win,
" That crawls so blind across my feet? "
It was a hard-shell Terrapin,
Its eyes aye down, its pace not fleet;
" These slow things beat the Hare, they tell,

O THAM AND T RURO Tunes .

Lord, when shall I, without a vail,
Behold the Man who bore my sin;
Constrain'd no longer to bewail
That still that evil works within?

When shall my passions, all subdued,
And moulded into perfect love,
Receive impressions only good,
And to thy glory always move?

When shall I mount to that bright throne
By love divine prepar'd for me;

Why should you such Devotion still
To that false Idol Honour shew!
In this you prove Love's Infidel
And worship your most deadly Foe.

Like faithless Indians thus you bow
To a grim Pow'r that's serv'd with Fear.
And, as it does your Torment grow,
Become the more its Worshipper.

Mistaken Saint! give me the Pow'r
The Errors of thy Zeal to mend;
Thy proud Tormentor serve no more,

W REATH'S Tune .

Not unto us, but to thy grace,
Great fountain of eternal love,
Belongs the everlasting praise
That sinners hope to dwell above.
Cho Praise ye the Lord — the Saviour praise,
Hosanna to the God of Grace.

Jehovah Jesus, just and wise,
Laid the foundation of our peace
Before he spread the azure skies
Or form'd the earth, or fill'd the seas.
Cho Praise ye the Lord , &c.

Before his all-creasing voice
Supply'd the sun and moon with light,

Youthful widow! lovely widow!
With thy fair and thoughtful face;
With thy weeds of sorrow floating
Round thy form of quiet grace;—
Wheresoe'er thy footsteps lead thee,
Magic reigns upon the spot;
I have watched thy mien and motion,—
Could I gaze and love thee not?

Gentle widow! pleasing widow!
Music lingers on thy tongue,—
Sweet when social converse floweth,—
Sweeter in the words of song.
When to thee men turn and listen,
Other things are all forgot;—
I have heard thee, lovely mourner!—

I WHO love beauty — the ascending grass,
And the mysterious patience of the moon;
An Autumn sunset over a hushed lagoon,
The wonder of a lake that gleams like glass,
And the deep brown of mountains, mass on mass,
In the full moment of a lavish June;
Slow shadows in the melting afternoon —
Too well I know how dreams like these shall pass.

Ah, soon, too soon, the miracle will fade,
And life be done before the apple shakes
Its blossom from the tree; and sad men go
From this wild pageant and this bright parade