A heart as soft, a heart as kind, As in the whole world thou canst find, Bid that heart stay, and it will stay, To honour thy decree; Or bid it languish quite away, Bid me to weep, and I will weep Bid me despair, and I'll despair, Thou art my life, my love, my heart, And hast command of every part, To live and die for thee. HERRICK. SONG TO THE VIRGINS. GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, And this same flower, that smiles to-day, 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. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; Then be not coy, but use your time; SONG.. WHEN Fanny, blooming fair, In her bewitching eyes Ten thousand loves appear; His shafts are hoarded there : Her well turn'd limbs confess The lucky hand of Jove; Her features all express The beauteous queen of love; HERRICK. Venus round Fanny's waist Has her own Cestus bound, With guardian Cupids graced, Who dance the circle round. How happy must he be Who shall her zone unloose! That bliss to all but me May heaven and she refuse. EARL OF CHESTERFIELD. TO DELIA. DRIED be that tear, my gentlest love, Hush'd be that sigh, be dried that tear, Dost ask how long my vows shall stay Dried be that tear, be hush'd that sigh, And does that thought affect thee too, The thought of Sylvio's death, That he who only breathes for you Must yield that faithful breath? Hush'd be that sigh, be dried that tear, Nor let us lose our heaven here. SHERIDAN. SONG. 6 I HAVE a silent sorrow here, This cherish'd woe, this loved despair, My lot for ever be; So, my soul's lord, the pangs I bear And when pale characters of death I will not raise my eyes to Heaven, My soul despairs to be forgiven, SHERIDAN. IN PITY, FOND BOSOM, LIE STILL. YES, now I shall think of that heart-broken maid Whom in days of my childhood I knew; All night she would weep in the cold willow shade, And her tears mingle warm with the dew! I have heard her exclaim, as she sadly reclined 'Mid the willows all dripping and chill, I have heard her exclaim while she shrunk in 'In pity, fond bosom, lie still!' [the wind, The youth whom she loved had been torn from By a fate too severely unkind, [her arms Thus wither'd, alas! was the rose of her charms, And clouded the beams of her mind! Sweet mourner! thy fortunes may haply be mine, T. MOORE. TO HENRY. WHILE I hang on your bosom, distracted to lose you, [flow, High swells my sad heart, and fast my tears Yet think not of coldness they fall to accuse you, Did I ever upbraid you? Oh! no, my love, no! I own it would please me, at home would you Nor e'er feel a wish from Maria to go; [tarry, But if it gives pleasure to you, my dear Harry, Shall I blame your departure? Oh! no, my love, no! VOL. III. LL |