“ The floating clouds their state shall lend

To her; for her the willow bend ;
Nor shall she fail to see
E’en in the motions of the storm
Grace that shall mould the maiden's form
By silent sympathy.

“ The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass

into her face.

“ And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell.”

Thus Nature spake the work was done.
How soon my Lucy's race was run !
She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm and quiet scene ;
The
memory

of what has been,
And never more will be.

William Wordsworth. TO DIANEME

SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes
Which starlike sparkle in their skies;
Nor be you proud, that you can see
All hearts your captives; yours yet free:
Be you not proud of that rich hair
Which wantons with the lovesick air;
Whenas that ruby which you wear
Sunk from the tip of your

soft

ear, Will last to be a precious stone When all your world of beauty's gone.

Robert Herrick.

THE TRUE BEAUTY

HE that loves a

rosy

cheek
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek

Fuel to maintain his fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and steadfast mind,

Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combined,

Kindle never-dying fires :-
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.

Thomas Carew.

TO A CHILD OF QUALITY, FIVE YEARS OLD 1

LORDS, knights, and ’squires, the numerous band

That wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters, Were summoned by her high command

To show their passions by their letters.

My pen, among the rest, I took,

Lest those bright eyes that cannot read Should dart their kindling fires, and look

The power they have to be obeyed.

Nor quality, nor reputation,

Forbid me yet my flame to tell,
Dear five years old befriends my passion,

And I may write till she can spell.

For, while she makes her silkworm beds

With all the tender things I swear; While all the house my passion reads,

In papers round her baby's hair, —

She may

receive and own my flame, For, though the strictest prudes should know it, She'll pass for a most virtuous dame,

And I for an unhappy poet.

Then, too, alas! when she shall tear
The lines some younger

rival sends, She'll give me leave to write, I fear, And we shall still continue friends.

For, as our different ages move,

'Tis so ordained (would Fate but mend it!) That I shall be past making love When she begins to comprehend it.

Matthew Prior,

PROUD MAISIE

1

PROUD Maisie is in the wood,

Walking so early ;
Sweet Robin sits on the bush,

Singing so rarely.

“Tell me, thou bonny bird,

When shall I “ When six braw gentlemen

Kirkward shall carry ye.”

marry me?”

“ Who makes the bridal bed,

Birdie, say truly ? ” “The gray-headed sexton

That delves the grave duly

“The glow-worm o'er grave and stone

Shall light thee steady ;
The owl from the steeple sing,
• Welcome, proud lady.'”

Sir Walter Scott.

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE

COME live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit

upon

the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.

A
gown

made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair-linèd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw and ivy-buds
With coral clasps and amber studs ;
An' if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be

my

love.

Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.