But if thou wilt prove faithful, then,
And constant of thy word,
I'll make thee famous by my pen,

And glorious by my sword.
I'll serve thee in such noble ways
Was never heard before;

I'll crown and deck thee all with bays,
And love thee more and more.

James, Marquis of Montrose.

CXCII.

AGAINST LOVE'S PRIDE.

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 love-sick air;
When as 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.

CXCIII.

IN LOVE WITH SORROW.

DRY those fair, those crystal eyes,
Which, like growing fountains, rise,
To drown their banks: grief's sullen brooks
Would better flow in furrowed looks;

Thy lovely face was never meant

To be the shore of discontent.

Then clear those waterish stars again,
Which else portend a lasting rain,
Lest the clouds which settle there
Prolong my winter all the year,
And thy example others make
In love with sorrow for thy sake.

Henry King.

CXCIV.

THE LITTLE RIFT IN LOVE.

IN Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,
Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers:
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

It is the little rift within the lute,

That by and by will make the music mute,
And ever widening slowly silence all.

The little rift within the lover's lute,
Or little pittèd speck in garnered fruit,
That rotting inward slowly moulders all.
It is not worth the keeping; let it go:
But shall it? Answer, darling, answer, no.
And trust me not at all or all in all.

Alfred Tennyson.

CXCV.

LOVE AND LIFE.

ALL my past life is mine no more;
The flying hours are gone :
Like transitory dreams given o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
By memory alone.

The time that is to come is not;

How can it then be mine?
The present moment's all my lot,
And that, as fast as it is got,
Phillis, is only thine.

Then talk not of inconstancy,

False hearts, and broken vows ;

If I, by miracle, can be

This live-long minute true to thee,

'Tis all that Heaven allows.

John, Earl of Rochester.

CXCVI.

LOVE'S MISGIVINGS.

FAIR was the morn to-day, the blossoms' scent
Floated across the fresh grass, and the bees
With low vexed song from rose to lily went;
A gentle wind was in the heavy trees,
And thine eyes shone with joyous memories;
Fair was the early morn, and fair wer thou,
And I was happy-ah, be happy now!

Peace and content within us, love within

That hour there was; now thunder and wild rain Have wrapped the lowering world, and foolish sin And nameless pride have made us wise in vain ; Ah, Love! although the morn shall come again, And on new rosebuds the new sun shall smile, Can we regain what we have lost meanwhile?

E'en now the west grows clear of storm and threat, But 'midst the lightning did the fair sun die,—

Ah! he shall rise again for ages yet,

He cannot waste his life ;-but thou and I—

Who knows if next morn this felicity

My lips may feel, or if thou still shalt live

This seal of love renewed once more to give?

William Morris.

A LITTLE while a little love

The hour yet bears for thee and me,
Who have not drawn the veil to see
If still our heaven be lit above.
Thou merely, at the day's last sigh,

Hast felt thy soul prolong the tone;
And I have heard the night-wind cry,
And deemed its speech mine own.
A little while a little love

The scattering Autumn hoards for us
Whose bower is not yet ruinous,
Nor quite unleaved our songless grove.
Only across the shaken boughs

We hear the flood-tides seek the sea,
And deep in both our hearts they rouse
One wail for thee and me.

A little while a little love

May yet be ours who have not said
The word it makes our eyes afraid
To know that each is thinking of.
Not yet the end: be our lips dumb
In smiles a little season yet:
I'll tell thee, when the end is come,
How we may best forget.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

CXCVIII.

LOVE THE ROVER.

"A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!

To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine.

A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,
A feather of the blue,

A doublet of the Lincoln green-.

No more of me you knew,

My Love!

No more of me you knew.

"The morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain;

But she shall bloom in winter snow
Ere we two meet again."

He turned his charger as he spake
Upon the river shore,

He gave the bridle-reins a shake,
Said "Adieu for evermore,

My Love!

And adieu for evermore."

Sir Walter Scott.

CXCIX.

FREE LOVe, free field.

FREE love-free field-we love but while we may : The woods are hushed, their music is no more : The leaf is dead, the yearning past away :

New leaf-new life-the days of frost are o'er : New life, new love, to suit the newer day :

New loves are sweet as those that went before : Free love--free field-we love but while we may. Alfred Tennyson.

CC.

THE GENERAL LOVER.

AMARYLLIS I did woo,
And I courted Phillis too;
Daphne for her love I chose,
Chloris for that damask rose
In her cheek, I held so dear;