Oldalképek
PDF
ePub

CCXIV.

WOMAN'S LOVE.

THE SHADOWS OF US MEN.

FOLLOW a shadow, it still flies you;
Seem to fly it, it will pursue :
So court a mistress, she denies you;
Let her alone, she will court you.
Say, are not women truly, then,
Styled but the shadows of us men?

At morn and even, shades are longest ;
At noon they are or short or none;
So men at weakest, they are strongest ;
But grant us perfect, they're not known.
Say, are not women truly, then,

Styled but the shadows of us men?

Ben Jonson.

CCXV.

LOVE'S DOUBTS AND FEARS.

Ask me why I send you here

This firstling of the infant year;

Ask me why I send to you

This primrose all bepearled with dew;
I straight will whisper in your ears:

The sweets of love are washed with tears.

Ask me why this flower doth show

So yellow, green, and sickly too;
Ask me why the stalk is weak,
And bending, yet it doth not break;
I must tell you, these discover

What doubts and fears are in a lover.
Thomas Carew.

CCXVI.

A FALSE LOVE.

FALSE though she be to me and love,
I'll ne'er pursue revenge :
For still the charmer I approve,
Though I deplore her change.

In hours of bliss we oft have met,
They could not always last;
And though the present I regret,

I'm grateful for the past.

William Congreve.

CCXVII.

THE FLIGHT OF LOVE.

WHEN the lamp is shattered,

The light in the dust lies deadWhen the cloud is scattered,

The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken,

Sweet tones are remembered not;

When the lips have spoken,

Loved accents are soon forgot.

As music and splendour

Survive not the lamp and the lute,

The heart's echoes render

No song when the spirit is mute

No song but sad dirges,

Like the wind through a ruined cell,

Or the mournful surges

That ring the dead seaman's knell.

When hearts have once mingled,

Love first leaves the well-built nest;

The weak one is singled

To endure what it once possest.

O Love! who bewailest

The frailty of all things here,

Why choose you the frailest

For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

Its passions will rock thee

As the storms rock the ravens on high;

Bright reason will mock thee

Like the sun from a wintry sky.

From thy nest every rafter

Will rot, and thine eagle home

Leave thee naked to laughter,

When leaves fall and cold winds come.

Percy Bysshe Shelley.

CCXVIII.

NO LOVE, NO SPRING.

UNLESS with my Amanda blest,

In vain I twine the woodbine bower;
Unless to deck her sweeter breast,
In vain I rear the breathing flower.

Awakened by the genial year,

In vain the birds around me sing; In vain the freshening fields appear: Without my love there is no Spring.

James Thomson.

CCXIX.

AGAINST RIVALRY IN LOVE.

Of all the torments, all the cares,
With which our lives are curst;
Of all the plagues a lover bears,
Sure rivals are the worst!

By partners of each other kind,
Afflictions easier grow;

In love alone we hate to find
Companions of our woe.

Sylvia, for all the pangs you see
Are labouring in my breast,
I beg not you would favour me,
Would you but slight the rest.
How great soe'er your rigours are,
With them alone I'll cope:

I can endure my own despair,
But not another's hope.

William Walsh..

CCXX.

LOVE'S COMPLAINT.

THE LUTE'S LAST LABOUR.

My lute, awake! perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,

And end that I have now begun;
And when this song is sung and past,
My lute, be still! for I have done.

As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone;

My song may pierce her heart as soon:
Should we then sigh, or sing, or moan?
No, no! my lute, for I have done.

The rocks do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually

As she my suit and affection:
So that I am past remedy:

Whereby my lute and I have done.

Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts, thorough Love's shot,
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won;
Think not he hath his bow forgot,

Although my lute and I have done.
Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain :
Thou mak'st but game on earnest plain :
Think not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lover's plain,
Although my lute and I have done.
May chance thee be, withered and old,
In winter nights that are so cold,

Planning in vain unto the moon,
Thy wishes then dare not be told;

Care then who list, for I have done. And then may chance thee to repent The time that thou hast lost and spent,

To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon: Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,

And wish and want as I have done.
Now cease, my lute! this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,

And ended is that we begun :
Now is this song both sung and past:
My lute, be still! for I have done.

CCXXI.

Sir Thomas Wyatt.

LOVE'S COMPLAINT.

A HEART OF STONE.

WHENCE comes my love? O heart, disclose ;
'T was from cheeks that shame the rose ;
From lips that spoil the ruby's praise;
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze;
Whence comes my love? As freely own:
Ah me! 't was from a heart of stone.

« ElőzőTovább »