Joys as winged dreams fly fast ; Beaumont and Fletcher. CCLXXXI. LOVE CONSOLED. LOVE AND DEATH. IF thou wilt ease thine heart Then sleep, dear, sleep! And not a sorrow Hang any tear on your eyelashes; Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes In Eastern sky. But wilt thou cure thine heart Of love, and all its smart- 'T is deeper, sweeter, Than on the rose-bank to lie dreaming And then alone, amid the beaming In Eastern sky. Thomas Lovell Beddoes. CCLXXXII. LOVE DYING OF UNKINDNESS. SLAIN BY A MAID. COME away, come away, death, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. P My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, My part of death no one so true Not a flower, not a flower sweet On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: A thousand thousand sighs to save, AWAY, delights; go seek some other dwelling, Farewell, false love; thy tongue is ever telling For ever let me rest now from your smarts; And fire their hearts That have been hard to thee; mine was not so. Never again deluding Love shall know me, And all those griefs that think to over-grow me, For ever will I sleep, while poor maids cry, "Alas, for pity stay, And let us die With thee; men cannot mock us in the clay." Beaumont and Fletcher. CCLXXXIV. LOVE DYING OF UNKINDNESS. SAY, I DIED TRUE. LAY a garland on my hearse Maidens, willow branches bear; Say, I died true. My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth. Beaumont and Fletcher. CCLXXXV. LOVE DYING OF UNKINDNESS. A DYING LOVER. Go, tell Amynta, gentle swain, I would not die, nor dare complain; A sigh or tear perhaps she'll give, But love on pity cannot live. Tell her that hearts for hearts were made, And love with love is only paid. Tell her my pains so fast increase, John Dryden. CCLXXXVI. LOVE DYING OF UNKINdness. THE MAID OF NEIDPATH. EARL MARCH looked on his dying child, "She's at the window many an hour And he looked up to Ellen's bower But ah! so pale, he knew her not, It broke the heart of Ellen. In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, Her cheek is cold as ashes; Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes To lift their silken lashes. Thomas Campbell. CCLXXXVII. LOVE DYING OF UNKINDNESS. THE MAID OF NEIDPATH. O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see, And love, in life's extremity Can lend an hour of cheering. Disease had been in Mary's bower Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, Till through her wasted hand, at night, By fits a sultry hectic hue Across her cheek was flying; By fits so ashy pale she grew Yet keenest powers to see and hear Ere scarce a distant form was kenned He came he passed-an heedless gaze Could scarcely catch the feeble moan Sir Walter Scott. CCLXXXVIII. LOVE DYING OF UNKINDNESS. BEFORE DEATH. SWEET mother, in a minute's span Come back, true love, to comfort me. |