A Little Book of Old Time Verse Part 10

How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true; But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead, And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

--_William Butler Yeats_

Song

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_

Song

I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste, That I no more would court The joys that seem when they are past As dull as they are short.

I oft to hate my mistress swear, But soon my weakness find; I make my oaths when she's severe, But break them when she's kind.

--_John Oldmixon_

My Loves

Name the leaves on all the trees, Name the waves on all the seas, Name the notes of all the groves, Thus thou namest all my loves.

I do love the young, the old, Maiden modest, virgin bold; Tiny beauties and the tall-- Earth has room enough for all!

Which is better--who can say?-- Mary grave or Lucy gay?

She who half her charms conceals, She who flashes while she feels?

Why should I my love confine?

Why should fair be mine or thine?

If I praise a tulip, why Should I pa.s.s the primrose by?

Paris was a pedant fool Meting beauty by the rule: Pallas? Juno? Venus?--he Should have chosen all the three!

--_John Stuart Blackie_

Cupid Mistaken

Venus whipt Cupid t'other day, For having lost his bow and quiver; For he had given them both away To Stella, queen of Isis river.

"Mamma! you wrong me while you strike,"

Cried weeping Cupid, "for I vow, Stella and you are so alike, I thought that I had lent them you."

--_William Somerville_

Song

Hard is the fate of him who loves, Yet dares not tell his trembling pain, But to the sympathetic groves, But to the lonely listening plain.

Oh! when she blesses next your shade, Oh! when her footsteps next are seen In flowery tracts along the mead, In fresher mazes o'er the green,

Ye gentle spirits of the vale, To whom the tears of love are dear, From dying lilies waft a gale, And sigh my sorrows in her ear.

Oh, tell her what she cannot blame, Though fear my tongue must ever bind; Oh, tell her that my virtuous flame Is as her spotless soul, refin'd.

Not her own guardian angel eyes With chaster tenderness his care, Not purer her own wishes rise, Not holier her own sighs in prayer.

But if, at first, her virgin fear Should start at love's suspected name, With that of friends.h.i.+p soothe her ear-- True love and friends.h.i.+p are the same.

--_William Somerville_

Faith

Better trust all, and be deceived, And weep that trust and that deceiving, Than doubt one heart that, if believed, Had bless'd one's life with true believing.

O, in this mocking world too fast The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth!

Better be cheated to the last Than lose the blessed hope of truth.

--_Frances Anne Kemble_

Memories

A beautiful and happy girl, With step as light as summer air, Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, Shadow'd by many a careless curl Of unconfined and flowing hair; A seeming child in everything, Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms, As Nature wears the smile of Spring When sinking into Summer's arms.

A mind rejoicing in the light Which melted through its graceful bower, Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright, And stainless in its holy white, Unfolding like a morning flower: A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute, With every breath of feeling woke, And, even when the tongue was mute, From eye and lip in music spoke.

--_John Greenleaf Whittier_

The Forest Maid

O fairest of the rural maids!