1819. Ever from their sordid urns unto the shore, Whose winds, all zephyrless, hold scourging rods, O for some sunny spell To dissipate the shadows of this hell! Say they are gone, with the new dawning light Steps forth my lady bright! O, let me once more rest My soul upon that dazzling breast! Let once again these aching arms be placed, The tender gaolers of thy waist! And let me feel that warm breath here and there, To spread a rapture in my very hair; O the sweetness of the pain! Give me those lips again! Enough! Enough! it is enough for me JOHN CLARE. 1793 [“Poems, Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery." 1820.] THE FIRST OF MAY. A BALLAD. FAIR blooms the rose upon the green, Pretending to excel; But who another rose has seen, A different tale can tell. The morning smiles, the lark's begun Be cloudless, skies! look out, bright sun, Though graceful round the maidens move, Soon shall they own my absent love Go, wake your shepherdess, ye lambs! Chide her neglect, ye hoarser dams! Ye happy swains, with each a bride, While slighted maids despaired and sighed, Dry up, ye dews! nor threatening hing, Ye birds! with double vigour sing, Welcome, sun! the dews are fled, The daisy nauntles up its head, Why waits my love so long? As flowrets fade, the pleasures bloom, The day steals on, and showers may come: What now, ye fearful, cringing sheep! What meets your wondering eyes? What makes you 'neath the maples creep, In homaging surprise? No ladies tread our humble green: Ah! welcome wonders, hail! I witness your mistaken queen Is Patty of the Vale. CHARLES WOLFE. 1791-1823. SONG. IF I had thought thou could'st have died, That thou could'st mortal be: And still upon that face I look, And think 't will smile again ; But when I speak, thou dost not say If thou would'st stay e'en as thou art, I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been! While e'en thy chill bleak corse I have, Thou seemest still mine own; |