SERENADE TO SYLVIA. 109 SERENADE TO SYLVIA. WHO is Sylvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heavens such grace did lend her, That she might admiréd be. Is she kind, as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness; Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being helped, inhabits there. Then to Sylvia let us sing, W. Shakespeare. ΙΙΟ SERENADE TO JULIA. SERENADE TO JULIA. HER eyes the glow-worm lend thee, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee! No Will-o'-the-wisp mislight thee, Not making a stay, Since ghost there is none to affright thee. Let not the dark thee cumber; The stars of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear without number. Then Julia let me woo thee, Thy silvery feet, My soul I'll pour into thee. R. Herrick. THE LOVER TO THE GLOW-WORMS. III THE LOVER TO THE GLOW-WORMS. YE living lamps! by whose dear light And, studying all the summer night, Ye country comets! that portend Than to presage the grass's fall! Ye glow-worms, whose officious flame Your courteous lights in vain you waste, For she my mind hath so displaced, A. Mar 112 TO ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA. TO ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA. You meaner beauties of the night, Ye violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known As if the spring were all your own,- Ye curious chanters of the wood That warble forth dame Nature's lays, By your weak accents; what's your praise So when my Mistress shall be seen Sir H. Wotton. THE ROSES IN CASTARA'S BOSOM. 113 THE ROSES IN CASTARA'S BOSOM. YE blushing virgins happy are Transplanted thus, how bright ye grow! In those white cloisters live secure Then that which living gave you room, William Habington. Elder Poets. 8 |