CARELESS AND FAITHFUL
LOVE.

To sigh-yet feel no pain,
To weep-yet scarce know why,
To sport awhile with Beauty's chain,
Then throw it idly by:

To kneel at many a shrine,

Yet lay the heart on none;

To think all other charms divine,
But those we just have won:-
This is Love-careless Love,

Such as kindleth hearts that rove.

To keep one sacred flame

Through life, unchill'd, unmov'd;
To love in wintry age the same
That first in youth we lov'd;

To feel that we adore

With such refined excess,

That though the heart would break with

more,

We could not live with less ;

This is Love-faithful Love,

Such as saints might feel above.

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD

TO HIS LOVE.

COME live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, and hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountains yield.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidering all with leaves of myrtle:

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;

Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold:

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs ;-
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight, each May morning :
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

MARLOWE.

THE NYMPH'S REPLY

TO THE

PASSIONATE SHEPHERD'S INVITATION.

IF all the world and Love were young,
And truth on every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

Time drives the flock from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb,

And Age complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is Fancy's spring, but Sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe-in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs;
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.

But could youth last, and love still breed; Had joys no date, nor age no need;

Then these delights my mind might move, To live with thee, and be thy love.

RALEIGH.

VIOLETS.

I do love violets!

They tell the history of woman's love;
They open with the earliest breath of spring;
Lead a sweet life of perfume, dew and light,
And, if they perish, perish with a sigh
Delicious as that life. On the hot June

They shed no perfume; the flowers may remain

But the rich breathing of their leaves is

past.

The violet breath of love is purity.

LANDON.

LOVE IN ABSENCE.

OH! my dear peerless wife!

By the blue sky and all its crowded stars
I love you better-oh! far better than
Woman was ever loved. There's not an hour
Of day or dreaming night but I am with
thee: