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Then sit thou safely on my knee, And let thy bower my bosom be; 0, Cupid, so thou pity me,

I will not wish to part from thee.

LODGE.

A YEAR AGO.

A YEAR ago, a year ago,

I thought my heart so cold and still, That Love it never more could know :

That withering Time, and Sorrow's chill,
Had frozen all its earlier glow;
A year ago, a year ago,

I said “I ne'er shall love again "-
But I had not seen Thee then!

A year ago, a year ago,

My soul was wrapt in grief and gloom, And sighs would swell, and tears would flow,

As, bending o'er the lost one's tomb,
I thought of her who slept below!
A year ago, a year ago,

I felt I ne'er could love again-
But I had not known Thee then !

A year ago, a year ago,

All vain were Beauty's witching wiles, And eye of light, and breast of snow,

And raven tress, and lip of smiles,
They could not chase a rooted woe!
A year ago, a year ago,

I never wished to love again-
But I had not kiss'd Thee then!

LORD STRANGFORD.

LOVE'S EXCUSE FOR SADNESS.

Cuide not belov'd, if oft with thee

I feel not rapture wholly;
For aye the heart that's fill’d with love

Runs o'er in melancholy.
To streams that glide in noon, the shade

From summer skies is given ;
So, if my breast reflects the cloud,

'Tis but the cloud of heaven!

Thine image glass'd within my soul,

So well the mirror keepeth;
That chide me not, if with the light

The shadow also sleepeth.

BULWER.

THE SHEPHEARD TO THE

FLOWERS.

Sweet violets, Love's paradise, that spread Your gracious odours, which you couched

beare Within your palie faces, Upon the gentle wing of some calme breath

ing winde That playes amidst the plaine, If by the favour of propitious starres you

gaine Such grace as in my ladie's bosom place to

find, Be proud to touch those places ! And when her warmth your moysture

forth doth weare,

Whereby her daintie parts are sweetly fed, Your honours of the flowrie meades, I pray, You pretty daughters of the earth and

sunne, With milde and seemely breathing straite

display My bitter sighs, that have my hart undone!

Vermillion roses, that with new dayes rise Display your crimson fold, fresh looking,

faire, Whose radiant bright disgraces The rich adorned rayes of roseate-rising

morn! Ah! if her virgin's hand Do pluck your purse, ere Phoebus view the

land, And vaile your gracious pomp in lovely

Nature's scorn, If chaunce my mistress traces Fast by your flowers to take the Sommer's

ayre, Then wofull blushing tempt her glorious

eyes To spread their teares, Adonis' death report

And tell Love's torments, sorrowing for

her friend, Whose drops of bloud withén your leaves

consorting, Report fair Venus' moanes to have no end, Then may Remorse, in pittying of my smart, Drie up my teares, and dwell within her hart!

RALEIGH.

DISINTERESTED LOVE.

PHILLIS, men say that all my vows

Are to thy fortune paid; Alas! my heart he little knows

Who thinks my love a trade.

Were I, of all these woods, the lord,

One berry from thy hand More real pleasure would afford,

Than all my large command.

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