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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.

CHIDE 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 breathing 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.

My humble love has learnt to live
On what the nicest maid,
Without a conscious blush, may give
Beneath the myrtle shade.

A LOVE SONG.

SEDLEY.

ARE other eyes beguiling, love?
Are other rose-lips smiling, love?
Ah, heed them not; you will not find
Lips more true, or eyes more kind,
Than mine, love.

Are other white arms wreathing, love? Are other forced sighs breathing, love? Ah, heed them not; but call to mind The arms, the sighs, you leave behindAll thine, love.

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