NE

may Love be compeld to maistery; Fo soone as maistery comes, sweet Love anone Taketh his nimble Winges, and soone away is gone.

TUMBLED with feare and awfull reverence,

H Before the footstoole of his Majestie

Throwe thyselfe downe, with trembling innocence,
Ne dare looke up with corruptible eye
On the dread face of that great Deity,

For feare, lest if he chance to look on thee,
Thou turne to nought, and quite confounded be.

O LOVE! thou sternly dost thy power maintain,
And wilt not bear a Rival in thy reign,
Tyrants and thee all fellowship disdain.

THEN vex'd by cares, and harass'd by distress, dread,

Let Love, consoling Love! still sweetly bless,

And his assuasive balm benignly shed:
His downy plumage o'er thy pillow spread,
Shall lull thy weeping Sorrows to repose;
To Love the tender heart hath ever fled,
As on its mother's breast the infant throws
Its sobbing face, and there in Sleep forgets its woes.

LOVE'S holy flame for ever burneth;

From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth:

Too oft on earth a troubled guest,

At times deceived, at times opprest,

It here is tried and purified,

Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest:
It soweth here with toil and care,

But the harvest-time of Love is there.

Love. - Pope.

happy state! when Souls each other draw,
When Love is liberty, and Nature law :
All then is full, possessing and possess'd,
No craving void left aching in the breast:

Ev'n Thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, And each warm wish springs mutual from the Heart.

0

H Nature! though blessed and bright are thy rays,
O'er the brow of Creation enchantingly thrown,

Yet faint are they all to the lustre, that plays

In a smile from the Heart that is dearly our own!

Love. - Mrs. Tighe.

O at the soft thrilling Voice whose power you prove,

H, you for whom I write! whose hearts can melt

You know what charm unutterably felt,
Attends the unexpected voice of Love;
Above the Lyre, the lute's soft notes above,

With sweet enchantment to the soul it steals,
And bears it to Elysium's happy grove;
You best can tell the rapture Psyche feels

When Love's ambrosial Lip the vows of Hymen seals.

IS soul is so enfetter'd to her Love,

H That she may nutke, unmake, do what she list,
Even as her appetite shall play the God
With his weak function.

who hath loved not, here would learn Love,

HAnd make his Heart a spirit, he who knows

That tender mystery, will love the more,

For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes,
And the world's waste, hath driven him far from those,

For 'tis his nature to advance or die;

He stands not still, but or decays, or grows

Into a boundless blessing, which may vie
With the Immortal lights, in its Eternity!

MAN, while he Loves, is never quite deprav'd,
And Woman's triumph is a Lover sav'd.

see thee every day that came,
And find thee every day the same,

In Pleasure's smile or Sorrow's tear
The same benign, consoling Dear!
To meet thee early, leave thee late,
Has been so long my bliss, my fate,
That Life without this cheering ray,
Which came, like Sunshine, every day,
And all my pain, my sorrow chas'd,
Is now a lone and loveless waste.
Lave. · Moore.

OVE was to his impassion'd soul

L Not, as with others, a mere part

Of its existence, but the whole-
The very Life Breath of his Heart!

In stoutest minds, and maketh monstrous Warre:
He maketh warre: he maketh Peace againe,
And yett his Peace is but continuall Jarre :
O miserable men that to him subject arre!

I what, while I could hear and see

and Heaven to me?

Though gross the air on Earth I drew,
'Twas blessed, while she breath'd it too;
Though dark the flowers, though dim the sky,
Love lent them Light, while she was nigh.

SHE is mine own;

And I as rich in having such a Jewel,

As twenty seas, if all their sand were Pearl,
The water Nectar, and the rocks pure Gold.
I will be master of what is mine own:

She is my Goods, my chattels; she is my house,
My Household-stuff, my field, my barn,

My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing;
And here she stands, touch her whoever daie:
I'll bring mine Action on the proudest he
That stops my way in Padua.

H! have you never known the silent charm
The undisturbed Retirement yields the soul,
Where no intruder might your peace alarm,
And Tenderness have wept without controul,
While melting Fondness o'er the bosom stole P
Did Fancy never, in some lonely grove,

Abridge the hours which must in absence roll?P
Those pensive Pleasures did you never prove,
Oh, you have never Loved! you know not what is Love!
Love. - Addison.

WHY dost thou frown upon me?

My Blood runs cold, my Heart forgets to heave,
And Life itself goes out at thy displeasure!
Lave. Moore.

'TWAS but for the impressions of many an hour:
Her eye had a glow, like the Sun of her clime,
Which wak'd every feeling at once into Flower!

WAS but for a moment-and yet in that time

So cheer'd he his fair spouse, and she was cheer'd,

But silently a gentle Tear let fall

From either eye, and wip'd them with her hair;
Two other precious drops that ready stood,
Each in their crystal sluice, he ere they fell
Kiss'd, as the gracious signs of sweet Remorse
And pious awe, that fear'd to have offended.

Uninjuring, uninjur'd, Lovers move
In their own sphere of happiness confest,
By mutual Truth avoiding mutual blame.

borrow'd:

LOVE is a child that talks in broken Language,
Yet then he speaks most plain.

Love of the World. — Clarendon.

HEY take very unprofitable pains who endeavour to

this World and all that is in it, even whilst they them

selves live here: God hath not taken all that pains in forming and framing and furnishing and adorning this World, that they who were made by Him to live in it should despise it; it will be well enough if they do not love it so immoderately, to prefer it before Him who made it. Love of Country. Shakespeare.

HIS regal Throne of Kings, this scepter'd Isle,
This Earth of Majesty, this seat of Mars,

This other Eden, demi-paradise;

This Fortress, built by Nature for herself,
Against infection, and the hand of war;
This Happy breed of men, this little world;
This precious Stone set in the Silver Sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;

This blessed plot, this Earth, this Realm, this England,
Dear for her Reputation through the world.

Self-Love. Shakespeare.

IN of Self-love possesseth all mine eye,

S And all my Soul, and all my every part;

And for this sin there is no remedy,
It was so grounded inward in my Heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no Truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd Antiquity,
Mine own Self-love quite contrary I read,
Self so Self-loving were Iniquity.

W his bounds,
E too are friends to Loyalty. We love

And reigns content within them. Him we serve
Freely and with delight, who leaves us free.

But recollecting still that he is Man,

We trust him not too far.

THE flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with Grace, For there it revels, and when that decays,

The guilty Rebel for remission prays.