Giue me the equall friend, for greater state
Will euer grudge the wante of lowe degree,
And eke the meane repine at welthier mate,
Thus enuy breakes what friendship did decree.
By iuste agreeing porte no iarre doth grow,
Where wealth ne wante denies the friendly show.

( " Le lion dort, seul sous sa voate. " )

Deep in his cave the lion rests;
Enthralled by that prodigious slumber
The sultry midday sun invests
With fiery visions without number.

The deserts list awhile with dread,
Then freelier breathe; their tyrant's home.
For the lone tracts quake 'neath his tread
What time this mighty one doth roam.

His hot breath heaves his tawny hide;
In darkness steeped is his red eye;

What has been, is . I have lost my rose, and yet
I know that, if a rose-bloom God there be,
That rose of his sweet nurture I shall see
And with the former love my lids be wet, —
And that the wings of passion-fed regret
Shall part, and glisten into air, and flee; —
And that she shall be tender unto me,
And that these eyes shall meet the eyes I met
On that far seashore in the sweet old days

The strange relief to God when he at last
Touches the walls of empery supreme!
When no stars glitter through a golden dream
But God thanks God that he has made the past.
The giant rest to God when through the vast
No more white clouds with wings unearthly gleam:
When no more moons or suns or comets stream
Before his gaze half loving, half aghast.

To touch the walls of his own empire: — Rest
Eternal to the heart that moulded all.
To sleep at last within his golden hall,
Pillowed on some divinely loving breast:

" THE rose-tree longs for its beautiful rose,
And sighs till its bloom is there:
So life will never attain repose
Till love its exquisite blossom blows
In the beautiful scented air. "
These dream-sweet words from a poet's page
A girl to her mother read;
And the young girl smiled, while the eyes of age
Watched softly the fair gold head.

But the mother's eyes were dim with tears,
While the daughter's eyes were gay;
For the mother thought of the long-past years,
And of dead sweet hopes, and of sighs and fears,

Sumtyme to court I did repair,
Thairin sum errands for to dres;
Thinkand I had sum freindis thair
To help fordwart my beseynes.
Bot, not the les,
I fand nathing bot doubilnes.
Auld kyndnes helpis not ane hair.

To ane grit court-man I did speir;
That I trowit my friend had bene,
Becaus we war of kyn sa neir;
To him my mater I did mene.
Bot, with disdene,
He fled as I had done him tene;
And wald not byd my teill to heir.

I wend that he, in word and deid,
For me, his kynsman, sould have wrocht.

" O SISTER , " the white rose said to the red,
" Could only my face be as bright as thine!
I am pale. Could I only be pink instead,
I would lift to the sunlight my beautiful head,
And never be weary, or weep, or pine! "

" O sister, " the red rose said to the white,
" Could only my face be as pale as thine!
I am doomed to be gathered to-night, to-night, —
I shall faint at a ball in the hot gas-light,
While you will be glad in the cool moonshine. "

" Ah! sister, " the white rose sighed to the red,

Great swelling floodes are soone dried vp,
with meaner calmes I see:
And mightie Frostes, with gentle heate
are woont dissolude to bee.
The darkest clowdes in th'ayre tost,
depart with no great winde:
Yet can the tempest of my care,
no quyet harbor finde.

What is the whisper of the leaves
Round ruined turrets reddening fast,
Or nestling under cottage-eaves
While autumn winds go sighing past?
“Life is sorrow,” they whisper,
“Life is only a dream:
The sky seemed blue, but it was not true;
The sky is as grey as the stream!”

What is the whisper of the heart
When love and life have ceased to please,
When passion's fairy dreams depart
And cold winds rustle through the trees?
“Life is trouble,” it whispers,
“Trouble and wild despair

Sum of the poyets, and makars, that ar now,
Of grit despyte, and malice, ar sa fow,
That all lesingis, that can be inventit,
Thai put in writ, and garris thame be prentit;
To gar the peple ill opinioun taik
Of thame, quhom of that thai thair ballats maik.
With sclanderous words thai do all thing thai can
For to defame mony gude honest man,
In setting furthe thair buikis, and thair rymes,
Accusand sum of improbabil crymes.
And, thoch that sum thair lybells does allow,
Yit few [ar] that will thair awin warks avow.