Some onely for disporte, a kinde of myrth doth rayse,
For which of some they finde dislyke, of some they purchase prayse.
The Tale that some clowte vp, with rude vnciuill sence,
Doth more delight the eares of some, then sweetest eloquence.
The Foole sometimes doth please, when wise aside are shake,
Then true it is that euery thing, is as men liste it take.

Who hath by knowledge skyll, of euery foote the length,
Or can he always hit the marke, it drawes the greatest strength?

A most sweet vision holds my spirit now,
And Music adds its magic (for before
My dreams were silent as a moonless shore
At midnight, or a vessel's midnight prow).
Over a woman's stately marble brow
A pure cascade of coal-black hair doth pour: —
The black-brown tresses that I loved of yore,
Darkened by contrast of her body of snow.

Ah! lady, goddess, is it not enough
To overcome me with thy body of white
Surrounded with that mist of tresses black,
As the moon rides serene upon the rough
Dark breakers of invulnerable night? —

I like not grapes that still are green,
I like not grapes that pressed have been,
And so I would not choose to woo
Widow Glum or Maiden Prue.
Compassion suits the widowed dame,
Respect is due to virgin shame:
My wife a beauty ripe shall be
To tread the courts of Love with me.

The valiant minde, by venture gaines the Goale,
Whyles fearefull wightes in doubt doe blow the coale.

I wander ever onward, weak and weary:—
At times there comes a great desire for rest:
The days are sad, the nights are dark and dreary;
I long to sink into my love's soft breast,
My home, my abiding place, my snowy nest,—
I long to run and hide my head therein,
My face all scarred and marred with shame and sin,—
And yet she loves me! why, she knoweth best.

My sweet, my life, my all, my golden treasure,
My bower of buds and blossoms of delight,
What joy for us, what pale pursuit of pleasure,

Each rain-shower is an evidence to the air
Of the relief of heaven, and each storm
Of sobs the pressure of God's bosom warm,—
A token sent our spirits to prepare
For a closer tenderness, a joy more rare,
A weeping purer and more clear and sweet,
Deliverance after yet more fervent heat,
A trouble greater than our souls could bear.

Just as a husband weeps upon the breast
Of his wife, and in that holy shower of rain
The thunder-clouds and copper skies of pain
Expand, and sob their terror into rest,

I.

I look upon the changing leaves,
Their lights and shades I view,
As every lessening bough receives
A sweetly-varied hue:
My heart, ev'n while admiring, grieves,
And turns from them to YOU !

II.

Unto those leaves I liken thee,
For thou, like them, canst boast —
Yet in more bountiful degree,
Of charms a varying host,
So sweet and changeable, that we

I.

When the world shall condemn,
And friends shall forsake me,
Still heedless of them,
To thy heart wilt thou take me?
When the clouds of disgrace
Are lowering around me,
Will thy fond memory trace
How pure thy love found me?

II.

When life's pangs are past,
And this wild dream is over,
And dust shall be cast
On the corse of thy lover —
As thou pray'st for my rest,

I pay a sorrowful tribute to the sun
Of genius overcast, and downward hurled, —
Its flag no sooner hoisted than 'twas furled,
Its flame no sooner kindled than 'twas done,
Its race no sooner started than 'twas run,
And love no sooner tasted than 'twas sour,
And fruit of beauty faded with the flower,
Great things attempted, yet how little won.

A poor pale finger-post he seems to stand,
Saying to men that follow in his wake,
" In front of me there lies a lonely land.
One of two courses, brothers, you must take:

( " Il est des jours abjects. " )

Foul times there are, when nations spiritless
Throw honour away
For tinsel glory; to base happiness
A mournful prey.

Then from the nations, fain of lustful rest,
Dull slavery's dreams,
All virtue ebbs, as from a sponge tight-pressed
Clear water streams.

Then men, to vice and folly docile slaves,
Aye lowly-inclined,
Ape the vile fearful reed that stoops and waves