love poem

A Girl , on amorous follies bent,
From Oxford a Knight-errant went;
A Connoisseur in love-devices,
Though in her teens; — they call'd her Isis .
A Shepherd-youth, in mean attire,
Won the fair prize; and Fame's no liar.
Discretion frown'd; — but Nature smil'd,
And Miss grew thoroughly with child; —
The little Rake's adopted name
(For he had none at first) was Thame .
She took him with her on the journey,
Without a Parson or Attorney;

Light Courser! as the wing'd immortal steed
That Perseus bore, when for the naked charm
(That Love had promis'd the victorious arm)
He cleft the Monster — and the generous deed
Won Beauty's recompence! — or if the seed
Lives of Bucephalus , whose fierce alarm
Nor courage could oppose, nor skill disarm —
For him predestin'd, whom the Fates decreed
The World's commanding Spirit: — of that race,
But not so tam'd art thou — whose neck sublime,
And bounding feet, and flaming eye, display

Sweet looks! and gracious words! no more shall I
Your votary bend? — Ye golden tresses! bands
Of Love, whose chain my captive soul demands,
And leads me on, impatient of reply,
Till Death shall close the unavailing sigh! —
Celestial beauty, which these pious hands
Could ne'er propitiate, nor in distant lands
My heart could soften, or my verse could fly! —
Alluring smiles! — and Love's insidious hour
Of joy, that soothes me to betray, farewell!
No more I feel your vernal ray divine

When Love, who ruled as Admiral o'er
Has rosy mother's isles of light,
Was cruising off the Paphian shore,
A sail at sunset hove in sight.
" A chase, a chase! my Cupids all. "
Said Love, the little Admiral.

Aloft the winged sailors sprung,
And, swarming up the mast like bees,
The snow-white sails expanding flung,
Like broad magnolias to the breeze.
" Yo ho, yo ho, my Cupids all! "
Said Love, the little Admiral.

Ask not if still I love,
Too plain these eyes have told thee;
Too well their tears must prove
How near and dear I hold thee.
If, where the brightest shine,
To see no form but thine,
To feel that earth can show
No bliss above thee, —
If this be love, then know
That thus, that thus, I love thee.

'T is not in pleasure's idle hour
That thou canst know affection's power.
No, try its strength in grief or pain;
Attempt as now its bonds to sever,
Thou 'lt find true love 's a chain
That binds forever!

I give thee all — I can no more —
Tho' poor the offering be;
My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.
A lute whose gentle song reveals
The soul of love full well;
And, better far, a heart that feels
Much more than lute could tell.

Tho' love and song may fail, alas!
To keep life's clouds away,
At least 't will make them lighter pass,
Or gild them if they stay.
And even if Care at moments flings
A discord o'er life's happy strain,
Let Love but gently touch the strings,

When thou shalt wander by that sweet light
We used to gaze on so many an eve,
When love was new and hope was bright,
Ere I could doubt or thou deceive —
Oh, then, remembering how swift went by
Those hours of transport, even thou may'st sigh.

Yes, proud one! even thy heart may own
That love like ours was far too sweet
To be, like summer garments, thrown
Aside, when past the summer's heat;
And wish in vain to know again

'T is believed that this Harp, which I wake now for thee,
Was a Siren of old, who sung under the sea;
And who often, at eve, thro' the bright waters roved,
To meet, on the green shore, a youth whom she loved.

But she loved him in vain, for he left her to weep,
And in tears, all the night, her gold tresses to steep;
Till heaven looked with pity on true-love so warm,
And changed to this soft Harp the sea-maiden's form.

Still her bosom rose fair — still her cheeks smiled the same —

And are you then a thing of art,
Seducing all, and loving none;
And have I strove to gain a heart
Which every coxcomb thinks his own?

Tell me at once if this be true,
And I will calm my jealous breast;
Will learn to join the dangling crew,
And share your simpers with the rest.

But if your heart be not so free, —
Oh! if another share that heart,
Tell not the hateful tale to me,

Think on that look whose melting ray
For one sweet moment mixt with mine,
And for that moment seemed to say,
" I dare not, or I would be thine! "

Think on thy every smile and glance,
On all thou hast to charm and move;
And then forgive my bosom's trance,
Nor tell me it is sin to love.

Oh, not to love thee were the sin;
For sure, if Fate's decrees be done,
Thou, thou art destined still to win,