You pleasant floury meade
Which I did once well love
Your pathes no more I'le tread
Your pleasures noe more prove
Your beauty more admire
Your coulers more adore
Nor gras with daintiest store
Of sweets to breed desire;

Walks once soe sought for now
I shunn you for the darcke,
Birds to whose song did bow
My eares your notes nere mark;
Brooke which soe pleasing was
Upon whose banks I lay,
And on my pipe did play
Now, unreguarded pass;

Meadowes, pathes, grass, flouers
Walkes, birds, brooke, truly finde

Love, and Reason once att warr
Jove came downe to end the jarr;
Cupid said love must have place
Reason that itt was his grace.

Jove then brought itt to this end:
Reason should on love attend
Love takes reason for his guid
Reason can nott from love slide.

This agreed, they pleasd did part
Reason ruling Cupids dart
Soe as sure love can nott miss
Since that reason ruler is.

Love thy powerfull hand withdraw,
All doe yeeld unto thy law;
Rebells now thy subjects bee,
Bound they are who late were free,
Most confess thy power, and might,
All harts yeeld unto thy right;
Thoughts directed ar by thee,
Souls doe strive thy joys to see;
Pitty then, and mercy give
Unto them wher you doe live;
They your images doe prove,
In them may you see great love;
They your mirours, you theyr eye
By which they true love doe spy.
Cease awhile theyr cruell smarts
And beehold theyr yeelding harts;
Greater glory 'tis to save

O, THE LOVELY RIVERS and lakes of Maine!
I am charmed with their names, as my song will explain;
Aboriginal muses inspire my strain,
While I sing the bright rivers and lakes of Maine—
From Cupsuptic to Cheputmatticook,
From Sagadahock to Pohenegamook—
'gamook, 'gamook,
Pohenegamook,
From Sagadahock to Pohenegamook.

For light serenading the “Blue Moselle,”
“Bonnie Doon” and “Sweet Avon” may do very well;
But the rivers of Maine, in their wild solitudes,
Bring a thunderous sound from the depth of the woods:
The Aroostook and Chimmenticook,

Some love is light and fleets away,
Heigho! the Wind and Rain;
Some love is deep and scorns decay,
Ah, well-a-day! in vain.

Of loyal love I sing this lay,
Heigho! the Wind and Rain;
'Tis of a knight and lady gay,
Ah! well-a-day! bright twain.

He loved her—heart loved ne'er so well,
Heigho! the Wind and Rain;
She was a cold and proud damsel,
Ah, well-a-day! and vain.

He loved her—oh, he loved her long,
Heigho! the Wind and Rain;
But she for love gave bitter wrong,
Ah, well-a-day! Disdain!

Where is that Learned Wretch that knows
What are those Darts the Veyl'd God throws?
O let him tell me ere I dye
When 'twas he saw or heard them fly;
Whether the Sparrows Plumes, or Doves,
Wing them for various Loves;
And whether Gold, or Lead,
Quicken, or dull the Head:
I will annoint and keep them warm,
And make the Weapons heale the Harm.

Fond that I am to aske! who ere
Did yet see thought? or Silence hear?
Safe from the search of humane Eye
These Arrows (as their waies are) flie:
The Flights of Angels part

Ere Love from barren Chaos drew the skies,
Piercing its womb that hid the light of day,
Beneath primæval earth's and water's sway
The shapeless Heavens lay whelmed, in dark disguise.

Even so my sluggish soul, too dull to rise,
Within this body's gross and heavy clay
Without or form or feature shapeless lay
Until Love's arrow pierced it from your eyes.

Love brought me life and power and truth and light,
Made pure my inmost heart through his control,
And shaped my being to a perfect whole.

He warms my veins, he lights my thought, his flight

To one full sound and silently
That slept, there came a heavy cry,
‘Awake, arise! for thou hast slain
A man.’ ‘Yea, have I to mine own pain,’

He answer'd; ‘but of ill intent
And malice am I, that naught forecast,
As is the babe innocent.
From sudden anger our strife grew:
I hated not, in times past,
Him whom unwittingly I slew.’

‘If it be thus indeed, thy case
Is hard,’ they said; ‘for thou must die,
Unless with the Judge thou canst find grace.
Hast thou, in thine extremity,
Friends soothfast for thee to plead?’

Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind
Against the perfect flowers: thy garden's close
Is grown a wilderness, where none shall find
One strayed, last petal of one last year's rose.

O bright, bright hair! O mouth like a ripe fruit!
Can famine be so nigh to harvesting?
Love, that was songful, with a broken lute
In grass of graveyards goeth murmuring.

Let the wind blow against the perfect flowers,
And all thy garden change and glow with spring:
Love is grown blind with no more count of hours
Nor part in seed-time nor in harvesting.

Lassie I love thee
The heavens above thee
Look downwards to move thee
And prove my love true
My arms round thy waist love
My head on thy breast love
By a true man cares[s]t love
Ne'er bid me adieu

Thy cheeks full o' blushes
Like the rose in the bushes
In a love stream it gushes
With over delight
Though clouds may come o'er thee
Sweet maid I'll adore thee
As I do now before thee
I Love thee outright

It stings me to madness
To see thee all gladness
While I'm full o sadness
Thy meaning to guess
Thy gown is deep blue love