love poetry

If Fortune to thee treasures gave,
Each debt of mine thou'dst gladly pay,
And nothing for thyself would save
Nor deem thy bounty thrown away.

II

Cruel Eliza! would this ease
My burdens, or make me more free
When the wish only does increase
The debt of love I owe to thee?

Ah me! Take out of life the light of love —
And who would live that not deserved to die?
But while that boon is left us from above,
The soul finds heaven in one fair woman's eye.

My love's waitin',
Waitin' by the river,
Waitin' till I come along!
Wait there, child; I'm comin'.

Jay-bird tol' me,
Tol' me in the mornin',
Tol' me she'd be there tonight.
Wait there, child; I'm comin'.

Whip-po'-will tol' me,
Tol' me in the evenin',
" Down by the bend where the cat-tails grow. "
Wait there, child; I'm comin'.

I

A SK'ST thou " how long my love shall stay
When all that's new is past? "
How long? — Ah, Delia, can I say
How long my life will last?
Dry be that tear — be hush'd that sigh,
At least I'll love thee till I die.

II

And does that thought afflict thee too,
The thought of Damon's death?
That he who only lives for you,
Must yield his faithful breath?
Hush'd be that sigh — be dried that tear,

HEIGH-HO ! my thoughts are far away;
For wine or books I have no care;
I like to think upon the way
She has of looking very fair.
Oh, work is naught, and play is naught,
And all the livelong day is naught;
There's nothing much I care to learn
But what her lovely lips have taught.

The campus cannot tempt me out,
The classics cannot keep me in;
The only place I care about
Is where perchance she may have been.
Oh, work is naught, and play is naught,
And all the livelong day is naught;

IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH .

Lapt on Cythera's golden sands,
When first True Love was born on earth;
Long was the doubt what fost'ring hands
Should tend and rear the glorious birth.

First, Hebe claim'd the sweet employ:
Her cup, her thornless flowers, she said,
Would feed him best with health and joy,
And cradle best his cherub head.

But, anxious Venus justly fear'd
The tricks and changeful mind of youth,
Too mild the seraph Peace appear'd,
Too stern, too cold, the matron Truth.

ADDRESSED TO MR. BIGGS, ON HIS HAVING SET THE MAD-SONG ,
AND MY LOVE TO WAR IS GOING .

While from your taste my humble lays acquire
Attractive charms to them till now unknown,
My muse deceived exulting strikes her lyre,
And loves her strains for graces not their own.

Have I renounc't my faith, or basely sold
Salvation, and my loyalty for gold?
Have I some forreigne practice undertooke
By poyson, shott, sharp-knife, or sharper Booke
To kill my King? have I betrayd the State
To fire and fury, or some newer Fate,
Which learned Murderers, those Grand-Destinies,
The Jesuites, have nurc'd? if of all these
I guilty am, proceed; I am content
That Mallet take mee for my punishment.
For never sinne was of so high a rate,
But one nights hell with her might expiate.

Yes ,....sweet is the joy when our blushes impart
The youthful affection that glows in the heart,
If prudence, and duty, and reason approve
The timid delight of the virgin's first love.

But if the fond virgin be destined to feel
A passion she must in her bosom conceal,
Lest parents relentless the flame disapprove,....
Where's then the delight of the virgin's first love?

If stolen the glance by which love is exprest,
If sighs when half heaved be with terror supprest,
If whispers of passion suspicion must move,

A SONG .

Never , my loved one, never!
Never my head shall lie
At peace, at rest
On thy sweet breast;
Sorrowful life have I.

Never, my loved one, never!
My heart shall cease to sigh;
Vain is my prayer
As the empty air;
Sorrowful heart have I.

Never, my loved one, never!
Never my soul's sad cry
Thy dream shall break,