Farewell! my more than father land,
Home of my heart and friends adieu!
Lingering beside some foreign strand
How oft shall I remember you:
How often o'er the waters blue
Send back a sigh to those I leave,
The loving and beloved few
Who grieve for me — for whom I grieve.

We part! — no matter how we part —
There are some thoughts we utter not,
Deep treasured in our inmost hearts
Never revealed and ne'er forgot —
Why murmur at the common lot?
We part! — I speak not of the pain
But when shall I each lovely spot

Save that there may be one love-garnering breast
Will hold us unforgotten when we die,
From all the paths that most familiar lie
We shall be missed but few brief days at best.
Noteless as noiseless pass we to our rest;
Slip from the ear and tongue as from the eye.
Earth knows no break, no change to signify
Absence or loss; and Time and Nature, lest
In our behalf remonstrant they appear,
Make stealthy haste to blur and cover o'er
The stone's laborious lettering before
The yielding mound that settles year by year

You that unto your Mistresse eyes
Your hearts do sacrifice,
And offer sighs or tears at Loves rich shrine,
Renounce with me
Th'Idolatrie,
Nor this Infernal Power esteem divine.

The Brand, the Quiver, and the Bow,
Which we did first bestow,
And he as tribute wears from every Lover,
I back again
From him have ta'ne,
And the Impostor now unvail'd discover.

I can the feeble Child disarm,
Unty his mystick charm,
Devest him of his Wings, and break his Arrow;
We will obey
No more his sway,

Fair friend, 'tis true, your beauties move
My heart to a respect:
Too little to be paid with love,
Too great for your neglect.

I neither love, nor yet am free,
For though the flame I find
Be not intense in the degree,
'Tis on the purest kind.

It little wants of love, but pain,
Your beauty takes my sense,
And lest you should that price disdain,
My thoughts, too, feel the influence.

'Tis not a passion's first access
Ready to multiply,
But like love's calmest state it is
Possessed with victory.

1.

Madam, your beauty and your lovely parts
Would scarce admit poetick praise and Arts
As they are Loves most sharp and piercing darts;
Though, as again they only wound and kill
The more deprav'd affections of our will,
You claim a right to commendation still.

2.

For as you can unto that height refine
All Loves delights, as while they do incline
Unto no vice, they so become divine;
We may as well attain your excellence,

Lovely thing to see:, A
through the paper window's hole,
the Galaxy.

LOVE

An old Egyptian monarch, when his arms
Had girt the world, or what he knew thereof,
Wrote on his tomb, " All bow to woman's charms,
The greatest conquerer of the earth is Love. "

When Love flies in,
Make — make no sign;
Owl-soft his wings,
Sand-blind his eyne;
Sigh, if thou must,
But seal him thine.

Nor make no sign
If love flit out;
He'll tire of thee
Without a doubt.
Stifle thy pangs;
Thy heart resign;
And live without!

I strove with none for none was worth my strife;
Reason I loved, and next to reason, doubt;
I warmed both hands before the fire of life
And put it out.

Love is not blind. I see with single eye
Your ugliness and other women's grace.
I know the imperfection of your face, —
The eyes too wide apart, the brow too high
For beauty. Learned from earliest youth am I
In loveliness, and cannot so erase
Its letters from my mind, that I may trace
You faultless, I must love until I die.
More subtle is the sovereignty of love:
So am I caught that when I say, " Not fair, "
'Tis but as if I said, " Not here — not there —
Not risen — not writing letters. " Well I know