Dearest love, do you remember,
When we last did meet,
How you told me that you loved me,
Kneeling at my feet?
Oh! How proud you stood before me
In your suit of blue,
When you vowed to me and country,
Ever to be true.

Chorus

Weeping, sad and lonely,
Hopes and fears how vain!
When this cruel war is over,
Praying that we meet again!

When the summer breeze is sighing,
Mournfully along,
Or when autumn leaves are falling,
Sadly breathes the song.
Oft in dreams I see thee lying,

To the Printer of the Chester Courant

Dear object of my love, whose pow'rful charms
With bliss ecstatic filled my clinging arms!
That bliss is past; and nought for me remains,
But foul reproach, and never-pitied pains!
For (nature baffling ev'ry art I tried)
My sister has my waxing waist descried,
And brands me oft with each opprobious name,
Though the crack's conscious she deserves the same:
Her loose associate, sated, from her flies,
And oft, though vainly, to seduce me tries;
True as a wife, I only want the name;

TO
[Mrs. M. R.]
COUNCEL
CONCERNING HER
CHOISE.

Dear, heavn-designed Soul !
Amongst the rest
Of suters that beseige your Maiden brest,
Why may not I
My fortune try
And venture to speak one good word
Not for my self alas, but for my dearer L ORD ?
You'ave seen allready, in this lower sphear
Of froth and bubbles, what to look for here.

Dear Fronto, famed alike in peace and war,
If you would learn what my chief wishes are,
Know that I crave some acres few to till,
And live at ease as careless as I will.
Why should I always trudge the stony street
And go each morn some haughty lord to greet,
When all the country's spoils are mine to get
Caught in the meshes of a hunting-net?
When I with line could snare the leaping trout
And from the hive press golden honey out,
While Joan my humble board with eggs supplies
Boiled on a fire whose logs she never buys?

D ANTE , a sigh that rose from the heart's core
Assailed me, while I slumbered, suddenly:
So that I woke o' the instant, fearing sore
Lest it came thither in Love's company:
Till, turning, I beheld the servitor
Of Lady Lagia: " Help me," so said he,
" O help me, Pity." Though he said no more,
So much of Pity's essence entered me,
That I was ware of Love, those shafts he wields
A-whetting, and preferred the mourner's quest
To him, who straightway answered on this wise:
" Go tell my servant that the lady yields,

Daily walked the fair and lovely
Sultan's daughter in the twilight, —
In the twilight by the fountain,
Where the sparkling waters plash.

Daily stood the young slave silent
In the twilight by the fountain,
Where the plashing waters sparkle,
Pale and paler every day.

Once by twilight came the princess
Up to him with rapid questions:
" I would know thy name, thy nation,
Whence thou comest, who thou art. "

And the young slave said, " My name is
Mahomet, I come from Yemmen.
I am of the sons of Azra,

(Song)

I

The curtains now are drawn,
And the spindrift strikes the glass,
Blown up the jagged pass
By the surly salt sou'-west,
And the sneering glare is gone
Behind the yonder crest,

There is a love that tumbles like a stream,
Frothing and foaming down a budded way;
There is a love like ocean depths that move
Hidden, eternal — winter as in May.

There is a love that stumbles through its lines
Trying to say what love can never say;
There is another — patient, tender, strong
Serving and blessing till the close of day.

Conceit begotten by the eyes
Is quickly born, and quickly dies,
For while it seeks our hearts to have,
Meanwhile there reason makes his grave;
For many things the eyes approve,
Which yet the heart doth seldom love.

For as the seeds in springtime sown
Die in the ground ere they be grown,
Such is conceit, whose rooting fails,
As child that in the cradle quails,
Or else within the mother's womb
Hath his beginning, and his tomb.

Affection follows Fortune's wheels,
And soon is shaken from her heels;

Come now, and let us wake them: time
It is that they arise!
But gently to the window climb,
Where love with love together sleeping lies.

I heard a gently flowing river:
Methought it was the Rhine.
And at her window, with his quiver,
Stood Cupid shooting at a love of mine.

I brake three lilies from their stem,
And in at the window threw:
Sleeping or waking, cherish them;
And rise, sweet love, and let me in to you.

" How would it be, were I asleep,
And could not let you in?
For I am lying now so deep