I.

In former times, dear Wit was whirl'd
Through azure clouds above,
To take a trip all round the world,
And try and find out Love.
From his light home as he came forth,
In chariot and a pair,
Says he, " I'll drive towards the North,
" And see if Love be there. "

II.

But soon the North he left in ire,
And said, " Those heaps I see
" Of drifted snow, would chill Love's fire,

Quoth an inquirer, " Praise the Merciful!
My thumb which yesterday a scorpion nipped —
(It swelled and blackened) — lo, is sound again!
By application of a virtuous root
The burning has abated: that is well:
But now methinks I have a mind to ask, —
Since this discomfort came of culling herbs
Nor meaning harm, — why needs a scorpion be?
Yea, there began, from when my thumb last throbbed,
Advance in question framing, till I asked
Wherefore should any evil hap to man —
From ache of flesh to agony of soul —

I.

I dreamt Love lay in a rose-bud's breast,
And Hope plac'd the plant in the sun's bright ray;
When awoke by the beam on his place of rest,
Love rose like a zephyr, and flew away.
Now Wisdom, it chanc'd, a garden had,
And Love, all carelessly, wander'd there,
Crushing each flowret bright and glad,
That loaded with perfume the fragrant air.

II.

Wisdom, the boy caught up in her hand,

I.

As Love and Folly rambled on
O'er many a mount and garden gay,
Time's brightest hours still flew on,
And noon and twilight pass'd away; —
The night came down — Love loudly knock'd
At Wisdom's gate, who from within
Exclaim'd, " My doors are safely lock'd,
" And Love and Folly can't get in. "

II.

Love came to me, and told his tale,
And I resolv'd, beyond all doubt,

( " S'il est un charmant gazon. " )

If there be a velvet sward
By dewdrops pearly drest,
Where through all seasons fairies guard
Flowers by bees carest,
Where one may gather, day and night,
Roses, honeysuckle, lily white,
I fain would make of it a site
For thy foot to rest.

If there be a loving heart

" The Sea! The Sea! " loud shout ten thousand men,
Dark Persia's weary sands they heed no more,
But down the steep to where the surges roar,
In weeping crowds they rush past Xenophon.
Love's sharp cry thrilled them to the ocean, when
The waves — that oft perchance had lapped before
In caves soft murmuring on the Attic shore
— Sobbed in the hearts of Attic exiles then.

So with Life's serried ranks I struggle through
The sterile wilderness of things that be
Till clear in front lies Death's unfathomed blue,

A friend of mine, a friend of old,
Sends unto me apples of gold.
Fair is love!

Even unto me now this my friend
Apples, apples of gold doth send.
Fair is love!

Apples of gold he sends amain,
The best of them was split in twain.
Fair is love!

FROM APOLLONIUS RHODIUS, B.III.V.743 .

╬ؤà ╬╝╬Á╬¢ ╬Á¤Ç╬Á╬╣¤ä ╬Á¤Ç╬╣ ╬│╬▒╬╣╬▒¤à ╬▒╬│╬Á¤à ¤ç¤à╬Á¤å╬▒╬Â, &c

Now rising shades a solemn gloom display
O'er the wide earth, and o'er th' ethereal way;
All night the sailor marks the Northern Team,
And golden circlet of Orion's beam;
A deep repose the weary wand'rer shares,
And the faint watchman sleeps away his cares;
E'en the fond mother, while all breathless lies
Her child of love, in slumber seals her eyes:
No found of village-dog, no noise, invades

Grey dawn — and lucent star that slowly paled
Amid the breaking splendour of the years,
When boyhood's heart looked up to Heaven, through tears
Of joy, to see the glory of God unveiled:
High noon — and bridal earth, whose footsteps failed
For very love, when passionate hopes and fears
Dazzled the flowers, made music in the ears,
And through the tranced wood their rapture trailed.

Calm eventide — afar the lonely west
Dreams of the wondrous day, and dreaming, lies
With folded hands, still lips, and weary eyes

AN ODE .

Love is a noble, rich repast,
But seldom should the lover taste;
When the kind fair no more restrains,
The glutton surfeits and disdains.

To move the nymph he tears bestows;
He vainly sighs, he falsely vows:
The tears deceive, the vows betray;
He conquers, and contemns the prey.

Thus Ammon's son with fierce delight
Smil'd at the terrors of the fight;
The thoughts of conquest charm'd his eyes;
He conquer'd, and he wept the prize.

Love, like a prospect, with delight