RICHARD LOVELACE. SONNET. WHEN love, with unconfined wings, Hovers within my gates; And my divine Althea brings To whisper at my grates; When flowing cups run swiftly round, Our careless heads with roses crown'd, When thirsty grief in wine we steep, Fishes, that tipple in the deep, When linnet like confined, I With shriller note shall sing, The mercy, sweetness, majesty When I shall voice aloud how good Th' enlarged winds that curl the flood Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage, That for a hermitage. If I have freedom in my love, SONG. WHY dost thou say I am forsworn, Since thine I vow'd to be? Lady, it is already morn; It was last night I swore to thee Yet have I lov'd thee well, and long; SONG. AMARANTHA, sweet and fair, Ah! braid no more that shining hair; As my curious hand or eye Hovering round thee, let it fly. Let it fly as unconfin'd As its calm ravisher the wind; Do not then bind up that light E. SHERBURNE. EXTRACT From the Sun-rise; a Poem. THOU youthful goddess of the morn, Too much of time the night devours, With what enamel thou dost paint the skies. Ah, now I see the sweetest dawn! Dull silence, and the drowsy king But all those little birds, whose notes With holy reverence inspir'd, The humble shepherd, to his rays A kiss commended to the rose, Whispers some amorous story in her ear. The remainder of this poem would now be thought forced and unnatural. SIR ROBERT HOWARD. SONG To the inconstant Cynthia. N thy fair breast, and once fair soul, I thought my vows were writ alone: But others' oaths so blurred the scroll, That I no more could read my own. And am I still oblig'd to pay When you had thrown the bond away? Nor must we only part in joy, Our tears as well must be unkind; Weep you, that could such truth destroy, And I that did such falseness find. Thus we must unconcern'd remain In our divided joys and pain. Yet we may love, but on this different score, You what I am, I what you were before. THE RESOLUTION. No, Cynthia, never think I can Love a divided heart and mind; None but the duller Persians kneel, Though I resolve to love no more, Since I did once, I will advise : The love of conquests now give o'er; Disquiets wait on victories. |