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Not the soft gold which
Steals from the amber-weeping tree,
As the drops distill’d from thee:
In her bright majesty,
Then is she dress’d by none but thee,
When they red with weeping are
Sits Sorrow with a face so fair:
I NEVER YET COULD SEE THAT FACE.
ABRAHAM COWLEY, born 1618, died 1667.
I NEVER yet could see that face
Which had no dart for me ;
They all victorious be.
Goodness, or wit, in all I find ;
If all fail, yet ’tis womankind.
If fair, she's pleasant as the light;
If black, what lover loves not night ?
The lean, with love makes me too so ;
To me, if crooked, 'tis his bow.
Thus with unwearied wings I flee
Through all love's garden and his fields,
No weed, but honey to me yields.
song is an abridgement of a poem in Cowley's “Mistress," from which several incongruous stanzas and parts of stanzas have been judiciously omitted by the musical composer.
ALEXANDER BROME, born 1620, died 1666.
TELL me not of a face that's fair,
Nor lip and cheek that's red, Nor of the tresses of her hair,
Nor curls in order laid ; Nor of a rare seraphic voice,
That like an angel sings ; Though if I were to take my choice,
I would h ve all these things. But if that th. u wilt have me love,
And it ri.ust be a she ; The only argument can move
Is, that she will love me.
The glories of your ladies be
But metaphors of things, And but resemble what we see
Each common object brings. Roses out-red their lips and cheeks,
Lilies their whiteness stain : What fool is he that shadow seeks,
And may the substance gain? Then if thou’lt have me love a lass,
Let it loe one that's kind, Else I'm a servant to the glass,
That's with canary lined.
AH! HOW SWEET.
John Dryden, born 1631, died 1701.
Ah! how sweet it is to love.
desire. And what pleasing pains we prove
When we first approach love's fire Pains of love are sweeter far Than all other pleasures are.
Sighs which are from lovers blown
Do but gently heave the heart :
Cure like trickling balm, their smart.
Treat them like a parting friend ;
Which in youth sincere they send :
Swells in every youthful vein ;
Till they quite shrink in again.
The concluding lines of the first stanza, though possibly unknown to Robert Burns, l'esemble very closely his much admired lines
“Tis better for thee despairing,
Than aught in the world beside, Jessie."
FAIR, SWEET, AND YOUNG.
FAIR, sweet, and young, receive a prize
No graces can your form improve,
YE HAPPY SWAINS.
Sir George ETHerege, born about 1536, died 1683.
YE happy swains, whose hearts are free
From love's imperial chain,
To avoid the enchanting pain ;
Fierce winds to blossoms prove,
To human quiet, love.
The snake's beneath the flower ;
That tasted quiet more?
How tant is their care!
The cruel with despair.
CEASE ANXIOUS WORLD.
SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE.
CEASE anxious world, your fruitless pain,
To grasp forbidden store ;
Your alchemy unblest ;
Are ripen'd in my breast.