VII.

LOVE'S POWER.

THE MIGHT OF ONE FAIR FACE.

THE might of one fair face sublimes my love,
For it hath weaned my heart from low desires;
Nor death I heed, nor purgatorial fires.
Thy beauty, antepast of joys above,

Instructs me in the bliss that saints approve;
For O, how good, how beautiful, must be
The God that made so good a thing as thee,
So fair an image of the heavenly Dove!
Forgive me if I cannot turn away

From those sweet eyes that are my earthly heaven,

For they are guiding stars, benignly given
To tempt my footsteps to the upward way;
And if I dwell too fondly in thy sight,
I live and love in God's peculiar light.

From the Italian of MICHAEL ANGELO.
Translation of J. E. TAYLOR.

MY TRUE-LOVE HATH MY HEART.

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one to the other given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,

There never was a better bargain driven:
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.

His heart in me keeps him and me in one;

My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own; I cherish his because in me it bides: My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

WERE I AS BASE AS IS THE LOWLY PLAIN.

WERE I as base as is the lowly plain,

And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,
Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain
Ascend to heaven, in honor of my Love.

Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
And you, my Love, as humble and as low
As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
Wheresoe'er you were, with you my love should
go.

Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
My love should shine on you like to the sun,

And look upon you with ten thousand eyes

Till heaven waxed blind, and till the world were

done.

Wheresoe'er I am, below, or else above you,

Wheresoe'er you are, my heart shall truly love

you.

JOSHUA SYLVESTER.

WHEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET
SKIES.

WHEN stars are in the quiet skies,

Then most I pine for thee;

Bend on me then thy tender eyes,

As stars look on the sea!

For thoughts, like waves that glide by night,
Are stillest when they shine;

Mine earthly love lies hushed in light

Beneath the heaven of thine.

There is an hour when angels keep

Familiar watch o'er men,

When coarser souls are wrapped in sleep—
Sweet spirit, meet me then!
There is an hour when holy dreams

Through slumber fairest glide;
And in that mystic hour it seems
Thou shouldst be by my side.

My thoughts of thee too sacred are
For daylight's common beam:

I can but know thee as my star,
My angel and my dream;
When stars are in the quiet skies,
Then most I pine for thee;

Bend on me then thy tender eyes,

As stars look on the sea!

EDWARD, LORD LYTTON.

COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM.

66

FROM IRISH MELODIES."

COME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here;

Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, And a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.

Oh! what was love made for, if 't is not the same Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame?

I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.

Thou hast called me thy Angel in moments of bliss,

And thy Angel I'll be, mid the horrors of this, Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to

pursue,

And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there

too!

THOMAS MOORE.

THE GILLYFLOWER OF GOLD.

A GOLDEN gillyflower to-day

I wore upon my helm alway,

And won the prize of this tourney.
Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

However well Sir Giles might sit,
His sun was weak to wither it,
Lord Miles's blood was dew on it:

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

Although my spear in splinters flew
From John's steel-coat, my eye was true;
I wheeled about, and cried for you,
Hah! hah! la belle jaune girofléc.

Yea, do not doubt my heart was good,
Though my sword flew like rotten wood,
To shout, although I scarcely stood,
Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

My hand was steady, too, to take
My axe from round my neck, and break
John's steel-coat up for my love's sake.
Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

When I stood in my tent again,
Arming afresh, I felt a pain

Take hold of me, I was so fain

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.