The village maid steals through the shade

Her shepherd's suit to hear;

To beauty shy, by lattice high,

Sings high-born Cavalier.

The star of Love, all stars above,
Now reigns o'er earth and sky,

And high and low the influence know

But where is County Guy?

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15

SIR W. SCOTT.

187

TO THE EVENING STAR

Gem of the crimson-colour'd Even,
Companion of retiring day,
Why at the closing gates of heaven,
Belovéd Star, dost thou delay ?

So fair thy pensile beauty burns

When soft the tear of twilight flows;

So due thy plighted love returns

To chambers brighter than the rose ;

5

To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love

So kind a star thou seem'st to be,

10

Sure some enamour'd orb above

Descends and burns to meet with thee.

Thine is the breathing, blushing hour,
When all unheavenly passions fly,

Chased by the soul-subduing power
Of Love's delicious witchery.

15

O! sacred to the fall of day,

Queen of propitious stars, appear, And early rise, and long delay, When Caroline herself is here!

Shine on her chosen green resort,

Whose trees the sunward summit crown,

And wanton flowers, that well may court

An angel's feet to tread them down.

20

Shine on her sweetly-scented road,

Thou star of evening's purple dome, That lead'st the nightingale abroad,

And guid'st the pilgrim to his home.

25

Shine where my charmer's sweeter breath
Embalms the soft exhaling dew,
Where dying winds a sigh bequeath

30

To kiss the cheek of rosy hue.

Where, winnow'd by the gentle air,
Her silken tresses darkly flow,

And fall upon her brow so fair,

35

Like shadows on the mountain snow.

Thus, ever thus, at day's decline

In converse sweet to wander far

O bring with thee my Caroline,
And thou shalt be my Ruling Star!

40

T. CAMPBELL.

188

TO THE NIGHT

Swiftly walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night!

Out of the misty eastern cave,

Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
Which make thee terrible and dear,—
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle grey
Star-inwrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day,

Kiss her until she be wearied out,

Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,

Touching all with thine opiate wand

Come, long-sought!

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10

When I arose and saw the dawn,

I sigh'd for thee;

15

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turn'd to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,

I sigh'd for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
'Wouldst thou me ?'

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmur'd like a noontide bee,
'Shall I nestle near thy side?

Wouldst thou me ? '—And I replied,
'No, not thee!'

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon-

Sleep will come when thou art fled
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, belovéd Night—
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

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25

30

35

P. B. SHELLEY.

189

TO A DISTANT FRIEND

Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ?
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant, 5
Bound to thy service with unceasing care-

The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.
Speak!—though this soft warm heart, once free to
hold

A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, Be left more desolate, more dreary cold

11

1

Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with snow
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine—
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may
W. WORDSWORTH.

know!

190

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this!

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow;
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame :
I hear thy name spoken

And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met :

In silence I grieve

That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee ?—
With silence and tears.

LORD BYRON.

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10

15

20

25

30

191

HAPPY INSENSIBILITY

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne'er remember
Their green felicity:

The north cannot undo them

With a sleety whistle through them,

Nor frozen thawings glue them
From budding at the prime.

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer look ;
But with a sweet forgetting

They stay their crystal fretting,
Never, never petting

About the frozen time.

Ah, would 'twere so with many
A gentle girl and boy!

But were there ever any

Writhed not at passéd joy? To know the change and feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbéd sense to steel itWas never said in rhyme.

J. KEATS.

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10

15

20

192

Where shall the lover rest

Whom the fates sever

From his true maiden's breast,

Parted for ever?

Where, through groves deep and high, 5

Sounds the far billow,