A damask cheek, an ivory arm,
Shall ne'er my wishes win:
Give me an animated form,
That speaks a mind within.

A face where awful honor shines,
Where sense and sweetness move,
And angel innocence refines

The tenderness of love.

These are the soul of beauty's frame;
Without whose vital aid
Unfinished all her features seem,

And all her roses dead.

But ah! where both their charms unite,

How perfect is the view,
With every image of delight,
With graces ever new:

Of power to charm the greatest woe,
The wildest rage control,
Diffusing mildness o'er the brow,
And rapture through the soul.

Their power but faintly to express
All language must despair;

But go, behold Arpasia's face,

And read it perfect there.

Mark Akenside [1721-1770]

KATE OF ABERDEEN

THE silver moon's enamored beam
Steals softly through the night,
To wanton with the winding stream,
And kiss reflected light.

To beds of state go balmy sleep

('Tis where you've seldom been), May's vigil while the shepherds keep With Kate of Aberdeen.

Song

Upon the green the virgins wait,
In rosy chaplets gay,

Till morn unbar her golden gate,
And give the promised May.
Methinks I hear the maids declare,
The promised May, when seen,
Not half so fragrant, half so fair,
As Kate of Aberdeen.

Strike up the tabor's boldest notes,
We'll rouse the nodding grove;

The nested birds shall raise their throats,
And hail the maid of love;

And see the matin lark mistakes,

He quits the tufted green:

Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks,

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now lightsome o'er the level mead,
Where midnight fairies rove,

Like them the jocund dance we'll lead,
Or tune the reed to love:

For see the rosy May draws nigh,

She claims a virgin Queen;

And hark, the happy shepherds cry,

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

521

John Cunningham [1729-1773]

SONG

WHO has robbed the ocean cave,

To tinge thy lips with coral hue?

Who from India's distant wave

For thee those pearly treasures drew?
Who from yonder orient sky

Stole the morning of thine eye?

A thousand charms, thy form to deck,
From sea, and earth, and air are torn;
Roses bloom upon thy cheek,

On thy breath their fragrance borne.

Guard thy bosom from the day,
Lest thy snows should melt away.

But one charm remains behind,
Which mute earth can ne'er impart;
Nor in ocean wilt thou find,

Nor in the circling air, a heart.
Fairest! wouldst thou perfect be,
Take, oh, take that heart from me.

John Shaw [1559-1625]

CHLOE

It was the charming month of May,
When all the flowers were fresh and gay;
One morning, by the break of day,

The youthful, charming Chloe
From peaceful slumber she arose,
Girt on her mantle and her hose,
And o'er the flowery mead she goes,
The youthful, charming Chloe.
Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn,
The youthful, charming Chloe.

The feathered people you might see,
Perched all around on every tree,
In notes of sweetest melody

They hail the charming Chloe;
Till, painting gay the eastern skies,
The glorious sun began to rise,
Out-rivalled by the radiant eyes
Of youthful, charming Chloe.
Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn,
The youthful, charming Chloe.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

The Lover's Choice

523

"O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET”

As I was walking up the street,

A barefit maid I chanced to meet;
But O the road was very hard

For that fair maiden's tender feet.
O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet,
Mally's modest and discreet,
Mally's rare, Mally's fair,

Mally's every way complete.

It were more meet that those fine feet
Were weel laced up in silken shoon,
And 'twere more fit that she should sit

Within yon chariot gilt aboon.

Her yellow hair, beyond compare,

Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck,

And her two eyes, like stars in skies,

Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck.

O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet,

Mally's modest and discreet,

Mally's rare, Mally's fair,

Mally's every way complete.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

THE LOVER'S CHOICE

You, Damon, covet to possess

The nymph that sparkles in her dress;
Would rustling silks and hoops invade,

And clasp an armful of brocade.

Such raise the price of your delight
Who purchase both their red and white,
And, pirate-like, surprise your heart

With colors of adulterate art.

Me, Damon, me the maid enchants
Whose cheeks the hand of nature paints;
A modest blush adorns her face,
Her air an unaffected grace.

No art she knows, or seeks to know;
No charm to wealthy pride will owe;

No gems, no gold she needs to wear;

She shines intrinsically fair.

Thomas Bedingfield [ ? -1613]

RONDEAU REDOUBLE

My day and night are in my lady's hand;
I have no other sunrise than her sight;
For me her favor glorifies the land;

Her anger darkens all the cheerful light.
Her face is fairer than the hawthorn white,
When all a-flower in May the hedgerows stand;
While she is kind, I know of no affright;
My day and night are in my lady's hand.

All heaven in her glorious eyes is spanned;

Her smile is softer than the summer's night,
Gladder than daybreak on the Faery strand;
I have no other sunrise than her sight.
Her silver speech is like the singing flight
Of runnels rippling o'er the jewelled sand;
Her kiss a dream of delicate delight;
For me her favor glorifies the land.

What if the Winter chase the Summer bland!
The gold sun in her hair burns ever bright.
If she be sad, straightway all joy is banned;
Her anger darkens all the cheerful light.
Come weal or woe, I am my lady's knight
And in her service every ill withstand;

Love is my Lord in all the world's despite
And holdeth in the hollow of his hand

My day and night.

John Payne [fl. 1770-1800]