PISCATOR AND PISCATRIX. LINES WRITTEN TO AN ALBUM PRINT. As on this pictured page I look, I know them both, the boy and girl; A pleasant place for such a pair! Young progeny of chickens. It is too hot to pace the keep; The postern-warder is asleep; (Perhaps they've bribed him not to peep) And so from out the gate they creep, And cross the fields of clover. Their lines into the brook they launch; 's delicate complexion : He takes his rapier from his haunch, O, heedless pair of sportsmen slack! Your baited snares may capture. O loving pair! as thus I gaze Upon the lover's shoulder; To be brave, handsome, twenty-two; And had I such a partner sweet; And never heed its brawling. RONSARD TO HIS MISTRESS. "Quand vous serez bien vieille, le soir à la chandelle Assise auprès du feu devisant et filant Direz, chantant mes vers en vous esmerveillant, Ronsard m'a célébré du temps que j'étois belle." SOME winter night, shut snugly in There's not a maiden in your hall, "Our lady's old and feeble now," They'll say; "she once was fresh and fair: And yet she spurn'd her lover's vow, And heartless left him to despair; The lover lies in silent earth, No kindly mate the lady cheers; She sits beside a lonely hearth, With threescore and ten years!" Ah! dreary thoughts and dreams are those! But wherefore yield me to despair, While yet the poet's bosom glows, While yet the dame is peerless fair! Sweet lady mine! while yet 'tis time Requite my passion and my truth, And gather in their blushing prime The roses of your youth! AT THE CHURCH GATE. ALTHOUGH I enter not, And near the sacred gate, The Minster bell tolls out And noise and humming They've hush'd the Minster bell: The organ 'gins to swell: She's coming, she's coming! My lady comes at last, Timid, and stepping fast, And hastening hither, With modest eyes downcast: She comes-she's here-she's past May Heaven go with her! Kneel, undisturb'd, fair Saint! I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer With thoughts unruly. |