An Argument
I’ve oft been told by learned friars,
That wishing and the crime are one,
And Heaven punishes desires
As much as if the deed were done.
If wishing damns us, you and I
Are damned to all our heart’s content;
Come, then, at least we may enjoy
Some pleasure for our punishment!
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Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy gifts, fading away!
Thou wouldst still be ador’d, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And, around the dear ruin, each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still!
It is not, while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofan’d by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!
No, the heart that has truly lov’d, never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turn’d when he rose!
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Come, Rest In This Bosom
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 ‘tis 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 has call’d 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!
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Did Not
‘twas a new feeling - something more
Than we had dared to own before,
Which then we hid not;
We saw it in each other’s eye,
And wished in every half-breathed sigh,
To speak, but did not.
She felt my lips’ impassioned touch -
‘twas the first time I dared so much,
And yet she chid not;
But whispered o’er my burning brow,
’Oh, do you doubt I love you now?’
Sweet soul! I did not.
Warmly I felt her bossom thrill,
I pressed it closer, closer still,
Though gently bid not;
Till - oh! the world hath seldom heard
Of lovers, who so nearly erred,
And yet, who did not.
Doing, a filthy pleasure is, and short;
And done, we straight repent us of the sport:
Let us not then rush blindly on unto it,
Like lustful beasts, that only know to do it:
For lust will languish, and that heat decay.
But thus, thus, keeping endless holiday,
Let us together closely lie and kiss,
There is no labour, nor no shame in this;
This hath pleased, doth please, and long will please; never
Can this decay, but is beginning ever.
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Fly Not Yet
Fly not yet - ‘tis just the hour
When pleasure, like the midnight flower,
That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
Begins to bloom for sons of night,
And maids who love the moon!
‘twas but to bless these hours of shade
That beauty and the moon were made;
‘tis then their soft attractions glowing
Set the tides and goblets flowing!
O! stay - O! stay -
Joy so seldom weaves a chain
Like this tonight, that O! ‘tis pain
To break its links so soon.
Fly not yet! the fount that played,
In times of old, through Ammon’s shade,
Though icy cold by day it ran,
Yet still, like sounds of mirth, began
To burn when night was near;
And thus should woman’s heart and looks
At noon be cold as winters brooks,
Nor kindle till the night, returning,
Brings their genial hour for burning.
O stay! - O! stay -
When did morning ever break
And find such beaming eyes awake
As those that sparkle here!
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Go Where Glory Waits Thee!
Go where glory waits thee;
But, while fame elates thee,
O still remember me!
When the praise thou meetest
To thine ear is sweetest,
O then remember me!
Other arms may press thee,
All the joys that bless thee
Sweeter far may be;
But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,
O then remember me!
When, at eve, thou rovest
By the star thou lovest,
O then remember me!
Think when home returning,
Bright we’ve seen it burning,
O thus remember me!
Oft as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On its lingering roses,
Once so loved by thee,
Think of her who wove then,
Her who made thee love them;
O then remember me!
When, around thee dying,
Autum leaves are lying,
O then remember me!
And, at night, when gazing
On the gay hearth blazing,
O still remember me!
Then should music, stealing
All the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,
Draw one tear from thee-
The let memory bring thee;
Strains I used to sing thee;
O then remember me!
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Oh, No-Not Ev’n When First We Lov’d
Oh, no - not ev’n when first we lov’d
Wert thou as dear as now thou art;
Thy beauty then my senses mov’d,
But now my virtues bind my heart,
What was but Passion’s sigh before
Has since been turn’d to Reason’s vow;
And, though I then might love thee more ,
Trust me, I love thee better now.
Although my heart in earlier youth
Might kindle with more wild desire,
Believe me, it has gain’d in truth
Much more than it has lost in fire.
The flame now warms my inmost core
That then but sparkled o’er my brow,
And though I seem’d to love thee more,
Yet, oh, I love thee better now.
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The Garland I Send Thee
The garland I send thee was culled from those bowers
Where thou and I wandered in long vanished hours;
Not a leaf or a blossom its bloom here displays,
But bears some remembrance of those happy days.
The roses were gathered by that garden gate,
Where our meetings, though early, seemed always too late;
Where ling’ring full oft through a summer-night’s moon,
Our partings, though late, appeared always too soon.
The rest were all culled from the banks of that glade,
Wherem watching the sunset, so often we strayed,
And mourned, as the time went, that Love had no power
To bind in his chain even one happy hour.
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The Monopolist
If I were yonder wave, my dear,
And thou the isle it clasps around,
I would not let a foot come near
My land of bliss, my fairy ground!
If I were yonder conch of gold,
And thou the pearl within it placed,
I would not let an eye behold
The sacred gem my arms embraced!
If I were yonder orange tree,
And thou the blossom blooming there,
I would not yield a breath of thee,
To scent the most imploring air!
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Thee, Thee, Only Thee
The dawning of morn, the daylight’s sinking,
The night’s long hours still find me thinking
Of thee, thee, only thee.
When friends are met, and goblets crown’d,
And smiles are near that once enchanted,
Unreach’d by all that sunshine round,
My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted
By thee, thee, only thee.
Whatever in fame’s high path could waken
My spirit once is now forsaken
For thee, thee, only thee.
Like shores by which some headlong bark
To ocean hurries, resting never,
Life’s scenes go by me, bright or dark
I know not, heed not, hastening ever
To thee, thee, only thee.
I have not joy but of thy bringing,
And pain itself seems sweet when springing
From thee, thee, only thee.
Like spells that nought on earth can break,
Till lips that know the charm have spoken,
This heart, howe’er the world may wake
Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken
By thee, thee, only thee.
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When First I Met Thee
When first I met thee, warm and young,
There shone such truth about thee,
And on thy lip such promise hung,
I did not dare to doubt thee,
I saw thee change, yet still relied,
Still clung with hope the fonder,
And thought, though false to all beside,
From me thou couldst not wander.
But go, deceiver! go -
The heart, whose hopes could make it
Trust one so false, so low,
Deserves that thou shouldst break it.
When every tongue thy follies named,
I fled the unwelcome story;
Or found, in even the faults they blamed,
Some gleams of future glory.
I still was true, when nearer friends
Conspired to wrong, to slight thee;
The heart, that now thy falsehood rends,
Would then have bled to right thee.
But go, deceiver! go -
Some day, perhaps, thou’lt waken
From pleasure’s dream, to know
The grief of hearts forsaken.
Even now, though youth its bloom has shed,
No lights of age adorn thee:
The few who loved thee once have fled,
And they who flatter scorn thee.
Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves,
No genial tied enwreathe it;
The smiling there, like light on graves,
Has rank cold hearts beneath it.
Go-go-through worlds where thine
I would not now surrender
One taintless tear of mine
For all thy guilty splendor!
And days may come, thou false one! yet,
When even those ties shall sever;
When thou wilt call, with vain regret,
On her thou’st lost forever;
On her who, in thy fortune’s fall,
With smiles hath still received thee,
And gladly died to prove thee all
Her fancy first believed thee.
Go - go - ‘tis in vain to curse,
‘tis weakness to upbraid thee;
Hate cannot wish thee worse
Than guilt and shame have made thee.
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When I Loved You
When I loved you, I can’t but allow
I had many an exquisite minute;
But the scorn that I feel for you now
Hath even more luxury in it!
Thus, whether we’re on or we’re off,
Some witchery seems to await you;
To love you is pleasant enough,
But oh! ‘tis delicious to hate you!
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