O Britain, guard with tenderest care The charge allotted to your share : You've scarce a native maid so fair, So good, as Catherine Orkney. LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. Born 1792-Died 1822. The fountains mingle with the river, Nothing in the world is single; See the mountains kiss high Heaven, And the waves clasp one another! No leaf or flower would be forgiven, If it disdain'd to kiss its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea; What are all those kissings worth, If thou kiss not me? LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. P. B. SHELLEY. I rise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright; I rise from dreams of thee, And a Spirit in my feet Has led me who knows how? To thy chamber window sweet. The wandering airs they faint Like sweet thoughts in a dream. O lift me from the grass! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white alas ! My heart beats loud and fast; it close to thine again, Oh! press Where it will break at last. TO ELLEN. ROBERT SOUTHEY. Though time has not wreathed The eyes which behold thee, All, all is bereft me, For thou, too, art changed! Yes, dark ills have clouded By ripening years, Life's path wild and dreary, I sigh for repose. The world shall caress thee When I cease to be; AN ITALIAN SONG. SAMUEL ROGERS. Dear is my little native vale, The ring-dove builds and murmurs there, Close by my cot she tells her tale To every passing villager. The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, In orange-groves and myrtle bowers, With my loved lute's romantic sound; The shepherd's horn at break of day, Sung in the silent green-wood shade; A WISH. SAMUEL ROGERS. Mine be a cot beside the hill; The swallow oft beneath my thatch, Around my ivy'd porch shall spring The village-church among the trees, A FAREWELL. SAMUEL ROGERS. Once more, enchanting maid, adieu! |