Oh, thou child of many prayers!

Life hath quicksands,-Life hath snares!
Care and age come unawares!

Like the swell of some sweet tune,

Morning rises into noon,

May glides onward into June.

Childhood is the bough, where slumbered
Birds and blossoms many-numbered;-
Age, that bough with snows encumbered.

Gather, then, each flower that grows,
When the young heart overflows,
To embalm that tent of snows.

Bear a lily in thy hand;

Gates of brass cannot withstand
One touch of that magic wand.

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,

In thy heart the dew of youth,

On thy lips the smile of truth.

Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal

Into wounds that cannot heal,

Even as sleep our eyes doth seal;

And that smile, like sunshine, dart

Into many a sunless heart

For a smile of God thou art.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882]

TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying:

And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

To Mistress Margaret Hussey

The glorious land of heaven, the sun,

The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he's to setting,

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,

You may for ever tarry.

315

Robert Herrick (1591-1674]

TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY

MERRY Margaret

As midsummer flower,

Gentle as falcon,

Or hawk of the tower:

With solace and gladness,

Much mirth and no madness,

All good and no badness;

So joyously,

So maidenly,

So womanly
Her demeaning
In every thing,

Far, far passing
That I can indite,

Or suffice to write
Of merry Margaret
As midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon,

Or hawk of the tower,
As patient and still
And as full of good will
As fair Isaphill,

Coliander,

Sweet pomander,

Good Cassander;
Steadfast of thought,

Well made, well wrought,

Far may be sought,

Ere that ye can find
So courteous, so kind,
As merry Margaret,
This midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon,

Or hawk of the tower.

John Skelton [1460?-1529]

ON HER COMING TO LONDON

WHAT'S she, so late from Penshurst come,
More gorgeous than the mid-day sun,
That all the world amazes?

Sure 'tis some angel from above,
Or 'tis the Cyprian Queen of Love
Attended by the Graces.

Or is't not Juno, Heaven's great dame,
Or Pallas armed, as on she came

To assist the Greeks in fight,

Or Cynthia, that huntress bold,
Or from old Tithon's bed so cold,
Aurora chasing night?

No, none of those, yet one that shall
Compare, perhaps exceed them all,
For beauty, wit, and birth;
As good as great, as chaste as fair,
A brighter nymph none breathes the air,
Or treads upon the earth.

'Tis Dorothée, a maid high-born, And lovely as the blushing morn,

"O, Saw Ye Bonny Lesley" 317

Of noble Sidney's race;

Oh! could you see into her mind,

The beauties there locked-up outshine
The beauties of her face.

Fair Dorothea, sent from heaven
To add more wonders to the seven,
And glad each eye and car,
Crown of her sex, the Muse's port,
The glory of our English court,
The brightness of our sphere.

1

To welcome her the Spring breathes forth
Elysian sweets, March strews the earth
With violets and posics,
The sun renews his darting fires,
April puts on her best attires,

And May her crown of roses.

Go, happy maid, increase the store
Of graces born with you, and more
Add to their number still;

So neither all-consuming age,
Nor envy's blast, nor fortune's rage
Shall ever work you ill.

Edmund Waller [1606-1687]

"O, SAW YE BONNY LESLEY"

O SAW ye bonny Lesley

As she gacd owre the Border?

She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever;

For nature made her what she is,

And ne'er made sic anither!

The deil he couldna scaith thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee;
He'd look into thy bonny face,

And say, "I canna wrang thee!"

The powers aboon will tent thee;
Misfortune sha' na steer thee;
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely
That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie!

That we may brag we hae a lass
There's nane again sae bonny.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

TO A YOUNG LADY

SWEET stream, that winds through yonder glade,

Apt emblem of a virtuous maid!

Silent and chaste she steals along,

Far from the world's gay busy throng:

With gentle yet prevailing force,

Intent upon her destined course;

Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and blest where'er she goes;
Pure-bosomed as that watery glass,
And Heaven reflected in her face!

William Cowper [1731-1800]

RUTH

SHE stood breast high among the corn,
Clasped by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.