How (not to call true instinct's bent And woman's very nature harm), How amiable and innocent

Her pleasure in her power to charm!

How humbly careful to attract, Though crowned with all the soul desires,

Connubial aptitude exact,
Diversity that never tires!

COVENTRY PATMORE.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.

SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face, Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear, their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent.

ANATHEMATA.

BYRON.

"O maiden! come into port bravely, or sail with God the seas."

WITH joys unknown, with sadness unconfessed,

The generous heart accepts the passing year,

Finds duties dear, and labor sweet as rest,

And for itself knows neither care nor fear.

Than any other planet in Heaven,
The moone, or the starres seven,
For all the world, so had she
Surmounten them all of beauty,
Of manner, and of comeliness,
Of stature, and of well set gladnesse,
Of goodly heed, and so well besey,1
Shortly what shall I more say,
By God, and by his holowes? twelve,
It was my sweet, right all herselve.
She had so stedfast countenance
In noble port and maintenance,
And Love that well harde my bone3
Had espied me thus soone,
That she full soone in my thought
As, help me God, so was I caught
So suddenly that I ne took
No manner counsel but at her look,
And at my heart for why her eyen
So gladly I trow mine heart, seyen
That purely then mine own thought
Said, 'Twere better to serve her for
nought

Than with another to be well.

I saw her dance so comely,
Carol and sing so swetely,
Laugh and play so womanly,
And look so debonairly,

So goodly speak, and so friendly,
That certes I trow that evermore
N'as seen so blissful a treasore,
For every hair on her head,
Sooth to say, it was not red,
Nor neither yellow nor brown it n'as,
Methought most like gold it was,
And such eyen my lady had,
Debonnaire, good, glad, and sad,
Simple, of good mokel, not too wide,
Thereto her look was not aside,
Nor overt whart, but beset so well
It drew and took up every dell.
All that on her 'gan behold
Her eyen seemed anon she would
Have mercy, folly wenden 5 so,
But it was never the rather do.
It was no counterfeited thing
It was her own pure looking
That the goddess Dame Nature
Had made them open by measure
And close; for, were she never so

By God my wrath is all forgive.
Therewith her list so well to live,
That dulness was of her adrad,
She n'as too sober ne too glad;
In all thinges more measure
Had never I trowe creature,
But many one with her look she hurt,
And that sat her full little at herte:
For she knew nothing of their
thought,

But whether she knew, or knew it not,
Alway she ne cared for them a stree;1
To get her love no near n'as he
That woned at home, than he in Inde,
The foremost was alway behinde;
But good folk over all other

She loved as man may his brother,
Of which love she was wonder large,
In skilful places that bear charge:
But what a visage had she thereto,
Alas! my heart is wonder wo
That I not can describen it;·
Me lacketh both English and wit
For to undo it at the full.
And eke my spirits be so dull
So great a thing for to devise,
I have not wit that can suffice
To comprehend her beauté,

But thus much I dare saine, that she Was white, ruddy, fresh, and lifely hued,

And every day her beauty newed.
And nigh her face was alderbest; 3
For, certes, Nature had such lest
To make that fair, that truly she
Was her chief patron of beauté,
And chief example of all her worke
And moulter: for, be it never so derke,
Methinks I see her evermo,
And yet, moreover, though all tho
That ever lived were now alive,
Not would have founde to descrive
In all her face a wicked sign,
For it was sad, simple, and benign.
And such a goodly sweet speech
Had that sweet, my life's leech,
So friendly, and so well y-grounded
Upon all reason, so well founded,
And so treatable to all good,
That I dare swear well by the rood,
Of eloquence was never found
So sweet a sounding faconde,5
Nor truer tongued nor scornèd less,
Nor bét could heal, that, by the Mass
I durst swear, though the Pope it sung,

There was never yet through her tongue

Man or woman greatly harmèd
As for her was all harm hid,
No lassie flattering in her worde,
That, purely, her simple record
Was found as true as any bond,
Or truth of any man'es hand.

Her throat, as I have now memory,
Seemed as round tower of ivory,
Of good greatness, and not too great,
And fair white she hete

That was my lady's name right,
She was thereto fair and bright,
She had not her name wrong,
Right fair shoulders, and body long
She had, and armes ever lith
Fattish, fleshy, not great therewith,
Right white hands and nailès red
Round breasts, and of good brede 8
Her lippes were; a straight flat back,
I knew on her none other lack,
That all her limbs were pure snowing
In as far as I had knowing.
Thereto she could so well play
What that her list, that I dare say
That was like to torch bright
That every man may take of light
Enough, and it hath never the less
Of manner and of comeliness.
Right so fared my lady dear
For every wight of her mannere
Might catch enough if that he would
If he had eyes her to behold
For I dare swear well if that she
Had among ten thousand be,
She would have been at the best,
A chief mirror of all the feast
Though they had stood in a row
To men's eyen that could know,
For whereso men had played or
waked,

Methought the fellowship as naked
Without her, that I saw once
As a crown without stones.
Truely she was to mine eye
The solein phoenix of Araby,
For there liveth never but one,
Nor such as she ne know I none.
To speak of goodness, truely she
Had as much debonnairte

As ever had Hester in the Bible,
And more, if more were possible;
And sooth to say therewithal
She had a wit so general,

So well inclined to all good
That all her wit was set by the rood,
Without malice, upon gladness,
And thereto I saw never yet a less
Harmful than she was in doing.
I say not that she not had knowing
What harm was, or else she
Had known no good, so thinketh me:
And truly, for to speak of truth
But she had had, it had been ruth,
Therefore she had so much her dell
And I dare say, and swear it well
That Truth himself over all and all
Had chose his manor principal
In her that was his resting place;
Thereto she had the moste grace
To have stedfast perseverance
And easy attempre governance
That ever I knew or wist yet
So pure suffraunt was her wit.
CHAUCER.

THE QUEEN.

I.

To heroism and holiness

How hard it is for man to soar, But how much harder to be less

Than what his mistress loves him for!

He does with ease what do he must, Or lose her, and there's nought debarred

From him who's called to meet her trust,

And credit her desired regard. Ah, wasteful woman! she that may On her sweet self set her own price,

Knowing he cannot choose but pay; How has she cheapened paradise, How given for nought her priceless gift,

How spoiled the bread, and spilled the wine,

Which, spent with due, respective thrift,

Had made brutes men, and men divine.

II.

O queen! awake to thy renown, Require what 'tis our wealth to give,

And comprehend and wear the crown
Of thy despised prerogative!
I who in manhood's name at length
With glad songs come to abdicate
The gross regality of strength,

Must yet in this thy praise abate, That through thine erring humble

ness

And disregard of thy degree, Mainly, has man been so much less Than fits his fellowship with thee. High thoughts had shaped the foolish brow,

The coward had grasped the hero's sword,

The vilest had been great, hadst thou,

Just to thyself, been worth's reward:

But lofty honors undersold

Seller and buyer both disgrace; And favor that makes folly bold Puts out the light in virtue's face. COVENTRY PATMORE.

I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE.

My dear and only love, I pray
That little world of thee
Be governed by no other sway
But purest monarchy:
For if confusion have a part,
Which virtuous souls abhor,
And hold a synod in thy heart,
I'll never love thee more.

As Alexander I will reign,

And I will reign alone:
My thoughts did evermore disdain
A rival on my throne.

He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the touch,
To gain or lose it all.

But, if no faithless action stain
Thy love and constant word,
I'll make thee famous by my pen,
And glorious by my sword.
I'll serve thee in such noble ways
As ne'er was known before;
I'll deck and crown thy head with
bays,

And love thee more and more.
MARQUIS OF MONTROSE.

TO LUCASTA.

TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,

The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;

I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honor more.

RICHARD LOVELACE.

APOLOGY FOR HAVING LOVED BEFORE.

THEY that never had the use
Of the grape's surprising juice,
To the first delicious cup
All their reason render up: