Through green leaves lift their walls of gray, Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers; But one thing want these banks of Rhine-Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine! I send the lilies given to me; The river nobly foams and flows, Nor could on earth a spot be found Could thy dear eyes in following mine Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine! GEORGE, LORD BYRON. XCI HYMENEAL SONG ROSES, their sharp spines being gone, Maiden pinks, of odour faint, Primrose, first-born child of Ver, Oxlips in their cradles growing, All dear Nature's children sweet, Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious or bird fair, The Be absent hence! crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor The boding raven, nor chough hoar, May on our bride-house perch or sing, Or with them any discord bring, But from it fly! WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CHIVALRIC LOVE Love rules the camp, the court, the grove, I vow'd unvarying faith, and she SCOTT. To whom in full I pay that vow, Rewards me with variety Which men who change can never know. COVENTRY PATMORE. |