Let us go hence and rest; she will not love.
She shall not hear us if we sing hereof,

Nor see love's ways how sore they are and steep.
Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough.

Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep;

And though she saw all heaven in flower above,
She would not love.

Let us give up, go down; she will not care.
Though all the stars made gold of all the air,
And the sea moving saw before it move
One moon-flower making all the foam-flowers fair;
Though all those waves went over us, and drove
Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair,
She would not care.

Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see.
Sing all once more together; surely she,

She too, remembering days and words that were,

Will turn a little towards us, sighing; but we,

We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there.

Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me,

She would not see.

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

A LYRIC

THERE'S nae lark loves the lift, my dear,
There's nae ship loves the sea,
There's nae bee loves the heather-bells,
That loves as I love thee, my love,
That loves as I love thee.

The whin shines fair upon the fell,
The blithe broom on the lea:

The muirside wind is merry at heart:
It's a' for love of thee, my love,
It's a' for love of thee.

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

A Love Symphony

647

MAUREEN

O, YOU plant the pain in my heart with your wistful eyes, Girl of my choice, Maureen!

Will you drive me mad for the kisses your shy, sweet mouth denies,

Maureen?

Like a walking ghost I am, and no words to woo,

White rose of the West, Maureen:

For it's pale you are, and the fear that's on you is over me too,

Maureen!

Sure it's one complaint that's on us, asthore, this day,

Bride of my dreams, Maureen:

The smart of the bee that stung us his honey must cure,

they say,

Maureen!

I'll coax the light to your eyes, and the rose to your face, Mavourneen, my own Maureen!

When I feel the warmth of your breast, and your nest is my arm's embrace,

Maureen!

O where was the King o' the World that day-only me? My one true love, Maureen!

And you the Queen with me there, and your throne in my heart, machree,

Maureen!

John Todhunter [1839

A LOVE SYMPHONY

ALONG the garden ways just now
I heard the flowers speak;

The white rose told me of your brow,
The red rose of your cheek;

The lily of your bended head,

The bindweed of your hair;
Each looked its loveliest and said
You were more fair.

I went into the wood anon,

And heard the wild birds sing,
How sweet you were, they warbled on,
Piped, trilled, the selfsame thing.
Thrush, blackbird, linnet, without pause
The burden did repeat,

And still began again because

You were more sweet.

And then I went down to the sea,

And heard it murmuring too,
Part of an ancient mystery,
All made of me and you:
How many a thousand years ago
I loved, and you were sweet-
Longer I could not stay, and so
I fled back to your feet.

Arthur O'Shaughnessy [1844-1881

LOVE ON THE MOUNTAIN

My love comes down from the mountain
Through the mists of dawn;

I look, and the star of the morning
From the sky is gone.

My love comes down from the mountain,

At dawn, dewy sweet;

Did you step from the star to the mountain,

O little white feet?

O whence came your twining tresses

And your shining eyes,

But out of the gold of the morning

And the blue of the skies?

My Queen

The misty mountain is burning
In the sun's red fire,

And the heart in my breast is burning

And lost in desire.

I follow you into the valley

But no word can I say;

To the East or the West I will follow

Till the dusk of my day.

Thomas Boyd (1867

649

KATE TEMPLE'S SONG

ONLY a touch, and nothing more:
Ah! but never so touched before!
Touch of lip, was it? Touch of hand?

Either is easy to understand.

Earth may be smitten with fire or frost

Never the touch of true love lost.

Only a word, was it? Scarce a word!

Musical whisper, softly heard,

Syllabled nothing-just a breath--

'Twill outlast life and 'twill laugh at death.

Love with so little can do so much

Only a word, sweet! Only a touch!

Mortimer Collins [1827-1876]

MY QUEEN

WHEN and how shall I earliest meet her?
What are the words she first will say?
By what name shall I learn to greet her?
I know not now; it will come some day!
With the selfsame sunlight shining upon her,
Shining down on her ringlets' sheen,
She is standing somewhere--she I shall honor
She that I wait for, my queen, my queen!

Whether her hair be golden or raven,

Whether her eyes be hazel or blue,
I know not now; but 'twill be engraven
Some day hence as my loveliest hue.
Many a girl I have loved for a minute,
Worshipped many a face I have seen:
Ever and aye there was something in it,
Something that could not be hers, my queen!

I will not dream of her tall and stately,
She that I love may be fairy light;
I will not say she must move sedately,-
Whatever she does it will then be right.
She may be humble or proud, my lady,

Or that sweet calm which is just between;
And whenever she comes she will find me ready
To do her homage, my queen, my queen!

But she must be courteous, she must be holy,
Pure in her spirit, this maiden I love;
Whether her birth be noble or lowly

I care no more than the spirits above.
But I'll give my heart to my lady's keeping,
And ever her strength on mine shall lean;
And the stars may fall, and the saints be weeping
Ere I cease to love her, my queen, my queen!

Unknown

"DARLING, TELL ME YES"

ONE little minute more, Maud,
One little whisper more;
I have a word to speak, Maud,
I never breathed before.
What can it be but love, Maud;

And do I rightly guess
'Tis pleasant to your ear, Maud?

O darling! tell me yes!