The Despairing Lover

By William Walsh (1662-1708).

Distracted with care
For Phillis the fair,
Since nothing could move her,
Poor Damon, her lover,
Resolves in despair        5
No longer to languish
Nor bear so much anguish;
But, mad with his love,
  To a precipice goes,
Where a leap from above        10
  Would soon finish his woes.

When in rage he came there,
Beholding how steep
The sides did appear,
And the bottom how deep;        15
His torments projecting,
And sadly reflecting
That a lover forsaken
  A new love may get,
But a neck when once broken        20
  Isn’t easily set:

And that he could die
Whenever he would,
But that he could live
But as long as he could:        25
How grievous soever
The torment might grow,
He scorned to endeavour
To finish it so;
And bold, unconcerned        30
  At thoughts of the pain,
He calmly returned
  To his cottage again.

Upon Black Eyes And Becoming Frowns

By James Howell (1594-1666).

  Black eyes! in your dark orbs do lie
My ill, or happy, destiny;
If with clear looks you me behold,
You give me mines and mounts of gold;
If you dart forth disdainful rays,        5
To your own dye you turn my days.
  Black eyes, in your dark orbs, by changes dwell,
  My bane or bliss, my paradise or hell.

  That lamp, which all the stars doth blind,
Yields to your lustre, in some kind;        10
Though you do wear, to make you bright,
No other dress but that of night;
He glitters only in the day;
You, in the dark, your beams display.
  Black eyes, in your dark orbs, etc.

  The cunning thief that lurks for prize,        15
At some dark corner watching lies:
So that heart-robbing god doth stand
In your black lobbies, shaft in hand,
To rifle° me of what I hold
More precious far than Indian gold.
  Black eyes, in your dark orbs, etc.        20

  O powerful negromantic° eyes!
Who in your circles strictly pries,
Will find that Cupid with his dart,
In youth doth practise the black art°;
And, by those spells I am possest,        25
Tries his conclusions in my breast.
  Black eyes, in your dark orbs, etc.

  Look on me, though in frowning wise;
Some kinds of frowns become Black Eyes;
As pointed diamonds, being set,
Cast greater lustre out of jet?        30
Those pieces we esteem most rare,
Which in night-shadows postured are;
Darkness in churches congregates the sight;
Devotion strays in glaring light.
  Black eyes, in your dark orbs, by changes dwell,        35
  My bane or bliss, my paradise or hell.


Notes

Line 18: rifle. Search and rob.

Line 21: negromantic. Necromantic, bewitching.

Line 24: black art. Witchcraft, magic.

Song

By William Congreve (1670-1729).

See, see, she wakes, Sabina wakes!
  And now the sun begins to rise;
Less glorious is the morn that breaks
  From his bright beams, than her fair eyes.

With light united, day they give,        5
  But different fates ere night fulfil;
How many by his warmth will live!
  How many will her coldness kill!

The Disposition

By Thomas Stanley (1625-1678).

Though when I lov’d thee thou wert fair,
  Thou art no longer so:
Those glories do the pride they wear
  Unto opinion owe.
Beauties, like stars, in borrow’d lustre shine:        5
And ’twas my love that gave thee thine.

The flames that dwelt within thine eye
  Do now with mine expire;
Thy brightest graces fade and die
  At once, with my desire.        10
Love’s fires thus mutual influence return:
Thine cease to shine when mine to burn.

Then, proud Celinda, hope no more
  To be implor’d or woo’d,
Since by thy scorn thou dost restore        15
  The wealth my love bestow’d;
And thy despis’d disdain too late shall find
That none are fair but who are kind.

Ah, Fading joy! How Quickly Art Thou Past!

By John Dryden (1631-1700).

Ah°, fading joy! how quickly art thou past!
  Yet we thy ruin haste.
As if the cares of human life were few,
  We seek out new:
And follow fate that does too fast pursue.         5

See how on every bough the birds express
  In their sweet notes their happiness.
  They all enjoy and nothing spare,
But on their mother nature lay their care:
Why then should man, the lord of all below,         10
    Such troubles choose to know
As none of all his subjects undergo?

Hark, hark, the waters fall, fall, fall,
  And with a murmuring sound
  Dash, dash, upon the ground,         15
    To gentle slumbers call.


Notes

Line 1: Ah. From The Indian Emperor, 1685. [Braithwaite]

An Epigram

By John Byrom (1692–1763)

God bless the King! I mean the Faith’s Defender;
  God bless (no harm in blessing) the Pretender;
But who Pretender is, or who is King—
  God bless us all!—that’s quite another thing.

The Daemon Lover

Anonymous.

O where° have you been, my long, long love,
  This long seven years and mair°?’
‘O I’m come back to seek my former vows
  Ye granted me before.’

‘O hold your tongue of your former vows,        5
  For they will breed sad strife;
O hold your tongue of your former vows,
  For I am become a wife.’

He turned him right and round about,
  And the tear blinded his e’e:        10
‘I wad never hae° trodden on Irish ground,
  If it had not been for thee.

‘I might hae had a king’s daughter,
  Far, far beyond the sea;
I might have had a king’s daughter,        15
  Had it not been for love o’ thee.’

‘If ye might have had a king’s daughter,
  Yer sel ye had to blame;
Ye might have taken the king’s daughter,
  For ye ken’d° that I was nane°.        20

‘If I was to leave my husband dear,
  And my two babes also,
O what have you to take me to,
  If with you I should go?’

‘I hae seven ships upon the sea—        25
  The eighth brought me to land—
With four-and-twenty bold mariners,
  And music on every hand.’

She has taken up her two little babes,
  Kiss’d them baith° cheek and chin:        30
‘O fair ye weel°, my ain° two babes,
  For I’ll never see you again.’

She set her foot upon the ship,
  No mariners could she behold;
But the sails were o’ the taffety°,        35
  And the masts o’ the beaten gold.

She had not sail’d a league, a league,
  A league but barely three,
When dismal grew his countenance,
  And drumly° grew his e’e.        40

The masts that were like the beaten gold,
  Bent not on the heaving seas;
The sails that were o’ the taffety
  Fill’d not in the east land breeze.

They had not sailed a league, a league,        45
  A league but barely three,
Until she espied his cloven foot,
  And she wept right bitterly.

‘O hold your tongue of your weeping,’ says he,
  ‘Of your weeping now let me be;        50
I will shew you how the lilies grow
  On the banks of Italy.’

‘O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,
  That the sun shines sweetly on?’
‘O yon are the hills of heaven,’ he said,        55
  ‘Where you will never win.’

‘O whaten a mountain is yon,’ she said,
  ‘All so dreary wi’ frost and snow?’
‘O yon is the mountain of hell,’ he cried,
  ‘Where you and I will go.’        60

And aye when she turn’d her round about,
  Aye taller he seemed for to be;
Until that the tops o’ that gallant ship
  Nae° taller were than he.

The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew loud,        65
  And the levin° fill’d her e’e;
And waesome° wail’d the snaw°-white sprites
  Upon the gurly sea.

He strack the tapmast° wi’ his hand,
  The foremast wi’ his knee;        70
And he brake that gallant ship in twain,
  And sank her in the sea.


Notes

Line 1: O where. From Scott’s Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, fifth ed. 1812. [Braithwaite]

Line 2: mair. More.

Line 11: hae. Have.

Line 20: ken. Know.

Line 20: nane. None.

Line 30: baith. Both.

Line 31: weel. Well.

Line 31: ain. Own.

Line 35: taffety. Taffeta, a fabric of silk, linen, wool etc.

Line 40: drumly. Troubled, gloomy.

Line 64: nae. No; not.

Line 66: levin. Lightning.

Line 67: waesome. Woesome.

Line 67: snaw. Snow.

Line 69: tapmast. Topmast.