Love vibrates in the wind-harp's tune—
With fays and oreads lingers he—
Gleams in th' ring of the watery moon,
Or treads the pebbles of the sea.
Love rules "the court, the camp, the grove"—
Oh, everywhere we meet thee, Love!
And everywhere he welcome finds,
From cottage-door to palace-porch—
Love enters free as spicy winds,
With purple wings and lighted torch,
With tripping feet and silvery tongue,
And bow and darts behind him slung.
He tinkles in the shepherd's bell
The village maiden leans to hear—
By lattice high he weaves his spell,
For lady fair and cavalier:
Like sun-bursts on the mountain snow,
Love's genial warmth melts high and low.
Then why, ye nymphs Arcadian, why—
Since Love is general as the air—
Why does he not to Lelia fly,
And soften the obdurate fair?
Scorn nerves her proud, disdainful heart!
She scoffs at Love and all his art!
Oh, boy-god, Love!—An archer thou!—
Thy utmost skill I fain would test;
One arrow aim at Lelia now,
And let thy target be her breast!
Her heart bind in thy captive train,
Or give me back my own again!
The Dream of Love.
I've had the heart-ache many times,
At the mere mention of a name
I've never woven in my rhymes,
Though from it inspiration came.
It is in truth a holy thing,
Life-cherished from the world apart—
A dove that never tries its wing,
But broods and nestles in the heart.
That name of melody recalls
Her gentle look and winning ways
Whose portrait hangs on memory's walls,
In the fond light of other days.
In the dream-land of Poetry,
Reclining in its leafy bowers,
Her bright eyes in the stars I see,
And her sweet semblance in the flowers.
Her artless dalliance and grace—
The joy that lighted up her brow—
The sweet expression of her face—
Her form—it stands before me now!
And I can fancy that I hear
The woodland songs she used to sing,
Which stole to my attending ear,
Like the first harbingers of spring.
The beauty of the earth was hers,
And hers the purity of heaven;
Alone, of all her worshippers,
To me her maiden vows were given.
They little know the human heart,
Who think such love with time expires;
Once kindled, it will ne'er depart,
But burn through life with all its fires.