I’d wake the spell that sleeps within an herb,
And witch the lady till I know she’s mine.
Peerbold.
Her overpowering presence made you feel
It would not be idolatry to kneel.
Her sacred beauty hath enchanted heaven,
And, had she lived before the siege of Troy,
Helen, whose beauty summoned Greece to arms,
And drew a thousand ships to Tenedos,
Had not been named in Homer’s Iliad;
Her name had been in every line he wrote.
Marlowe.
Not all the charms that superstition gave
To plants in lonely forests found,
Could work such magic in Love’s doting slave,
As the voice which his wishes crowned.
Anon.
A voice of laughter—a voice of glee!
Among the maidens, who happy as she?
By love’s enchantment her thrilling breast
Is wildly, witchingly, over-blest:
And gushing joys, like the sun in May,
Enliven the noon of her bridal-day.
MacKellar.