Many light lays (ah! woe is me the more)
In praise of that mad fit which fools call love,
I have i' the heat of youth made heretofore,
That in light wits did loose affections move;
But all these follies do I now reprove, &c.
Spenser.
[159] Marcian Colonna.
[160] Miss Chaworth, now Mrs. Musters.
[161] Lord Byron's Works, vol. iii. p. 183, (small edit.)
[162] Campbell's Poems, vol. ii. p. 202.
[163] Barry Cornwall's Poems, "Lines on a Rose."
[164] Wordsworth's Poems, vol. i. p. 181.
[165] Wordsworth, vol. ii. p. 132.
[166] See in Moore's Lyrics the beautiful song. "I'd mourn the hopes that leave me." The concluding stanza is in point: