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II. LOVE POEMS.

Quas humilis tenero stylus olim effudit in aevo.
Perlegis hic lacrymas, et quod pharetratus acuta
Ille puer puero fecit mihi cuspide vulnus,
Omnia paulatim consumit longior aetas,
Wivendoque simul morimur, rapimurque manendo.
Ipse mihi collatus enim non ille videbor:
Frons alia est, moresque alii, nova mentis inlago,
Voxque aliud sonat—
Pectore nunc gelido calidos miseremur amantes,
Jamque arsisse pudet. Veteres tranquilla tumultus
Mens horret relegensque alium putatista locutum.
PETRARch.

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ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,

Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

All are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I

Live o'er again that happy hour,

When midway on the mount I lay,
Beside the ruined tower.

The Moonshine, stealing o'er the scene,

Had blended with the lights of eve;

And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve!

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She leant against the armed man,

The statue of the armed knight;

She stood and listened to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,

My hope my joy! my Genevieve

She loves me best, whene'er I sing
The songs that make her grieve.

I played a soft and doleful air,

I sang an old and moving story—

An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.

She listened with a flitting blush,

With downcast eyes and modest grace;

For well she knew, I could not chuse But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the Knight that wore

Upon his shield a burning brand;

And that for ten long years he wooed
The Lady of the Land.

I told her how he pined; and ah!

The deep, the low, the pleading tone

With which I sang another's love,
Interpreted my own.

She listened with a flitting blush,

With downcast eyes, and modest grace;

And she forgave me, that I gazed
Too fondly on her face

But when I told the cruel scorn

That crazed that bold and lovely Knight,

And that he crossed the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage den,

And sometimes from the darksome shade,

And sometimes starting up at once
In green and sunny glade.

There came and looked him in the face

An angel beautiful and bright;

And that he knew it was a Fiend,
This miserable Knight!

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