Ye gentle spirits of the vale, To whom the tears of love are dear, From dying lilies waft a gale, And sigh my sorrows in her ear.
Oh, tell her what she cannot blame, Though fear my tongue must ever bind; Oh, tell her that my virtuous flame Is as her spotless soul, refin'd.
Not her own guardian angel eyes With chaster tenderness his care, Not purer her own wishes rise, Not holier her own sighs in prayer.
But if, at first, her virgin fear Should start at love's suspected name, With that of friendship soothe her ear-- True love and friendship are the same. --_William Somerville_
Better trust all, and be deceived, And weep that trust and that deceiving, Than doubt one heart that, if believed, Had bless'd one's life with true believing.
O, in this mocking world too fast The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth! Better be cheated to the last Than lose the blessed hope of truth. --_Frances Anne Kemble_
A beautiful and happy girl, With step as light as summer air, Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, Shadow'd by many a careless curl Of unconfined and flowing hair; A seeming child in everything, Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms, As Nature wears the smile of Spring When sinking into Summer's arms.
A mind rejoicing in the light Which melted through its graceful bower, Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright, And stainless in its holy white, Unfolding like a morning flower: A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute, With every breath of feeling woke, And, even when the tongue was mute, From eye and lip in music spoke. --_John Greenleaf Whittier_
O fairest of the rural maids! Thy birth was in the forest shades; And all the beauty of the place Is in thy heart and on thy face.
The twilight of the trees and rocks Is in the light shade of thy locks, Thy step is as the wind that weaves Its playful way among the leaves.
Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen; Their lashes are the herds that look On their young figures in the brook.
The forest depths by foot unpress'd Are not more sinless than thy breast; The holy peace that fills the air Of those calm solitudes is there. --_William Cullen Bryant_
The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake Our thirsty souls with rain; The blow most dreaded falls to break From off our limbs a chain; And wrongs of man to man but make The love of God more plain. As through the shadowy lens of even The eye looks farthest into heaven On gleams of star and depths of blue The glaring sunshine never knew! --_John Greenleaf Whittier_