Quas humilis tenero stylus olim effudit in ævo. Pectore nunc gelido calidos miseremur amantes, PETRARCH. LOVE. ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights, All are but ministers of Love, Oft in my waking dreams do I The Moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, And she was there, my hope, my joy, VOL. I. M She leant against the armed man, Few sorrows hath she of her own, I played a soft and doleful air, She listened with a flitting blush, I told her of the Knight that wore I told her how he pined; and ah! She listened with a flitting blush, 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 starting up at once There came and looked him in the face An angel beautiful and bright; And that he knew it was a Fiend, This miserable Knight! |