Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound! Anon they'll think the house goes round, For they the cellar's depths have found, And there they will be merry. The wenches with their wassail bowls About the streets are singing; Now kings and queens poor sheepcotes have, The honest now may play the knave, And wise men play the noddy. Some youths will now a mumming go, Some others play at Rowland-bo, And twenty other game boys mo, Because they will be merry. Then wherefore, in these merry days, To make our mirth the fuller; And, while we thus inspired sing, Let all the streets with echoes ring; Woods and hills and every thing, Bear witness we are merry! GEORGE WITHER. PART IV. POEMS OF LOVE. LOVE? I will tell thee what it is to love! It is to build with human thoughts a shrine, To consecrate this sanctuary of bliss. Above, the stars in cloudless beauty shine; Around, the streams their flowery margins kiss; And if there's heaven on earth, that heaven is surely this. Yes, this is Love, the steadfast and the true, The immortal glory which hath never set; The best, the brightest boon the heart e'er knew: Of all life's sweets the very sweetest yet! O! who but can recall the eve they met, To breathe, in some green walk, their first young vow? CHARLES SWAIN. |