Fringilla

Pausias
"If that were all—but lately there hath been
A listless air beneath thy livery mien;
Thyself art all fair petal, and sweet perfume,
And smiles that light the damask of thy bloom;
Yet some, pale distance seems to chill the whole."

Glycera
"Forgive me, love, forgive a timorous soul.
Through brightest hours untimely vapours rise—
But while I prate, the lucky moment flies.
The work, the weather, and the world are fair;
A few more strokes—and fame flies everywhere."

Pausias
"Who cares for fame, except with love to share?"

Glycera
"To share! Nay every breath of it is mine,
Whene'er it breathes on thee; for I am thine.
But pardon now—if I have seemed sometime
Impatient, glib, too pert for things sublime,
Remember that I meant not so to sink;
Forgive your Glycera, when you come to think."

Pausias
"I'll not forgive my Glycera—until
She hath discovered how to do some ill.
Now don once more this coronet of bloom,
While lilies sweet thy sweeter breast illume."

Glycera
(Aside) "Ah me, what brightness wasted upon gloom!
(Aloud) Oh fling thy sponge across this wretched face,
A patch uncouth amid a world of grace."

Pausias
"Sweet love, thy beauty far outshineth them;
The tinsel they are, thou the living gem.
Great gift of Gods!  Shall flowers of earth despise
Those flowers of heaven—thy tresses, and thine eyes?
Away with gloom I let no ill-boding make
My heart to falter, or my hand to shake.
One hour is all I crave.  If that be long,
Sweet lips beguile it with my favourite song."

Glycera
"A song like mine, a childish lullaby,
Will close—when needed wide-awake—thine eye.
But since thou so demandest, let me try.
"In the fresh woods have I been,
Sprinkled with the morning dew;
And of all that I have seen,
Lo, the fairest are for you!
Take your choice of many a flower,
Lily, rose, and melilot,
Lilac, myrtle, virgin's bower,
Pansy, and forget-me-not.
Ladies'-tresses, and harebell,
Jasmin, daphne, violet,
Meadow-sweet, and pimpernel,
Maidenhair, and mignonette.
What is gold, that doth allure
Foolish hearts from field and flower?
If you plant them in it pure,
Will they keep alive an hour?
What is fame, compared with these,
Fame of wisdom, sword, or pen?
Who would quit the meadow breeze,
For the sultry breath of men?
These have been my childhood's love,
These my maiden visions were;
When I meet their gaze above,
These will tell me, God is there."

Pausias
"'Tis done!   No more the palsied doubt molests;
The crown of glory on my labour rests.
Thy clear voice hath my flagging thoughts supplied,
My model thou, my teacher, and my bride!
Now stand, beloved one, where the soft glow lies,
Yet judge not rashly, ere the colour dries.
Find every fault, pick every flaw thou canst;
I'll not be vexed; true art is thus advanced.
So meek is art, that (when it comprehends)
It loves the carping of its dearest friends.
If my own bride condemns my efforts—let her.
A poor daub? Well let some one do it better."

Glycera
"My love, my lord, my monarch of high art,
Forgive a tongue held fast and bound by heart.
Not Orpheus, Linus, or great Hermes could
Find words to make their rapture understood.
No Muse, no Phoebus, hath this work inspired,
But Jove himself, with heaven's own splendour fired.
I see the nursing fingers of the day,
And night as well, upon their offspring play—
The silent glide of moon, that hushed their sleep,