Love's genial warmth melts high and low.

Then why, ye nymphs Arcadian, why--
Since Love is general as the air--
Why does he not to Lelia fly,
And soften the obdurate fair?
Scorn nerves her proud, disdainful heart!
She scoffs at Love and all his art!

Oh, boy-god, Love!--An archer thou!--
Thy utmost skill I fain would test;
One arrow aim at Lelia now,
And let thy target be her breast!
Her heart bind in thy captive train,
Or give me back my own again!





The Dream of Love.




I've had the heart-ache many times,
At the mere mention of a name
I've never woven in my rhymes,
Though from it inspiration came.
It is in truth a holy thing,