These dull notes we sing Discords need for helps to grace them; 10 Only beauty purely loving Knows no discord; But still moves delight, Like clear springs renewed by flowing, Ever perfect, ever in them-selves eternal. 15 _Thomas Campion._ XXIII _TRIUMPH OF CHARIS._ See the chariot at hand here of Love, Wherein my lady rideth! Each that draws is a swan or a dove, And well the car Love guideth. As she goes, all hearts do duty 5 Unto her beauty, And enamoured do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to run by her side, Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. 10 Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love’s world compriseth! Do but look on her hair, it is bright As Love’s star when it riseth! Do but mark, her forehead’s smoother 15 Than words that soothe her! And from her arched brows, such a grace Sheds itself through the face, As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good of the elements’ strife. 20 Have you seen but a bright lily grow, Before rude hands have touched it? Have you marked but the fall o’ the snow, Before the soil hath smutched it? Have you felt the wool of the beaver? 25 Or swan’s down ever? Or have smelt o’ the bud of the briar? Or the nard in the fire? Or have tasted the bag o’ the bee? O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she! 30 _Ben Jonson._ XXIV _A BRIDAL SONG_ Roses, their sharp spines being gone, Not royal in their smells alone, But in their hue; Maiden-pinks, of odour faint; Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, 5 And sweet thyme true; Primrose, first-born child of Ver, Merry spring-time’s harbinger, With her bells dim; Oxlips in their cradles growing, 10 Marigolds on death-beds blowing, Lark-heels trim; All, dear Nature’s children sweet, Lie ’fore bride and bridegroom’s feet, Blessing their sense! 15 Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious, or bird fair, Be absent hence! The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor The boding raven, nor chough hoar, 20 Nor chattering pie, May on our bride-house perch or sing, Or with them any discord bring, But from it fly! _Beaumont and Fletcher._ XXV _SONNET._