VIRGINIA B. HARRISON. [Illustration: TO CUPID FOR PARDON] Cupid, pardon what is past, And forgive our sins at last! Then we will be coy no more, But thy deity adore; Troths at fifteen we will plight, And will tread a dance each night, In the fields, or by the fire, With the youths that have desire. Given ear-rings we will wear, Bracelets of our lovers’ hair, Which they on our arms shall twist, With their names carved, on our wrist: All the money that we owe We in tokens will bestow; And learn to write that, when ’tis sent, Only our loves know what is meant. Oh, then pardon what is past, And forgive our sins at last. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. LOVE’S HUNTING Hast thou seen a boy so clever, Bow in hand, and from his shoulders Three tipped arrows in a quiver, With which, piercing all beholders, He goes up and down forever? One dart, in the deep eye clinging, Blinds us ever to his aiming; One straight at the white throat flinging, He denies his wrong’s complaining; One he leaves in the heart stinging. And the last dart, tipt with scorning, Quickly kindles a hot passion Which consumes us with its burning: Eyeless, tongueless, in such fashion, Blind and mute, we wander yearning. JAMES HERBERT MORSE. LOVE GOES A-HAWKING A ho! A ho! Love’s horn doth blow, And he will out a-hawking go. His shafts are light as beauty’s sighs, And bright as midnight’s brightest eyes, And round his starry way The swan-wing’d horses of the skies, With summer’s music in their manes, Curve their fair necks to zephyr’s reins, And urge their graceful play. A ho! A ho! Love’s horn doth blow, And he will out a-hawking go. The sparrows flutter round his wrist, The feathery thieves that Venus kist And taught their morning song, The linnets seek the airy list, And swallows too, small pets of Spring, Bear back the gale with swifter wing, And dart and wheel along. A ho! A ho! Love’s horn doth blow, And he will out a-hawking go. Now woe to every gnat that skips To filch the fruit of ladies’ lips, His felon blood is shed; And woe to flies, whose airy ships On beauty cast their anchoring bite, And bandit wasp, that naughty wight, Whose sting is slaughter-red. THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES. LOVE’S BLINDNESS I have heard of reasons manifold Why Love must needs be blind, But this the best of all I hold— His eyes are in his mind. What outward form and feature are He guesseth but in part; But that within is good and fair He seeth with the heart.