Dissolve thy sunbeams, close thy wings and stay! See, see how I am blind, and dead, and stray! --O thou that art my life, my light, my way! Then work thy will! If passion bid me flee, My reason shall obey, my wings shall be Stretch’d out no farther than from me to thee! JOHN SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAMSHIRE 1649-1720 _417._ _The Reconcilement_ Come, let us now resolve at last To live and love in quiet; We’ll tie the knot so very fast That Time shall ne’er untie it. The truest joys they seldom prove Who free from quarrels live: ’Tis the most tender part of love Each other to forgive. When least I seem’d concern’d, I took No pleasure nor no rest; And when I feign’d an angry look, Alas! I loved you best. Own but the same to me--you’ll find How blest will be our fate. O to be happy--to be kind-- Sure never is too late! _418._ _On One who died discovering her Kindness_ Some vex their souls with jealous pain, While others sigh for cold disdain: Love’s various slaves we daily see-- Yet happy all compared with me! Of all mankind I loved the best A nymph so far above the rest That we outshined the Blest above; In beauty she, as I in love. And therefore They, who could not bear To be outdone by mortals here, Among themselves have placed her now, And left me wretched here below. All other fate I could have borne, And even endured her very scorn; But oh! thus all at once to find That dread account--both dead and kind! What heart can hold? If yet I live, ’Tis but to show how much I grieve. THOMAS OTWAY 1652-1685 _419._ _The Enchantment_ I did but look and love awhile, ’Twas but for one half-hour; Then to resist I had no will, And now I have no power. To sigh and wish is all my ease; Sighs which do heat impart Enough to melt the coldest ice, Yet cannot warm your heart. O would your pity give my heart One corner of your breast, ’Twould learn of yours the winning art, And quickly steal the rest. JOHN OLDHAM 1653-1683 _420._ _A Quiet Soul_ Thy soul within such silent pomp did keep, As if humanity were lull’d asleep; So gentle was thy pilgrimage beneath, Time’s unheard feet scarce make less noise, Or the soft journey which a planet goes: Life seem’d all calm as its last breath. A still tranquillity so hush’d thy breast, As if some Halcyon were its guest, And there had built her nest; It hardly now enjoys a greater rest. JOHN CUTTS, LORD CUTTS 1661-1707 _421._ _Song_ Only tell her that I love: Leave the rest to her and Fate: Some kind planet from above May perhaps her pity move: Lovers on their stars must wait.-- Only tell her that I love!