benry kirke White

was the son of a Nottingham butcher, and was born in 1785. At the age of fifteen he entered the office of a solicitor. In 1802 a little volume of verse appeared, and a cruel review led to a friendship with Southey. Leaving the lawyer's office, the youth commenced a systematic study, and he was actually preparing for examination at Cambridge in 1805, when his delicate constitution sank under the strain.

Why should I blush to own I love?

WHY should I blush to own I love?
'Tis love that rules the realms above;
Why should I blush to say to all
That Virtue holds my heart in thrall?

Why should I seek the thickest shade,
Lest Love's dear secret be betrayed?
Why the stern brow deceitful move,
When I am languishing with love?

Is it weakness thus to dwell
On passion that I dare not tell?
Such weakness I would ever prove-
'Tis painful, though 'tis sweet to love.

Thomas Love Peacock

was born at Weymouth in 1785. His first noteworthy literary efforts were volumes of verse, one of which introduced him to the notice of Shelley. As a novelist he worked on rather unique lines. He had hardly any plot, and there was little attempt at character-drawing, but he largely atoned for these deficiencies by sparkling wit and good He was in the East India Company's Service for many years. He died in 1866. Charles Mackay says this song is sometimes erroneously attributed to Howard Payne.

sense.

Oh! say not woman's heart is bought

OI! say not woman's heart is bought

With vain and empty treasure.
Oh! say not woman's heart is caught
By every idle pleasure.

When first her gentle bosom knows
Love's flame, it wanders never;
Deep in her heart the passion glows,
She loves, and loves for ever.

Oh! say not woman's false as fair,
That like the bee she ranges !

Still seeking flowers more sweet and rare,
As fickle fancy changes.

Ah! no, the love that first can warm

Will leave her bosom never;

No second passion e'er can charm,

She loves, and loves for ever.

Barry Cornwall

This was the pseudonym of Bryan Walter Procter, who was born in London in 1787, and educated at Harrow, where Byron was his schoolfellow. He is chiefly remembered as the author of a considerable body of songs (notable for the most part for their simplicity and pathos), and a memoir of Charles Lamb, published in 1866. Latterly he had troops of friends, attracted partly by the generous and unenvious disposition of the aged poet. His later life was further cheered by the fame achieved by his daughter, Adelaide Anne Procter (1825-1864), whose songs aroused the interest of Dickens. He died in 1874.

Love me if I live

LOVE me if I live ;

Love me if I die ;

What to me is life or death,
So that thou be nigh?

Once I loved thee rich,

Now I love thee poor;

Ah! what is there I could not

For thy sake endure?

Kiss me for my love!

Pay me for my pain!

Come! and murmur in my ear

How thou lov'st again.

Is my lover on the sea?

Is my lover on the sea,

Sailing east or sailing west? Nightly ocean, gentle be,

Rock him into rest!

Let no angry wind arise,

Nor a wave with whitened crest:

All be gentle as his eyes

When he is caressed!

Bear him (as the breeze above

Bears the bird unto its nest) Here, -unto his home of love, And there bid him rest!

I love him

I LOVE him, I dream of him,
I sing of him by day;

And all the night I hear him talk,—
And yet he's far away.

There's beauty in the morning,

There's sweetness in the May,

There's music in the running stream;

And yet he's far away.

Barry Cornwall

I love him, I trust in him;
He trusteth me alway:
And so the time flies hopefully,
Although he's far away.