[RONDEL.] ISS me, sweetheart; the Spring is here, The blue-bells beckon each passing bee; There is no bird in brake or brere, But to his little mate sings he, "Kiss me, sweetheart; the Spring is here, And Love is Lord of you and me!" The blue sky laughs out sweet and clear; Pipes for sheer gladness, loud and free; "Kiss me, sweetheart; the Spring is here, And Love is Lord of you and me!" JOHN PAYNE, [RONDEAU.] IS poisoned shafts, that fresh he dips He takes, and with his bow renown'd, Hanging his quiver at his hips. He draws them one by one, and clips But if a maiden with her lips Suck from the wound the blood that drips, The simple remedy is found That of their deadly terror strips His poisoned shafts. ROBERT BRIDGES. [RONDEAU.] ITH pipe and flute the rustic Pan Of old made music sweet for man; And closer drew the calm-eyed herd, The rolling river slowlier ran. Ah! would,-ah! would, a little span, This age of ours, too seldom stirred But now for gold we plot and plan; And from Beersheba unto Dan, Apollo's self might pass unheard, Not so it fared, when time began, With pipe and flute! AUSTIN DOBSON. [RONDEAU.] OF Love should faint, and half decline And, shorn of all his golden dress, His regal state and loveliness, Be no more worth a heart like thine, Let not thy nobler passion pine, But, with a charity divine, Let Memory ply her soft address And oh this laggard soul of mine, Like some halt pilgrim stirred with wine, Shall ache in pity's dear distress Until the balms of thy caress To work the finished cure combine, If Love should faint. EDMUND W. GOSSE. [RONDEAU.] IFE lapses by for you and me; The ripple ceases from our sea. What would we not give, you and I, Alas! sweetheart, that cannot we : But though our young years buried lie, We in each other's eyes will see JOHN PAYNE. |