Richard Lovelace. 1618-1658.
Oh, could you view the melody
Of every grace
And music of her face,[259:1]
You 'd drop a tear;
Seeing more harmony
In her bright eye
Than now you hear.
Orpheus to Beasts.
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Lov'd I not honour more.
To Lucasta, on going to the Wars.
When flowing cups pass swiftly round
With no allaying Thames.[259:2]
To Althea from Prison, ii.
Fishes that tipple in the deep,
Know no such liberty.
To Althea from Prison, ii.
[260]
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty.
To Althea from Prison, iv.
Footnotes
[259:1] See Browne, page 218.
The mind, the music breathing from her face.—Byron: Bride of Abydos, canto i. stanza 6.
[259:2] See Shakespeare, page 103.