Chapter III (1)

You kissed me, and responsively my lips to yours were pressed,
While trembling came a long-drawn sigh deep from that throbbing breast.
Your cheeks were bathed in blushes, while those pouting lips revealed
That secret I had burned to know, yet you’d so long concealed;
You loved me. With what ecstasy did I your form embrace,
And kiss away the starting tear which marred that beauteous face!
And now when absent, darling, my thoughts revert to thee,
Thine image is reflected here, true as reality,
And ever thus it will remain, in colors pure and bright,
As a meteor in the sky, love, amid the gloom of night.

EXCERPTS FROM THE POETS.

For would she of her gentilnesse,
Withouten more me ones kesse,
It were to me a grete guerdon.

CHAUCER.

* * * * *

O kiss! which dost those ruddy gems impart,
Or gems, or fruits, of new-found paradise,
Breathing all bliss and sweetening to the heart,
Teaching dumb lips a nobler exercise,
O kiss! which souls, e’en souls, together ties
By links of love, and only nature’s art,
How fain would I paint thee to all men’s eyes,
Or of thy gifts, at least, shade out some part.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

* * * * *

He her beholding, at her feet down fell,
And kissed the ground on which her sole did tread,
And washed the same with water, which did well
From his moist eyes, and like two streams proceed.

SPENSER.

* * * * *

These poor half-kisses kill me quite:
Was ever man thus served?
Amid an ocean of delight,
For pleasure to be starved.

DRAYTON.

* * * * *

I do confess thou’rt sweet; yet find
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favors are but like the wind,
That kisseth everything that meets;
And since thou canst with more than one,
Thou’rt worthy to be kissed by none.

SIR ROBERT AYTOUN.

* * * * *

I do not love thee for those soft
Red coral lips I’ve kissed so oft;
Nor teeth of pearl, the double guard
To speech, whence music still is heard;
Though from those lips a kiss being taken
Might tyrants melt, and death awaken.

CAREW.

* * * * *

I die, dear life! unless to me be given
As many kisses as the spring hath flowers,
Or there be silver-drops in Iris’ showers,
Or stars there be in all-embracing heaven;
And if displeased you of the match remain,
You shall have leave to take them back again.

DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN.

* * * * *

You say I love not, ’cause I do not play
Still with your ringlets, and kiss time away;
By love’s religion, I must here confess it,
The most I love when I the least express it!

HERRICK.

* * * * *

Love in her sunny eyes does basking play;
Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair;
Love does on both her lips forever stay,
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there.

COWLEY.

* * * * *

Her kisses faster, though unknown before,
Than blossoms fall on parting spring, she strewed;
Than blossoms sweeter, and in number more.

DAVENANT.

* * * * *

So cheered he his fair spouse, and she was cheered,
But silently a gentle tear let fall
From either eye, and wiped them with her hair;
Two other precious drops, that ready stood,
Each in their crystal sluice, he, ere they fell,
Kissed, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse
And pious awe, that feared to have offended.

MILTON.

* * * * *

We were alone, quite unsuspiciously,
But oft our eyes met, and our cheeks in hue
All o’er discolored by that reading were;
But one point only wholly us o’erthrew:
When we read the long-sighed-for smile of her,
To be thus kissed by such devoted lover,
He who from me[13] can be divided ne’er
Kissed my mouth, trembling in the act all over.[14]

DANTE.

* * * * *

Sweet pouting lip! whose color mocks the rose,
Rich, ripe, and teeming with the dew of bliss,—
The flower of Love’s forbidden fruit, which grows
Insidiously to tempt us with a kiss.

TASSO.

* * * * *

I felt the while a pleasing kind of smart;
The kiss went tingling to my very heart.
When it was gone, the sense of it did stay,
The sweetness cling’d upon my lips all day,
Like drops of honey loath to fall away.

DRYDEN.

* * * * *

Upon my livid lips bestow a kiss;
Oh, envy not the dead, they feel not bliss.

DRYDEN.

* * * * *

Then with great haste
I clasped my arms about her neck and waist;
About her yielding waist, and took a fouth
Of sweetest kisses frae her glowing mouth.
While hard and fast I held her in my grips,
My very saul came louping to my lips;
Sair, sair she flet wi’ me ’tween ilka smack,
But weel I kend she meant na as she spak.

ALLAN RAMSAY.

* * * * *

Oh, were I made by some transforming power
The captive bird that sings within thy bower!
Then might my voice thy listening ears employ,
And I those kisses he receives enjoy.

POPE.

* * * * *

On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore.

POPE.

* * * * *

Be plain in dress, and sober in your diet;
In short, my deary, kiss me, and be quiet.

LADY MONTAGUE: _Summary of Advice_.

* * * * *

Never man before
More blest; nor like this kiss hath been another,
Nor ever beauties like, met at such closes,
But in the kisses of two damask roses.

BROWN: _Pastorals_.

* * * * *

At these sweet words, how shall I tell my joy?
I called him to my side. He rose, approached,
And trembling seized the hand I proffered him,
A pledge of reconcilèd love; and, ah!
So fervent kissed it, that my very heart
Leaped in my bosom; then full many a sigh
He breathed, with sweet regards and fond caress.

GOLDONI.

* * * * *

The kiss snatched hasty from the sidelong maid,
On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep.

THOMSON: _Winter_.

* * * * *

The rose he in his bosom wore,
How oft upon my breast was seen;
And when I kissed the drooping flower,
Behold, he cried, it blooms again!

COWPER.

* * * * *

Soft child of love, thou balmy bliss,
Inform me, O delicious kiss!
Why thou so suddenly art gone,
Lost in the moment thou art won?

WOLCOT.

* * * * *

I ken’t her heart was a’ my ain;
I loved her most sincerely;
I kissed her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o’ barley.

BURNS.

* * * * *

Her lips, more than the cherries bright,
A richer dye has graced them;
They charm th’ admiring gazer’s sight,
And sweetly tempt to taste them.

BURNS.

* * * * *

Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow,
Sae bonnie blue her een, my dearie;
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou’;
The mair I kiss she’s aye my dearie.

BURNS.

* * * * *

I’ll pu’ the budding rose when Phœbus peeps in view,
For it’s like a baumy kiss o’ her sweet bonnie mou’;
The hyacinth for constancy, wi’ its unchanging blue—
And a’ to be a posie to my ain dear May.

BURNS.

* * * * *

A man may drink and not be drunk;
A man may fight and not be slain;
A man may kiss a bonnie lass
And aye be welcome back again.

BURNS.

* * * * *

Her head upon my throbbing breast,
She, sinking, said, “I’m thine forever!”
While many a kiss the seal imprest
The sacred vow we ne’er should sever.

BURNS.

* * * * *

Gin a body meet a body
Coming through the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?

Gin a body meet a body
Coming through the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need the world ken?

BURNS.

* * * * *

How delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at Love’s beginning,
When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there’s no untying!

CAMPBELL.

* * * * *

That’s hallowed ground—where, mourned and missed,
The lips repose our love has kissed.
...
A kiss can consecrate the ground
Where mated hearts are mutual bound.

CAMPBELL.

* * * * *

The kiss that would make a maid’s cheek flush
Wroth, as if kissing were a sin,
Amid the Argus eyes and din
And tell-tale glare of noon,
Brings but a murmur and a blush,
Beneath the modest moon.

CAMPBELL.

* * * * *

A creature not too bright or good
For human nature’s daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

WORDSWORTH.

* * * * *

Ah, happy she! to ’scape from him whose kiss
Had been pollution unto aught so chaste;
Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss,
And spoiled her goodly lands to gild his waste,
Nor calm domestic peace had ever deigned to taste.

BYRON.

* * * * *

How shall I bear the moment, when restored
To that young heart where I alone am lord,
When from those lips, unbreathed upon for years,
I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears,
And find those tears warm as when last they started,
Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted!

MOORE: _Lalla Rookh_.

* * * * *

One dear glance,
Like those of old, were heaven! whatever chance
Hath brought thee here, oh, ’twas a blessed one!
There—my loved lips—they move—that kiss hath run
Like the first shoot of life through every vein,
And now I clasp her, mine, all mine again.

MOORE: _Lalla Rookh_.

* * * * *

Though high that tower, that rock-way rude,
There’s one who, but to kiss thy cheek,
Would climb the untrodden solitude
Of Ararat’s tremendous peak,
And think its steeps, though dark and dread,
Heaven’s pathways, if to thee they led!

MOORE: _Lalla Rookh_.

* * * * *

Oh, think what the kiss and the smile must be worth,
When the sigh and the tear are so perfect in bliss,
And own, if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.

MOORE: _Lalla Rookh_.

* * * * *

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.

SCOTT: _Marmion_.

* * * * *

Oh, lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.

SHELLEY.

* * * * *

Then press, with warm caresses,
Close lips, and bridal kisses,
Your steel;—cursed be his head,
Who fails the bride he wed.

KOERNER: _Sword Song_.

* * * * *

Around the glowing hearth at night
The harmless laugh and winter tale
Go round, while parting friends delight
To toast each other o’er their ale;
The cotter oft with quiet zeal
Will musing o’er his Bible lean;
While in the dark the lovers steal
To kiss and toy behind the screen.

CLARE: _December_.

* * * * *

Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck,
So soft and so white, without freckle or speck,
And he looked in her eyes that were beaming with light,
And he kissed her sweet lips—don’t you think he was right?
“Now, Rory, leave off, sir, you’ll hug me no more;
That’s eight times to-day that you’ve kissed me before.”
“Then here goes another,” says he, “to make sure,
For there’s luck in odd numbers,” says Rory O’Moore.

LOVER.

* * * * *

Grief with vain passionate tears hath wet
The hair, shedding gleams from thy pale brow yet;
Love with sad kisses unfelt hath prest
Thy meek-dropt eyelids and quiet breast;
And the glad Spring, calling out bird and bee,
Shall color all blossoms, fair child, but thee.

MRS. HEMANS.

* * * * *

She wiped the death-damps from his brow,
With her pale hands and soft,
Whose touch upon the lute-chords low
Had stilled his heart so oft.
She spread her mantle o’er his breast,
She bathed his lips with dew,
And on his cheeks such kisses pressed
As hope and joy ne’er knew.

MRS. HEMANS.

* * * * *

Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief! who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in.
Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I’m growing old, but add—
Jenny kissed me!

LEIGH HUNT.

* * * * *

I classed and counted once
Earth’s lamentable sounds,—the well-a-day,
The jarring yea and nay,
The fall of kisses upon senseless clay.

MRS. BROWNING.

* * * * *

There were words
That broke in utterance—melted in the fire;
Embrace, that was convulsion; then a kiss,
As long and silent as the ecstatic night,
And deep, deep shuddering breaths, which meant beyond
Whatever could be told by word or kiss.

MRS. BROWNING.

* * * * *

First time he kissed me, but he only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And, ever since, it grew more clear and white,
Slow to world greeting; quick with its “Oh, list!”
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst,
I could not wear it plainer to my sight
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead; and half missed.
Falling upon my hair. Oh, beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which love’s own crown,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect purple state! Since when, indeed,
I have been proud, and said, “My love, my own!”

MRS. BROWNING.

* * * * *

He will kiss me on the mouth
Then; and lead me as a lover
Through the crowds that praise his deeds.

MRS. BROWNING.

* * * * *

Love feareth death! I was no child—I was betrothed that day;
I wore a troth-kiss on my lips I could not give away.

MRS. BROWNING.

* * * * *

Kiss, baby, kiss! mothers’ lips shine by kisses;
Choke the warm breath that else would fall in blessings;
Black manhood comes, when turbulent guilty blisses
Tend thee the kiss that poisons ’mid caressings.

CHARLES LAMB.

* * * * *

Both our mouths went wandering in one way,
And, aching sorely, met among the leaves;
Our hands, being left behind, strained far away.

WM. MORRIS: _Defence of Guinevere_.

* * * * *

I saw you kissing once: like a curved sword,
That bites with all its edge, did your lips lie.

WM. MORRIS: _Defence of Guinevere_.

* * * * *

And with a velvet lip print on his brow
Such language as the tongue hath never spoken.

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

* * * * *

There was a beam in that young mother’s eye, ’
Lit by the feelings that she could not speak,
As from her lips a plaintive lullaby
Stirred the bright tresses on her infant’s cheek;
While now and then, with melting heart, she prest
Soft kisses o’er its red and smiling lips,—
Lips sweet as rosebuds in fresh beauty dressed
Ere the young murmuring bee their honey sips.

MRS. WELBY.

* * * * *

Oh, turn from me those radiant eyes,
With love’s dark lightning beaming,
Or veil the power that in them lies
To set the young heart dreaming.
...
What pity that thy lips of rose,
So fitted for heart-healing,
Should not with tenderest kisses close
The wounds thine eyes are dealing!

MOTHERWELL.

* * * * *

She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed,
And then I fell gently
To sleep on her breast—
Deeply to sleep
From the heaven of her breast.

E. A. POE.

* * * * *

Oh, stay, Madonna! stay;
’Tis not the dawn of day
That marks the skies with yonder opal streak;
The stars in silence shine;
Then press thy lips to mine,
And rest upon my neck thy fervid cheek.

MACAULAY.

* * * * *

A moment, and he saw her come,—
That maiden, from her latticed home,
With eyes all love, and lips apart,
And faltering step, and beating heart,
She came, and joined her cheek to his
In one prolonged and rapturous kiss;
And while it thrilled through heart and limb,
The world was naught to her or him.

PRAED.

* * * * *

Oh! Vidal’s very soul did weep
Whene’er that music, like a charm,
Brought back from their unlistening sleep
The kissing lip and clasping arm.

PRAED.

* * * * *

How shall I woo her? I will bow
Before the holy shrine,
And pray the prayer, and vow the vow,
And press her lips to mine;
And I will tell her, when she parts
From passion’s thrilling kiss,
That memory to many hearts
Is dearer far than bliss.

PRAED.

* * * * *

She loved the ripples’ play,
As to her feet the truant rovers
Wandered and went with a laugh away,
Kissing but once, like wayward lovers.

PRAED.

* * * * *

Deep is the bliss of the belted knight,
When he kisses at dawn the silken glove,
And goes, in his glittering armor dight,
To shiver a lance for his Lady-Love!

PRAED.

* * * * *

Dream, while the chill sea-foam
In mockery dashes o’er thee,
Of the cheerful hearth, and the quiet home,
And the kiss of her that bore thee.

PRAED.

* * * * *

I wept and blessed thee, called thee o’er and o’er
By that dear name which I must use no more;
And kissed with passionate lips the empty air,
As if thy image stood before me there.

ANON.: _Josephine to Napoleon_.

* * * * *

My heart can kiss no heart but thine,
And if these lips but rarely pine
In the pale abstinence of sorrow,
It is that nightly I divine,
As I this world-sick soul recline,
I shall be with thee ere the morrow.

BAILEY: _Festus_.

* * * * *

The smile, the sigh, the tear, and the embrace—
All the delights of love at last in one,
With kisses close as stars in the Milky Way.

BAILEY: _Festus_.

* * * * *

Frown—toss about—let her lips be for a time:
But steal a kiss at last like fire from heaven.

BAILEY: _Festus_.

* * * * *

Oh, weep not—wither not the soul
Made saturate with bliss;
I would not have one briny tear
Embitter Beauty’s kiss.

BAILEY: _Festus_.

* * * * *

Mother’s kiss
Was ne’er more welcome to the waking child,
After a dream of horrors, than the breeze
Upon my feverish brow.

ANON.: _Saul_.

* * * * *

Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life! the days that are no more.

TENNYSON: _Princess_.

* * * * *

The trance gave way
To those caresses, when a hundred times
In that last kiss, which never was the last,
Farewell, like endless welcome, lived and died.

TENNYSON: _Love and Duty_.

* * * * *

Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships,
And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.

TENNYSON: _Locksley Hall_.

* * * * *

When I was wont to meet her
In the silent woody places
By the home that gave me birth,
We stood tranced in long embraces
Mixed with kisses sweeter, sweeter
Than anything on earth.

TENNYSON: _Maud_.

* * * * *

They found the stately horse,
Who now, no more a vassal to the thief,
But free to stretch his limbs in lawful flight,
Neighed with all gladness as they came, and stooped
With a low whinny toward the pair; and she
Kissed the white star upon his noble front,
Glad also: then Geraint upon the horse
Mounted, and reached a hand, and on his foot
She set her own and climbed; he turned his face
And kissed her climbing, and she cast her arms
About him, and at once they rode away.

TENNYSON: _Enid_.

* * * * *

Ah, one rose,
One rose, but one, by those fair fingers culled,
Were worth a hundred kisses pressed on lips
Less exquisite than thine.

TENNYSON: _Gardener’s Daughter_.

* * * * *

Then stood the maiden hushed in sweet surprise,
And with her clasped hands held her heart-throbs down
Beneath the wondrous brightness of his eyes,
Whose smile seemed to enwreathe her like a crown.
He raised no wand, he gave no strange commands,
But touched her eyes with tender touch and light,
With charmed lips kissed apart her folded hands,
And laid therein the lily, snowy white.

WILSON: _Magic Pitcher_.

* * * * *

Ah, sad are they who know not love,
But, far from passion’s tears and smiles,
Drift down a moonless sea, beyond
The silvery coasts of fairy isles.

And sadder they whose longing lips
Kiss empty air, and never touch
The dear warm mouth of those they love—
Waiting, wasting, suffering much.

ALDRICH: _Persian Love-Song_.

* * * * *

Yes, child, I know I am out of tune;
The light is bad; the sky is gray;
I’ll work no more this afternoon,
So lay your royal robes away.
Besides, you’re dreamy—hand on chin—
I know not what—not in the vein:
While I would paint Anne Boleyn,
You sit there looking like Elaine.

Not like the youthful, radiant queen,
Unconscious of the coming woe,
But rather as she might have been,
Preparing for the headsman’s blow.
I see! I’ve put you in a miff—
Sitting bolt upright, wrist on wrist.
How _should_ you look? Why, dear, as if—
Somehow—as if you’d just been kissed!

ALDRICH: _In an Atelier_.

* * * * *

We had talked long; and then a silence came;
And in the topmost firs
To his nest the white dove floated like a flame;
And my lips closed on hers
Who was the only She,
And in one girl all womanhood to me.

PALGRAVE.

* * * * *

Fly, white-winged sea-bird, following fast,
That dips around our foamy wake,
Go nestle in her virgin breast,
And kiss her pure lips for my sake.

_Sailor’s Valentine._

* * * * *

He who wandered with the peasant Jew,
And broke with publicans the bread of shame,
And drank with blessings in His Father’s name
The water which Samaria’s outcast drew,
Hath now His temples upon every shore,
Altar and shrine and priest,—and incense dim
Evermore rising, with low prayer and hymn,
From lips which press the temple’s marble floor,
Or kiss the gilded sign of the dread Cross He bore!

WHITTIER.

* * * * *

Lament who will the ribald line
Which tells his lapse[15] from duty,
How kissed the maddening lips of wine
Or wanton ones of beauty;

But think, while falls that shade between
The erring one and Heaven,
That he who loved like Magdalen
Like her may be forgiven.

WHITTIER.

* * * * *

Oh to have dwelt in Bethlehem
When the star of the Lord shone bright!
To have sheltered the holy wanderers
On that blessed Christmas night!
To have kissed the tender wayworn feet
Of the Mother undefiled,
And, with reverent wonder and deep delight,
To have tended the Holy Child!

ADELAIDE PROCTER.

* * * * *

“What more have I to give you?
Why give you anything?
You had my rose before, sir,
And now you have my ring.”
“You have forgotten one thing.”
“I do not understand.”
“The dew goes with the rose-bud,
And with the ring the hand!”
She gave her hand; he took it,
And kissed it o’er and o’er:
“I give myself to you, love;
I cannot give you more!”

STODDARD: _The Lady’s Gift_.

* * * * *

And Halfred the Scald said, “This
In the name of the Lord I kiss,
Who on it was crucified!”
And a shout went round the board,
“In the name of Christ the Lord,
Who died!”

LONGFELLOW.

* * * * *

They climb up into my turret
O’er the arms and back of my chair:
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses;
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine.

LONGFELLOW: _The Children’s Hour_.

* * * * *

Men and devils both contrive
Traps for catching girls alive;
Eve was duped, and Helen kissed,—
How, oh, how can you resist?

HOLMES.

* * * * *

Kiss but the crystal’s mystic rim,
Each shadow rends its flowery chain,
Springs in a bubble from its brim,
And walks the chambers of the brain.

HOLMES.

* * * * *

Now, why thy long delaying?
Alack! thy beads and praying!
If thou, a saint, dost hope
To kneel and kiss the Pope,
Then I, a sinner, know
Where sweeter kisses grow—
Nay, now, just one before we go!

TILTON: _Flight from the Convent_.

* * * * *

[Before closing this portion of our selections, it is worth while to note the popular misconception of the favorite ditty “Coming through the Rye,” as shown in the pictorial illustrations which present a laddie and lassie meeting and kissing in a field of grain. The lines,—

“If a laddie meet a lassie
Comin’ thro’ the rye,”

and especially the other couplet,—

“A’ the lads they smile on me
When comin’ thro’ the rye,”

seem to imply that traversing the rye was a habitual or common thing; but what in the name of the Royal Agricultural Society could be the object in trampling down a crop of grain in that style? The song, perhaps, suggests a harvest-scene, where both sexes, as is the custom in Great Britain, are at work reaping, and where they would come and go through the field indeed, but not through the rye itself, so as to meet and kiss in it. The truth is, the rye in this case is no more grain than Rye Beach is, it being the name of a small shallow stream near Ayr, in Scotland, which, having neither bridge nor ferry, was forded by the people going to and from the market, custom allowing a lad to steal a kiss from any lass of his acquaintance whom he met in mid-stream. Reference to the first verse, in which the lass is shown as wetting her clothes in the stream, confirms this explanation:

“Jenny is a’ wat, puir bodie;
Jenny’s seldom dry;
She drag’lt a’ her petticoatie,
Comin’ thro’ the rye.”]

EXTRACTS FROM THE OLD BALLADS.

MARRIAGE OF GILBERT BECKET.

And quickly hied he down the stair;
Of fifteen steps he made but three;
He’s ta’en his bonny love in arms,
And kist, and kist her tenderlie.

BIRTH OF ROBIN HOOD.

He took his bonny boy in his arms,
And kist him tenderlie;
Says, “Though I would your father hang,
Your mother’s dear to me.”

He kist him o’er and o’er again:
“My grandson I thee claim;
And Robin Hood in gude greenwood,
And that shall be your name.”

DOWSABELL.

With that she bent her snow-white knee,
Down by the shepheard kneeled she,
And him she sweetely kist:
With that the shepheard whooped for joy,
Quoth he, “Ther’s never shepheard’s boy
That ever was so blist.”

GILDEROY.

Aft on the banks we’d sit us thair,
And sweetly kiss and toy,
Wi’ garlands gay wad deck my hair
My handsome Gilderoy.

PATIENT COUNTESS.

He took her in his armes, as yet
So coyish to be kist,
As mayds that know themselves beloved,
And yieldingly resist.

FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

But first upon my true love’s grave
My weary limbs I’ll lay,
And thrice I’ll kiss the green-grass turf
That wraps his breathless clay.

GENTLE HERDSMAN.

When thus I saw he loved me well,
I grewe so proud his paine to see,
That I, who did not know myselfe,
Thought scorne of such a youth as hee,

And grewe soe coy and nice to please,
As women’s lookes are often soe,
He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth,
Unlesse I willed him soe to doe.

FAIR ROSAMOND.

And falling down all in a swoone
Before King Henry’s face,
Full oft he in his princelye armes
Her bodye did embrace:

And twentye times, with watery eyes,
He kist her tender cheeke,
Untill he had revivde againe
Her senses milde and meeke.

LUNATIC LOVER.

I’ll court you, and think you fair,
Since love does distract my brain:
I’ll go, I’ll wed the night-mare,
And kiss her, and kiss her again.

CHILD WATERS.

Shee saies, I had rather have one kisse,
Child Waters, of thy mouth,
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
That lye by north and south.

PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.

Love, that had bene long deluded,
Was with kisses sweete concluded;
And Phillida with garlands gaye
Was made the lady of the Maye.

FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.

I’ll do more for thee, Margaret,
Than any of thy kin;
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Though a smile I cannot win.

With that bespake the seven brethren,
Making most piteous moan:
“You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,
And let our sister alone.”

“If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;
I ne’er made a vow to yonder poor corpse,
By day, nor yet by night.”

SWEET WILLIAM’S GHOST.

“Thy faith and troth thou’se nevir get,
Of me shalt nevir win,
Till that thou come within my bower
And kiss my cheek and chin.”

“If I should come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man:
And should I kiss thy rosy lipp,
Thy days will not be lang.”

LADY’S FALL.

“And there,” quoth hee, “Ile meete my deare,
If God soe lend me life,
On this day month without all fayle
I will make thee my wife.”
Then with a sweete and loving kisse,
They parted presentlye,
And att their partinge brinish teares
Stoode in eche other’s eye.

WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY.

But had I wist, before I kisst,
That love had been sae ill to win,
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,
And pinned it wi’ a siller pin.

BRIDE’S BURIAL.

In love as we have livde,
In love let us depart;
And I, in token of my love,
Do kiss thee with my heart.

CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.

With lippes as cold as any stone,
They kist their children small:
“God bless you both, my children deare;”
With that the teares did fall.

LUCY AND COLIN.

Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows,
Vows due to me alone:
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,
Nor think him all thy own.

MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.

Sir Kay beheld that lady’s face,
And looked upon her sweere:[16]
“Whoever kisses that ladye,” he sayes,
“Of his kisse he stands in feare.”

Sir Kay beheld that ladye againe,
And looked upon her snout:
“Whoever kisses that ladye,” he sayes,
“Of his kisse he stands in doubt.”

GUY AND AMARANT.

The good old man, even overjoyed with this,
Fell on the ground, and wold have kissed Guy’s feete:
“Father,” quoth he, “refraine soe base a kisse,
For age to honor youth I hold unmeete.”

THE HUMORS OF VERSE.

ON MY REFUSING ANGELINA A KISS UNDER THE MISTLETOE.

Nay, fond one, shun that mistletoe,
Nor lure me ’neath its fatal bough:
Some other night ’twere joy to go,
But ah! I must not, dare not, now!
’Tis sad, I own, to see thy face
Thus tempt me with its giggling glee,
And feel I cannot now embrace
The opportunity—and thee.

’Tis sad to think that jealousy’s
Sharp scissors may our true love sever,
And that my coldness now may freeze
Thy warm affection, love, forever.
But ah! to disappoint our bliss,
A fatal hindrance now is stuck:
’Tis not that I am loath to kiss,
But, dearest,—_I have dined on duck_.

MOCK HEROICS.

Out from the dark, wild forest
Rode the terrible Heinz Von Stein,
And paused at the front of a tavern,
And gazed at the swinging sign.

Then he sat himself down in a corner,
And growled for a bottle of wine;
Up came—with a flask and a corkscrew—
A maiden of beauty divine.

Then he sighed, with a deep love sighing,
And said, “O damsel mine,
Suppose you just give a few kisses
To the valorous Ritter Von Stein?”

But she answered, “The kissing business
Is not at all in my line;
And surely I shall not begin it
On a countenance ugly as thine.”

Then the knight was exceedingly angry,
And he cursed both coarse and fine;
And he asked her what was the swindle
For her sour and nasty wine.

And fiercely he rode to his castle,
And sat himself down to dine:
And this is the fearful legend
Of the terrible Heinz Von Stein.

* * * * *

The closing stanza of the old English ballad called “The Rural Dance about the May-pole” is as follows:

“Let’s kiss,” says Jane; “Content,” says Nan,
And so says every she;
“How many?” says Batt; “Why, three,” says Matt,
“For that’s a maiden’s fee.”
But they, instead of three,
Did give them half a score,
And they in kindness gave ’em, gave ’em,
Gave ’em as many more.

* * * * *

There is a song of the reign of Queen Anne beginning:

“Go from my window, go,
Or something at you I may throw:”

to which a lover replies,—

“Throw me or blow me a kiss,
And nothing can then come amiss.”

* * * * *

From the old Scotch ballad, “The Souter and his Sow,” we take the following stanza:

The souter gae his sow a kiss.
“Grumph” (quo’ the sow) “it’s for my birse;”
“And wha gae ye sae sweet a mou’?”
Quo’ the souter to the sow.
“Grumph” (quo’ the sow) “and wha gae ye
A tongue sae sleekit and sae slee?”

* * * * *

Some of our readers will remember the humorous old Scotch song in which these verses occur:

“Auld wifie, auld wifie, will ye go a-shearing?”
“Speak a little louder, sir, I’m unco dull o’ hearing.”
“Auld wifie, auld wifie, will ye let me kiss ye?”
“I hear a little better, sir, may a’ the warld bless ye.”

In Cheshire and Staffordshire the lines run thus:

“Old woman, old woman, may I come and kiss you?”
“Yes, and thank you kindly, sir, and may Heaven bless you.”

* * * * *

Many will recognize these old verses:

Some say that kissing’s a sin,
But I think it’s nane ava;
For kissing has wonn’d in this warld
Since ever there was twa.

Oh, if it wasna lawfu’,
Lawyers wadna allow it;
If it wasna holy,
Ministers wadna do it.

If it wasna modest,
Maidens wadna tak it;
If it wasna plenty,
Puir folks wadna get it.

KING KEDER.

The only account of this apocryphal monarch is a poetic myth relating to an amorous design, from the frustration of which was named the town of Kidderminster:

King Keder saw a pretty girl,
King Keder would have kissed her,
The damsel nimbly slipped aside,
and so
King Keder missed her,
Keder missed her.

* * * * *

Shakspeare, in his “Venus and Adonis,” gives this picture of tantalizing caprice:

Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being looked on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave;
But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.

* * * * *

As a specimen of what the human mind can effect in the way of amatory poetry, we take the following from a journal of the period:

When Carlo sits in Sally’s chair,
Oh, don’t I wish that I were there!
When her fairy fingers pat his head,
Oh, don’t I wish ’twas me instead!
When Sally’s arms his neck imprison,
Oh, don’t I wish my neck was his’n!
When Sally kisses Carlo’s nose,
Oh, don’t I wish that I were those!

THE PUBLICAN’S DAUGHTER.

In George Colman’s musical farce, “The Review, or the Wags of Windsor,” Looney Mactwolter falls in love with Judy O’Flannikin:

Judy’s a darling; my kisses she suffers:
She’s an heiress, that’s clear,
For her father sells beer;
He keeps the sign of the Cow and the Snuffers.

* * * * *

In Hood’s “Retrospective Review,” “Oh, when I was a tiny boy,” etc., occurs this stanza:

Oh for the lessons learned by heart!
Ay, though the very birch’s smart
Should mark those hours again;
I’d “kiss the rod,” and be resigned
Beneath the strokes, and even find
Some sugar in the cane!

* * * * *

In Robert Southey’s “Love Elegies,” the poet relates how he obtained Delia’s pocket-handkerchief, and shows that “the eighth commandment was not made for love,” when he proceeds as follows:

Here, when she took the macaroons from me,
She wiped her mouth to clean the crumbs so sweet!
Dear napkin! yes, she wiped her lips in thee,—
Lips sweeter than the macaroons she eat.

And when she took that pinch of Maccabaw
That made my love so delicately sneeze,
Thee to her Roman nose applied I saw;
And thou art doubly dear for things like these.

No washerwoman’s filthy hand shall e’er,
Sweet pocket-handkerchief! thy worth profane;
For thou hast touched the rubies of my fair,
And I will kiss thee o’er and o’er again.

* * * * *

Scotch song abounds with pleasant allusions to the custom of kissing, like this, for example, from a well-known West Highland ditty:

Dumbarton’s drums beat bonnie, O,
When they mind me o’ my dear Johnny, O;
How happy am I,
When my soldier is by,
When he kisses and blesses his Annie, O!
’Tis a soldier alone can delight me, O,[17]
For his graceful looks do invite me, O;
Whilst guarded in his arms,
I’ll fear no war’s alarms,
Neither danger nor death shall e’er fright me, O.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW.

When lads and lasses merry be,
With possets and with junkets fine,
Unseen of all the company
I eat their cakes and sip their wine,
And, to make sport,
I whoop and snort,
And out the candles I do blow:
The maids I kiss:
They shriek, “Who’s this?”
I answer nought but ho, ho, ho![18]

NOSES.

How very odd that poets should suppose
There is no poetry about a nose,
When plain as is man’s nose upon his face,
A nose-less face would lack poetic grace!
Noses have sympathy, a lover knows:
Noses are always touched, when lips are kissing;
And who would care to kiss, if nose were missing?

“BEWARE OF PAINT.”

A lover sat down with his love by his side,
With a countenance joyous, and beaming with pride.
As he gazed on the blending of beauty and art,
A thrill of delight filled his innermost heart;
And, revelling there in his visions of bliss,
He thought to obtain from the fair one a kiss.
But ere he had gained the much-coveted prize,
The scales of love’s blindness dropped off of his eyes;
For he marked the fixed hue of the maidenly blush,
And detected the carmine that passed for a flush
Of the life-giving tide, with its ebb and its flow,
Like a lake in the sunset with reddening glow.
“Faugh!” thought he,—“is’t only a semblance, fair saint,
Of beauty and youth,—only powder and paint?
Have I been deceived by the likeness of truth,
By counterfeit bloom and by parodied youth?
Ah, that beautiful brow I was wont to declare
Did vie with the lily, so white and so fair,
I find to my sorrow, and e’en to love’s blight,
Owes its blanch to enamel or pure lily-white!
No, no, I decline! I relinquish the bliss
I had hoped to derive from a rapturous kiss,
Lest the mark of the brush I might haply erase,
And leave a significant print on her face;
Nor more will I fondly encircle her neck,
Lest the counterfeit fairness my sleeve may bedeck,
And I care not to bear on demonstrative arms
Such manifest mark of decadence of charms.”

W. M. PEGRAM.

THE SHADOWS.

In the twilight gloom
The family sat in the sitting-room,
Chatting the hour away
Before tea,
While Kate and I were watching the gray
Of evening descend o’er the sea,
As in a bow-window stood we.

We talked of times
That touched our hearts as the evening’s chimes;
Holding her hand in mine,—
Happy me!
And as we looked at the stars that shine,
I kissed her, and she kissed me,
As in a bow-window stood we.
Then oped the door,
And the light of a lamp fell on the floor;
While a maid did call
Them to tea.
And, as they turned, this sight saw all,—
Shadows were kissing on the wall,
As in a bow-window kissed we.

THE SMACK IN SCHOOL.

A district school, not far away,
’Mid Berkshire hills and winter’s day,
Was humming with its wonted noise
Of threescore mingled girls and boys,
Some few upon their tasks intent,
But more on furtive mischief bent.
The while the master’s downward look
Was fastened on a copy-book,
Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack,
As ’twere a battery of bliss
Let off in one tremendous kiss!
“What’s that?” the startled master cries.
“That, thir,” a little imp replies,
“Wath William Willuth, if you pleathe,—
I thaw him kith Thuthannah Peathe!”
With frown to make a statue thrill,
The master thundered, “Hither, Will!”
Like wretch o’ertaken in his track,
With stolen chattels on his back,
Will hung his head in fear and shame,
And to the awful presence came,—
A great, green, bashful simpleton,
The butt of all good-natured fun.
With smile suppressed, and birch upraised,
The threatener faltered, “I’m amazed
That you, my biggest pupil, should
Be guilty of an act so rude!
Before the whole set school, to boot.
What evil genius put you to’t?”
“’Twas she herself, sir,” sobbed the lad;
“I didn’t mean to be so bad;
But when Susannah shook her curls,
And whispered I was ’fraid of girls,
And dursn’t kiss a baby’s doll,
I couldn’t stand it, sir, at all,
But up and kissed her on the spot.
I know—boo-hoo—I ought to not,
But somehow, from her looks—boo-hoo—
I thought she kind o’ wished me to!”

THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN.

Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he,
I guess I’ll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see;
I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear,
Leander swam the Hellespont,—and I will swim this here.

And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream,
And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight gleam;
Oh, there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as rain,
But they have heard her father’s step, and in he leaps again.

(The lover is seized with the cramp and is drowned, and the maiden never awakens from her “swound.”)

Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their woe,
And now they keep an oyster-shop for mermaids down below.

HOLMES.

ANCIENT SPANISH LYRIC.

Since for kissing thee, Minquillo,
My mother scolds me all the day,
Let me have it quickly, darling,
Give me back my kiss, I pray.

If we have done aught amiss,
Let’s undo it while we may;
Quickly give me back my kiss,
That she may have naught to say.

Do,—she makes so great a bother,
Chides so sharply, looks so grave,—
Do, my love, to please my mother,
Give me back the kiss I gave.

Out upon you, false Minquillo!
One you give, but two you take;
Give me back the one, my darling,
Give it for my mother’s sake.

THE BROKEN PITCHER.

[From the Spanish.]

It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well,
And what the maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot tell,
When by there rode a valiant knight for the town of Oviedo,
Alfonzo Guzman was the knight, the Count of Desparedo.

“O maiden, Moorish maiden, why sitt’st thou by the spring?
Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing?
Why gazest thou upon me with eyes so large and wide,
And wherefore doth the pitcher lie broken by thy side?”

“I do not seek a lover, thou Christian knight so gay,
Because an article like that hath never come my way;
And why I gaze upon you I cannot, cannot tell,
Except that in your iron hose you look uncommon well.

“My pitcher it is broken, and this the reason is:
A shepherd came behind me and tried to steal a kiss;
I would not stand his nonsense, so ne’er a word I spoke,
But scored him on the costard, and so the jug was broke.

“My uncle the Alcayde, he waits for me at home,
And will not take his tumbler until Zorayda come.
I cannot bring him water, the pitcher is in pieces,
And so I’m sure to catch it, ’cos he wollops all his nieces.”

“O maiden, Moorish maiden, wilt thou be ruled by me?
So wipe thine eyes and rosy lips, and give me kisses three,
And I’ll give thee my helmet, thou kind and courteous lady,
To carry home the water to thy uncle the Alcayde.”

He lighted down from off his steed—he tied him to a tree—
He bowed him to the maiden, and took his kisses three:
“To wrong thee, sweet Zorayda, I swear would be a sin!”
He knelt him at the fountain, and dipped his helmet in.

Up rose the Moorish maiden,—behind the knight she steals,
And caught Alfonzo Guzman up tightly by the heels,
She tipped him in, and held him down, beneath the bubbling water,
“Now, take thou that for venturing to kiss Al Hamet’s daughter!”

A Christian maid is weeping in the town of Oviedo,
She waits the coming of her love, the Count of Desparedo.
I pray you all, in charity, that you will never tell
How he met the Moorish maiden beside the lonely well.

THE “BASIA” OF JOHANNES SECUNDUS.

The true name of the Dutch poet Johannes Secundus was Johannes Everard. He was born at the Hague in 1511, and died at Utrecht in 1536. His “Opera Poetica” consist of elegies, odes, epigrams, and other poems, written in purely classical Latin. Of these productions, the “Basia,” or “Kisses” (Utrecht, 1539), have been most admired, and have been ranked with the lyrics of Catullus. They have been repeatedly translated into the principal European languages, the English versions being by Nott and Stanley. We offer selections from the latter, for such of our readers as are unfamiliar with the rapturous Dutchman’s florid effusions.

The introductory epigram is as follows:

Lycinna scorns my KISSES; they are chaste,
Not stout enough for her experienced taste;
And Ælia calls me “bard with languid strings,”
She that to Love in streets her offerings brings.
Perhaps my utmost strength they seek to know,
To prove my vigor!—Go! vile wantons, go!
My strength, my vigor, long despair to find;
For you these KISSES never were designed;
Never for you were these soft measures wrought:
Read me, ye tender brides of boys untaught;
Read me, of brides untaught ye tender boys,
Yet new to Venus’ sweetly varying joys!

KISS I.

THE ORIGIN OF KISSES.

When young Ascanius, by the Queen of Love,
Was wafted to Cythera’s lofty grove,
The slumbering boy upon a couch she laid,
A fragrant couch, of new-blown violets made,
The blissful bower with shadowing roses crowned,
And balmy-breathing airs diffused around.

Soon, as she watched, through all her glowing soul
Impassioned thoughts of lost Adonis stole.
How oft, as memory hallowed all his charms,
She longed to clasp the sleeper in her arms!
How oft she said, admiring every grace,
“Such was Adonis! such his lovely face!”

But, fearing lest this fond excess of joy
Might break the slumber of the beauteous boy,
On every rose-bud that around him blowed,
A thousand nectared kisses she bestowed;
And straight each opening bud, which late was white,
Blushed a warm crimson to the astonished sight.
Still in Dione’s breast soft wishes rise,
Soft wishes, vented with soft-whispered sighs.
Thus, by her lips unnumbered roses pressed,
Kisses, unfolding in sweet bloom, confessed;
And, flushed with rapture at each new-born kiss,
She felt her swelling soul o’erwhelmed in bliss.

Now round this orb, soft-floating on the air,
The beauteous goddess speeds her radiant car;
As in gay pomp the harnessed cygnets fly,
Their snow-white pinions glitter through the sky:
And like Triptolemus, whose bounteous hand
Strewed golden plenty o’er the fertile land,
Fair Cytherea, as she flew along,
O’er the vast lap of nature kisses flung;
Pleased from on high she viewed the enchanted ground,
And from her lips thrice fell a magic sound:
He gave to mortals corn on every plain,
But she those sweets which mitigate my pain.

Hail, then, ye kisses! that can best assuage
The pangs of love, and soften all its rage!
Ye balmy kisses! that from roses sprung;
Roses! on which the lips of Venus hung:
Your bard am I; while yet the Aonian shades
Boast their proud verdures and their flowery glades,
While yet a laurel guards the sacred spring,
My fond, impassioned muse of you shall sing;
And Love, enraptured with the Latin name,
With that dear race from which your lineage came,
In Latin strains shall celebrate your praise,
And tell your high descent to future days.

KISS II.

As round some neighboring elm the vine
Its amorous tendrils loves to twine;
As round the oak, in many a maze,
The ivy flings its gadding sprays;
Couldst thou, Neæra, thus enlace
My neck with clinging close embrace;
If thine with such tenacious hold
My arms, Neæra, could enfold,
And nought could those sweet bonds dissever,
But we cling on and kiss forever;
Then, Ceres, Bacchus, sleep, adieu!
Good friends, I’d ask no more of you.
Oh, not for these, my love, oh, no,
Would I thy vermil lips forego;
But, lost in kisses never ending,
Our lives in mutual bliss expending,
One bark should waft our spirits o’er,
United, to the Stygian shore:
Then, passing through a transient night,
We’d enter soon those fields of light,
Where, breathing richest odors round,
A spring eternal paints the ground;
Where heroes, once in valor proved,
And beauteous heroines, once beloved,
Again with mutual passion burn,
Feel all their wonted flames return,
And now in sportive measures tread
The flowery carpet of the mead,
Now sing the jocund, tuneful tale,
Alternate in the myrtle vale,
Where ceaseless zephyrs fan the glade,
Soft-murmuring through the laurel shade;
Beneath whose waving foliage grow
The violet sweet of purple glow,
The daffodil that breathes perfume,
And roses of immortal bloom:
Where Earth her gifts spontaneous yields,
Nor ploughshare cuts the unfurrowed fields.

Soon as we entered these abodes
Of happy souls, of demi-gods,
The blest would all respectful rise,
And view us with admiring eyes;
Would seat us ’mid the immortal throng,
Where I, renowned for tender song,
A poet’s and a lover’s praise,
At once should claim and gain the bays;
While thou, enthroned above the rest,
Shouldst shine in Beauty’s train confest:
Nor should the mistresses of Jove
Such partial honors disapprove;
E’en Helen, though of race divine,
Would to thy charms her rank resign.

KISS III.

“One little kiss, sweet maid!” I cry,
And round my neck your arms you twine!
Your luscious lips of crimson dye
With rapturous haste encounter mine.

But quick those lips my lips forsake,
With wanton, tantalizing jest;
So starts some rustic from the snake
Beneath his heedless footstep prest.

Is this to grant the wished-for kiss?
Ah! no, my love,—’tis but to fire
The bosom with a transient bliss,
Inflaming unallayed desire.

KISS IV.