LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.

So while away from that arbor forsaken,

The maiden is wandering, still let her be As true as the lute, that no sighing can waken, And blooming forever, unchanged as the tree! THOMAS Moore.

17

Too Near.

So close we are, and yet so far apart,

So close, I feel your breath upon my cheek;
So far that all this love of mine is weak
To touch in any way your distant heart;
So close that when I hear your voice I start,

To see my whole life standing bare and bleak;
So far that though for years and years I seek,
I shall not find thee other than thou art;

So while I live I walk upon the verge

Of an impassable and changeless sea,

Which more than death divides me, love, from thee: The mournful beating of its leaden surge

Is all the music now that I shall hear;

O love, thou art too far and yet too near !

PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON.

Love at First Sight.

HE racing river leaped and sang

TH

Full blithely in the perfect weather,
All round the mountain echoes rang,
For blue and green were glad together.

This rains out light from every part,
And that with songs of joy was thrilling;

But in the hollow of my heart,

There ached a place that wanted filling.

Before the road and river meet,

And stepping-stones are wet and glisten,
I heard a sound of laughter sweet,
And paused to like it, and to listen.

I heard the chanting waters flow,

The cushat's note, the bee's low humming, Then turned the hedge, and did not know— How could I? that my time was coming.

A girl upon the highest stone,

Half doubtful of the deed, was standing,
So far the shallow flood had flown,
Beyond the 'customed leap of landing.

She knew not any need of me,

Yet me she wanted all unweeting;
She thought not I had crossed the sea,
And half the sphere, to give her meeting.

I waded out, her eyes I met,

I wished the moments had been hours;

I took her in my arms and set

Her dainty feet among the flowers.

Her fellow-maids in copse and lane,

Ah! still, methinks, I hear them calling;

The wind's soft whisper in the plain,

That cushat's coo, the water's falling.

But now it is a year ago,

And now possession crowns endeavor;

I took her in my heart to grow

And fill the hollow place forever.

JEAN INGELOW.

BETROTHED ANEW.

19

The Song of Fatima.

OH, sad are they who know not love,

But, far from passion's tears and smiles,
Drift down a moonless sea, and pass
The silver 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!

But clear as amber, sweet as musk,
Is life to those whose lives unite;
They walk in Allah's smile by day,
And nestle in his heart by night.

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

Betrothed Anew.

HE sunlight fills the trembling air,

THE

And balmy days their guerdons bring;

The Earth again is young and fair,

And amorous with musky spring.

The golden nurslings of the May
In splendor strew the spangled green,
And hues of tender beauty play,
Entangled where the willows lean.

Mark how the rippled currents flow;
What lustres on the meadows lie!
And hark! the songsters come and go,
And trill between the earth and sky.

Who told us that the years had fled,
Or borne afar our blissful youth?
Such joys are all about us spread,

We know the whisper was not truth.

The birds that break from grass and grove
Sing every carol that they sung

When first our veins were rich with love,
And May her mantle round us flung.

O fresh-lit dawn! immortal life!

O Earth's betrothal, sweet and true,
With whose delights our souls are rife,
And aye their vernal vows renew!

Then, darling, walk with me this morn;
Let your brown tresses drink its sheen;
These violets, within them worn,

Of floral fays shall make you queen.

What though there comes a time of pain

When autumn winds forebode decay?

The days of love are born again;
That fabled time is far away!

And never seemed the land so fair

As now, nor birds such notes to sing, Since first within your shining hair

I wove the blossoms of the spring.

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.

L

Song.

OVE still has something of the sea,
From whence his mother rose;

No time his slaves from doubt can free,

Nor give their thoughts repose.

21

22

A MATCH.

They are becalmed in clearest days,
And in rough weather tossed;
They wither under cold delays,
Or are in tempests lost.

One while they seem to touch the port,

Then straight into the main Some angry wind, in cruel sport, The vessel drives again.

At first Disdain and Pride they fear,
Which if they chance to 'scape,
Rivals and falsehood soon appear,
In a more cruel shape.

By such degrees to joy they come,
And are so long withstood;
So slowly they receive the sum,
It hardly does them good.

'T is cruel to prolong a pain;
And to defer a joy,
Believe me, gentle Celemene,
Offends the wingèd boy.

An hundred thousand oaths your fears,
Perhaps, would not remove;
And if I gazed a thousand years,

I could not deeper love.

SIR CHARLES SEDLEY.

A Match.

F love were what the rose is,

IF

And I were like the leaf,

Our lives would grow together,
In sad or singing weather,