BRIGHT thro' the valley gallops the brooklet;
Over the clear sky travels the cloud;
Touch'd by the zephyr, dances the harebell;
Cuckoo sits somewhere, singing so loud;
Two little children, seeing and hearing,
Hand-in-hand wander, shout, laugh, and sing; Lo, in their bosoms, wild with the marvel,
Love, like the crocus, is come ere the Spring.
Young men and women, noble and tender,
Yearn for each other, faith truly plight,
Promise to cherish, comfort, and honour;
Vow that makes duty one with delight.
Oh, but the glory, found in no story,
Radiance of Eden unquench'd by the Fall;
Few may remember, none may reveal it,
This the first first-love, the first love of all!
COVENTRY PATMORE.
The Angel in the House. (G. Bell.)
A PAIR OF LOVERS.
'NEATH vistas green and shady, I watch them wandering now
As sweet a knight and lady.
As ever whispered vow; A youth with eager flashes
From blue, undaunted eyes;
A maid 'neath whose long lashes A tender dream-world lies. The air with love is laden
This luscious eve of May; Well may he urge the maiden To speed the bridal day.
Shall caution's cold upbraiding
Two loving souls dispart Till spring is past, and fading
The bloom of cheek and heart?
He argues well and bravely,
With swift impulsive tongue;
She answers, smiling gravely,
"We're both so very young.
You know I love you dearly,
But, darling, we must wait,
For I'm not seven nearly,
And you are only eight!
FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE. Gaslight and Stars. (Marcus Ward.)
My long first year of perfect love,
My deep new dream of joy;
She was a little chubby girl,
I was a chubby boy.
I wore a crimson frock, white drawers,
A belt, a crown was on it;
She wore some angel's kind of dress,
And such a tiny bonnet,
Old-fashioned, but the soft brown hair
Would never keep its place;
A little maid with violet eyes,
And sunshine in her face.
O, my child-queen, in those lost days
How sweet was daily living!
How humble and how proud I grew,
How rich by merely giving!
She went to school, the parlour-maid
Slow stepping to her trot;
That parlour-maid, ah, did she feel
How lofty was her lot!
Across the road I saw her lift
My Queen, and with a sigh
I envied Raleigh; my new coat
Was hung a peg too high.
A hoard of never-given gifts
I cherished-priceless pelf;
'Twas two whole days ere I devour'd
That peppermint myself.
In church I only prayed for her-
"O God, bless Lucy Hill;"
Child, may his angels keep their arms
Ever around you still.
But when the hymn came round, with heart
That feared some heart's surprising
Its secret sweet, I climb'd the seat
'Mid rustling and uprising;
And there against her mother's arm
The sleeping child was leaning, While far away the hymn went on,
The music and the meaning.
Oh I have loved with more of pain
Since then, with more of passion,
Loved with the aching in my love
After our grown-up fashion;
Yet could I almost be content
To lose here at your feet
A year or two, you murmuring elm,
To dream a dream so sweet.
Oh, Emily, pity my sorrow!
Dear Emily, smile and be kind!
D'ye think you could wed me to-morrow?
D'ye think you would very much mind?
The ants have got under my stocking,
It's horrid to kneel on a stone;
Have done, then, with mincing and mocking,
And say you'll be always my own.
You cannot be thinking of Harry,
A cry-baby, coddle, and pet;
And Dicky's too childish to marry—
He's not in two-syllables yet.
And I say to all others aspiring,
Come forth with your shooter and ball,
And meet me, receiving and firing,
Till one or the other shall fall.
The ants have got under my stocking,
It's horrid to kneel on a stone;
Have done, then, with mincing and mocking,
And say you'll be always my own.
I've mustard and radishes growing,
I've rabbits and guinea-pigs, too;
My rocking-horse-splendid at going-
Shall have a side-saddle for you.
And twopence a week, if we're steady,
Will do very well for a start;
So, dearest, at ten I'll be ready
To draw you to church in my cart.
I laugh at the ants in my stocking,
I'd kneel for a week on a stone;
For Emmy repents of her mocking,
And says she'll be always my own.
FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE.
(Eyre and Spottiswoode.)
[From Time, by kind permission of Messrs. Kelly and Co.]
Accidental,
On the road; (Sentimental Episode.)
I was gushing,
You were shy, You were blushing, So was I.
I was smitten,
So were you.
(All that's written.
Here is true.)
Any money?
Not a bit.
Rather funny,
Wasn't it?
Vows we plighted,
Happy pair!
How delighted
People were !
But your father
To be sure
Thought it rather
Premature;
And your mother,
Strange to say,
Was another
In the way. What a heaven Vanished then !
(You were seven, I was ten.)
That was many
Years ago,
Don't let any
body know.
Dublin Doggerels. (W. McGee, Dublin.)
FIRST-LOVE'S RECOLLECTIONS.
FIRST-love will with the heart remain
When its hopes are all gone by ;
As frail rose-blossoms still retain
Their fragrance when they die :
And joy's first dreams will haunt the mind
With the shades 'mid which they sprung,
As summer leaves the stems behind
On which spring's blossoms hung.
Mary, I dare not call thee dear,
I've lost that right so long;
Yet once again I vex thine ear
With memory's idle song.
I felt a pride to name thy name,
But now that pride hath flown,
And burning blushes speak my shame
That thus I love thee on.
How loath to part, how fond to meet,
Had we two used to be;
At sunset, with what eager feet
I hastened unto thee!
Scarce nine days passed us ere we met In spring, nay, wintry weather;
Now nine years' suns have risen and set,
Nor found us once together.
Thy face was so familiar grown,
Thyself so often nigh,
A moment's memory when alone
Would bring thee in mine eye;
But now my very dreams forget
That witching look to trace;
Though there thy beauty lingers yet,
It wears a stranger's face.
When last that gentle cheek I prest,
And heard thee feign adieu,
I little thought that seeming jest
Would prove a word so true!
A fate like this hath oft befell
Even loftier hopes than ours;
Spring bids full many buds to swell
That ne'er can grow to flowers.
TURNING Over papers, Dead-leaf drift of years,
In the midst a letter,
Blurr'd and dim with tears.
Face of any dead one
Scarce had moved me so; There my First Love lying, Buried long ago!
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