BRIGHT thro' the valley gallops the brooklet; Cuckoo sits somewhere, singing so loud; 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, As sweet a knight and lady 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? With swift impulsive tongue; FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE. FIRST LOVE. 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, Old-fashioned, but the soft brown hair A little maid with violet eyes, O, my child-queen, in those lost days. She went to school, the parlour-maid Across the road I saw her lift A hoard of never given gifts I cherished-priceless pelf; In church I only prayed for her- But when the hymn came round, with heart 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 Yet could I almost be content 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? Have done, then, with mincing and mocking, 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; Will do very well for a start; FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE. Songs in Sunshine. (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. Not a bit. But your Was another In the way. (You were seven, That was many Years ago, Don't let any- EDWIN HAMILTON. Dublin Doggerels. (W. McGee, Dublin.) FIRST-LOVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. FIRST-love will with the heart remain And joy's first dreams will haunt the mind As summer leaves the stems behind On which spring's blossoms hung. Mary, I dare not call thee dear, I felt a pride to name thy name, How loath to part, how fond to meet, At sunset, with what eager feet I hastened unto thee! Scarce nine days passed us ere we met Thy face was so familiar grown, A moment's memory when alone Would bring thee in mine eye; I little thought that seeming jest Even loftier hopes than ours; JOHN CLARE. LOVE-DRIFT. In the midst a letter, Face of any dead one Scarce had moved me so; There my First Love lying, Buried long ago! |