UNDER yonder beech-tree standing on the When her mother tends her before the bash green sward, Couched with her arms behind her little head, Lies my young love sleeping in the shade. ful mirror, Loosening her laces, combing down her curls, Often she thinks-were this wild thing wedded, I should lose but one for so many boys and girls. Clambering roses peep into her chamber; Waking on the instant she could not but em- Jasmine and woodbine breathe sweet, sweet brace me- Ah! would she hold me, and never let me go? Shy as the squirrel, and wayward as the swallow; White-necked swallows, twittering of sum mer, Fill her with balm and nested peace from head to feet. Ah! will the rose-bough see her lying lonely, Swift as the swallow when, athwart the west- When the petals fall and fierce bloom is on ern flood, the leaves? Circleting the surface, he meets his mirrored Will the autumn garners see her still un winglets Is that dear one in her maiden bud. Shy as the squirrel whose nest is in the pine tops; gathered, When the fickle swallows forsake the weeping eaves? Gentle-ah that she were jealous-as the Comes a sudden question-should a strange dove! hand pluck her! Full of all the wildness of the woodland crea-Oh! what an anguish smites me at the thought! Should some idle lordling bribe her mind with jewels! tures, Happy in herself is the maiden that I love! Can such beauty ever thus be bought? What can have taught her distrust of all I tell Sometimes the huntsmen, prancing down the her? valley, Can she truly doubt me when looking on my Eye the village lasses, full of sprightly mirth; brows? They see, as I see, mine is the fairest! Nature never teaches distrust of tender love- Would she were older and could read my Show the bridal heavens but one bright star? Whispering together beneath the listening Wherefore thus then do I chase a shadow, Clattering one note like a brown eve-jar? moon, I prayed till her cheek flushed, implored till So I rhyme and reason till she darts before she faltered me Fluttered to my bosom-ah! to fly away so Through the milky meadows from flower to soon! When her mother tends her before the laughing mirror, Tying up her laces, looping up her hair, flower she flies, Sunning her sweet palms to shade her dazzled eyelids From the golden love that looks too eager in her eyes. When at dawn she wakens, and her fair face | Come, merry mcrth of the cuckoo and the gazes violet! Out on the weather through the window Come, weeping loveliness in all thy blue panes, delight! Beauteous she looks! like a white water-lily Lo! the nest is ready, let me not languish Bursting out of bud on the rippled river plains. When from bed she rises, clothed from neck In her long night gown, sweet as boughs of Beauteous she looks! like a tall garden lily, Happy, happy time, when the gray star twinkles Over the fields all fresh with bloomy dew; When the cold-cheeked dawn grows ruddy up the twilight, longer! Bring her to my arms on the first May night GEORGE MEREDITH, LADY CLARE. LORD RONALD courted Lady Clare, "He does not love me for my birth, And the gold sun wakes and weds her in the He loves me for my own true worth, blue. Then when my darling tempts the early breezes, She the only star that dies not with the dark! sion, I catch her little hand as we listen to the lark. And that is well." said Lady Clare. In there came old Alice the nurse, Said, "Who was this that went from thee?" "It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, "To-morrow he weds with me." "Oh God be thanked!" said Alice the nurse, "That all comes round so just and fair: Shall the birds in vain then valentine their Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, sweethearts? Season after season tell a fruitless tale? Will not the virgin listen to their voices? Take the honeyed meaning, wear the bridal veil? Fears she frosts of winter, fears she the bare branches? Waits she the garlands of spring for her dower? Is she a nightingale that will not be nested Till the April woodland has built her bridal bower? Then come, merry April, with all thy birds and beauties! With thy crescent brows and thy ficwery, showery glee; Said Lady Clare, "that ye speak so wildi' As God's above," said Alice the nurse, "The old earl's daughter died at my breast O mother," she said, "if this be true, With thy budding leafage and fresh green "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse "But keep the secret for your life, And may thy lustrous crescent grow a hon- And all you have will be Lord Ronald's, pastures; eyinoon for me! When you are man and wife." THAT thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, Either not assailed, or victor being charged; If some suspect of ill masked not thy show, Then, thou alone kingdoms of hearts ehouldst owe. So are you to my thoughts, as food to life, And for the peace of you I hold such strife Now counting best to be with you alone, Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure; Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, Save what is had or must from you be took. FAREWELL! thou art too dear for my possess ing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate; Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter In sleep a king; but waking no such matter. SOME say thy fault is youth, some wantonness; Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort. deemed. SONNETS. How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, If like a lamb he could his looks translate! How many gazers might'st thou lead away, 239 THE forward violet thus did I chide:Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy If not from my love's breath? the purple state !⚫ But do not so; I love thee in such sort As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere! And yet this time removed was summer's time; The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Yet this abundant issue seemed to me ter 's near. FROM you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away, pride Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells, In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. Nor mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, |