In time of yore, when shepherds dwelt
Upon the mountain rocks;
And simple people never felt
The pain of lovers' mocks;
But little birds would carry tales
'Twixt Susan and her sweeting;
And all the dainty nightingales
Did sing at lovers' meeting;
Then might you see what looks did pass
Where shepherds did assemble;
And where the life of true love was
When hearts could not dissemble.

Then yea and nay was thought an oath
That was not to be doubted;
And when it came to faith and troth
We were not to be flouted.

EUDOXIA.
Third picture

O silent my sister, who stands by my side at the shore,
Back gazing with me on those waves which we mortals call years,
That rose, grew, and threaten'd, and climax'd, and broke, and were o'er,
While we still sit watching and watching, our cheeks free from tears
O sister, with looks so familiar, yet strange, flitting by,
Say, say, hast thou been to those dead years as faithful as I?
Have they cast at thy feet also, jewels and whitening bones,
Gold, silver, and wreck-wood, dank sea-weed and treasures of cost?

Love is a thing of frail and delicate growth;
Soon checked, soon fostered; feeble, and yet strong:
It will endure much, suffer long, and bear
What would weigh down an angel's wing to earth,
And yet mount heavenward; but not the less
It dieth of a word, a look, a thought;
And when it dies, it dies without a sign
To tell how fair it was in happier hours:
It leaves behind reproaches and regrets,
And bitterness within affection's well,
For which there is no healing.

Like a blind child is the loving heart
In its tenderness & trust,
Like a poor blind beggar maid
That curtseys for a crust.
The simplest thing that has an eye
May lead it to its wrong
But o! it is the richest [?]
That doth to earth belong.

An artist painted Time and Love;
Time with two pinions spread above,
And Love without a feather;
Sir Harry patronized the plan,
And soon Sir Hal and Lady Ann
In wedlock came together.

Copies of each the dame bespoke:
The artist, ere he drew a stroke,
Reversed his old opinions,
And straightway to the fair one brings
Time in his turn devoid of wings,
And Cupid with two pinions.

“What blunder's this?” the lady cries.
“No blunder, Madam,” he replies,
“I hope I'm not so stupid.
Each has his pinions in his day,

In that country it happening that the King
Came now that way victorious from battle,
Where he had slain some folk and stolen their cattle,
His chamberlain told Sir Paul an excellent thing
To do: Make ready with feast and furnishing
To lodge the King three days; and it was good
If the King favoured his bed and relished his food,
For service helps a man in the sight of the King.

Now purple and linen, heifers, poultry, swine,
Paul loved not for themselves, but he loved yet
As he hated his belly empty and his skin wet;

Sweet Saint, thou better canst declare to me
What pleasure is obtained by heavenly love,
Than they which other loves did never prove,
Or which in sex are differing from thee;
For like a woman-spouse my soul shall be,
Whom sinful passions once to lust did move
And since betrothed to God's Son above
Should be enamoured with His Deity.
My body is the garment of my spright
While as the daytime of my life doth last,
When death shall bring the night of my delight
My soul unclothed shall rest from labours past:
And claspéd in the arms of God enjoy

I wandered far in life's stern way
To seek the good of every day;
But fell among the thieves of Thane,
Who tried to rob my honest name.

I found no brotherhood in man;
But here and there a vicious clan;
No truth, no love, no justice find
Their way into these groups unkind.

But you have been a light to me,
A fond and dear, and true Amie;
So what care I for falsest friend,
When on your love I can depend.

To steal one's wealth is always trash,
O'er which some men are ne'er abash;
But then to steal and blot a name,

Summer wanes—I saw a swallow flying
Southward in the search of love and light.
Sweetheart, hearken how the wind is sighing,
Ever after blossom cometh blight.

Summer wanes—I found a lily lying
Withered by the frost of yesternight.
Sweetheart mine, the roses are a-dying,
Ever after blossom cometh blight.

Summer wanes—my lips are weary crying,
“Love me a little when the sun is bright.”
Even as I plead the echoes are replying,
“Ever after blossom cometh blight.”

Summer wanes—no longer, fate defying,

Shall I set any blessing this side heaven
Against thy love for me—the light that shows
All other joy, the light whereby it grows?
Yes, one boon richer than thy love is given—
The right to love thee! If thy strength of wing
Can bear me with thee to thy luminous sphere
Of duty, take me; but I would not cling
With an encumbering clasp to keep thee here.
'Tis dear to think thee of myself a part;
More dear, though lost, to know thee what thou art:
And if, being such, thou vanish from my eyes,
I, nursing thoughts of thee, will wait the day