Love The jealous moonlight drifted Where shone the opal ring Where the colors danced and shifted Just the old, old story Of light and shade, Love like the opal tender, Like it may be to vary— May be to fade. Just the old tender story, Just a glimpse of morning glory In a pair of sweet brown eyes. Brown eyes a man might well Open to hold his image, When young eyes look upon it Through a slender wedding ring. 1173 Richard Doddridge Blackmore [1825-1900] LOVE ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve! She leaned against the armèd man, Few sorrows hath she of her own, The songs that make her grieve. I played a soft and doleful air; She listened with a flitting blush, I told her of the Knight that wore I told her how he pined: and ah! She listened with a flitting blush, And she forgave me, that I gazed Too fondly on her face! Love But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, That sometimes from the savage den, There came and looked him in the face And that, unknowing what he did, And how she wept and clasped his knees; And ever strove to expiate The scorn that crazed his brain; And that she nursed him in a cave; His dying words-but when I reached All impulses of soul and sense The music and the doleful tale, The rich and balmy eve; 1175 And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, She wept with pity and delight, Her bosom heaved-she stepped aside, She fled to me and wept. She half enclosed me with her arms, 'Twas partly love, and partly fear, I calmed her fears, and she was calm, My bright and beauteous Bride. NESTED ON THE SUSSEX DOWNS "LURED," little one? Nay, you've but heard Not lured, my bird, my light, swift bird, 1177 The Letters "Caught," does she feel? Nay, no net stirred To catch the heart fore-fated; Not caught, my bird, my bright, wild bird, And "caged," she fears? Nay, never that word Not caged, my bird, my shy, sweet bird, But nested--nested! Habberton Lulham [18 THE LETTERS STILL on the tower stood the vane, A black yew gloomed the stagnant air; I turned and hummed a bitter song That mocked the wholesome human heart, We met, but only meant to part. I saw, with half-unconscious eye, She took the little ivory chest, With half a sigh she turned the key, Then raised her head with lips compressed, And gave my letters back to me; And gave the trinkets and the rings, My gifts, when gifts of mine could please. As looks a father on the things Of his dead son, I looked on these. |