Rose-tinged in the dim sky shone she Like Venus from the opal sea, So grew her glory in our sight, Till in her face we saw love’s light,
Love’s light in hers, like flame on flame,-- Yea, very Love in presence came, Between the fires of moon and sun, He stood, like dawn ere night begun.
Clear-aureoled his golden head, His eyes our burning hearts well read, And in the sanctuary of my soul I won of love the golden goal.
I saw young Love make trial of his bow, In May’s green garden where he shot his dart, Nor recked if any nigh beheld his art, But other eyes did mark him as I know; For my sweet lady sate anear his throw, And I with her, and joinèd heart to heart, So that we might not feel the bitter smart Love leaveth there when time doth force us go.
We heard Love’s arrows falling in the grass, Or watched them quiver in the targe below; Yet few to us came nigh, nor might they pass Beyond our feet, which trembled when they came, Whose hearts were not the quarry for his aim, That in Love’s chase fell stricken long ago.
FROM THE FRENCH OF ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE.
Time with his jealous icy blast Will wither all your charms, like sweet flowers past And dead in winter’s tomb; Till soft, red lips are kissless, and the joy They now can give, tho’ now, alas, too coy, Has perish’d with their bloom.
Yet when your eyes, veil’d in a cloud of tears, Shall mourn the rigour of the fleeting years, And see each grace depart, When in the past, as in a stream, you gaze, And seek the lovely form of other days, Look rather in my heart;
There will your beauty flourish years untold, There will my loyalty watch you as of old, And keep you still the same; Just as a golden lamp some holy maid Might shelter with her hand, while thro’ the shade She bears the trembling flame.
Oh, when Death smiling comes, as come he must, And shatters our twin torches in the dust, A stronger love shall bloom; Then shall my last sweet resting-place be thine, And your soft hand clasp’d tenderly in mine, In our last bed, the tomb.
Or, rather, darling, let us fly away, Just as upon some glorious autumn day Two loving swans might rise, And, still caressing, leave their wonted nest, And seek for brighter lands, and climes more blest, And fuller, deeper skies!