THE MAID'S FIRST LOVE.
The maiden heard a light foot on the floor,
And sidelong looked, and there before her stood
Young Eustace Graeme: far from the pasture moor
He came: the fragrance of the dale and wood
Was scenting all his garments green and good.
A sudden flush when tie the maiden saw,
Burned through his temples, kindled up his blood—
His stifling breath waxed nigh too tight to draw,
He bowed, and silent stood in wonderment and awe.
The father smiled, the mother smiled. Now why
Are her eyes downcast and his white brow glowing?
Say, have they vowed while heaven was witness by
With all her radiant lights like fountains flowing,
To love while water runs and woods are growing,
And stars glowed conscious of the compact pure?
They never woo'd, nor, love for love bestowing.
Met with the moonshine in the green-wood bow'r,
Nor looked and sighed, and looked and drank love by the hour.
Yet they have met. Though not fools of the flock,
On whom love like the tiger gives one bound.
And then the heart is rent—a thunderstroke
That makes men dust before they hear the sound—
A shaft that leaves dark venom in the wound—
A frost that all the buds of manhood nips—
A sea of passion in which true love's drowned—
A demon strangling virtue in his grips—
A day when reason's son is quenched in dread eclipse.
True gentle love is like the summer dew,
Which falls around when all is still and hush—
And falls unseen until its bright drops strew
With odours, herb and flower, and bank, and bush
O love, when womanhood is in the flush,
And man's a young and an unspotted thing!
His first breathed word and her half conscious blush,
Are fair us light in heaven, or flowers in spring—
The first hour of true love is worth our worshipping.