EVELYN HOPE.

285

"Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one lover, I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night." By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover,

And all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight,

But I'll love him more, more
Than e'er wife loved before,
Be the days dark or bright.

EVELYN HOPE.

BROWNING.

BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead!

Sit and watch by her side an hour.
That is her book-shelf, this her bed;
She plucked that piece of geranium-flower,
Beginning to die, too, in the glass.

Little has yet been changed, I think;
The shutters are shut― no light may pass,
Save two long rays through the hinge's chink.

Sixteen years old when she died!

Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name

It was not her time to love; beside,

Her life had many a hope and aim.

Duties enough and little cares ;

And now was quiet, now astir-
Till God's hand beckoned unawares,

And the sweet white brow is all of her.

286

EVELYN HOPE.

Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope?
What! your soul was pure and true;
The good stars met in your horoscope,
Made you of spirit, fire, and dew;
And just because I was thrice as old,

And our paths in the world diverged so wide,
Each was naught to each, must I be told?
We were fellow-mortals naught beside?

No, indeed! for God above

Is great to grant, as mighty to make,
And creates the love to reward the love;
I claim you still, for my own love's sake!
Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet,
Through worlds I shall traverse not a few;
Much is to learn, and much to forget,
Ere the time be come for taking you.

But the time will come at last it will

When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say, In the lower earth — in the years long still

That body and soul so pure and gay; Why your hair was amber I shall divine,

And your mouth of your own geranium's redAnd what you would do with me, in fine,

In the new life come in the old one's stead.

I have lived, I shall say, so much since then,
Given up myself so many times,

Gained me the gains of various men,

Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes;

GIVING IN MARRIAGE.

287

Yet one thing — one

-in my soul's full scope,

Either I missed or itself missed meAnd I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! What is the issue? let us see!

I loved you, Evelyn, all the while;
My heart seemed full as it could hold

There was place and to spare for the frank young smile,

And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold.

So hush! I will give you this leaf to keep;

See, I shut it inside the sweet, cold hand.

There, that is our secret! go to sleep:

You will wake, and remember, and understand.

GIVING IN MARRIAGE.

JEAN INGELOW.

From "Songs of Seven."

To bear, to nurse, to rear,
To watch, and then to lose :
To see my bright ones disappear,
Drawn up like morning dews.

To bear, to nurse, to rear,

To watch, and then to lose:

This have I done when God drew near
Among his own to choose.

288

GIVING IN MARRIAGE.

To hear, to heed, to wed,
And with thy lord depart,
In tears that he, as soon as shed,
Will let no longer smart.

To hear, to heed, to wed,

This while thou didst, I smiled; For now it was not God who said, "Mother, give ME thy child."

O fond, O fool and blind,

To God I gave with tears;

But when a man like grace would find,
My soul put by her fears.

O fond, O fool and blind :

God guards in happier spheres;
That man will guard where he did bind
Is hope for unknown years.

To hear, to heed, to wed,

Fair lot that maidens choose;

Thy mother's tenderest words are said,
Thy face no more she views.
Thy mother's lot, my dear,
She doth it naught accuse:
Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear,

To love and then to lose.

YOUTH, THAT PURSUEST. 289

YOUTH, THAT PURSUEST.

R. M. MILNES.

YOUTH, that pursuest, with such eager pace,
Thy even way,

Thou pantest on to win a mournful race:
Then stay! O stay!

Pause and luxuriate on thy sunny plain :
Loiter - enjoy ;

Once past, thou never wilt come back again,
A second boy.

The hills of manhood wear a noble face
When seen from far:

The mist of light from which they take their grace,
Hides what they are.

The dark and weary path those cliffs between
Thou canst not know;

And how it leads to regions never green,
Dead fields of snow.

Pause while thou may'st, nor deem that fate thy gain, Which, all too fast,

Will drive thee forth from this delicious plain,

A man at last.