Other formats

    Adobe Portable Document Format file (facsimile images)   TEI XML file   ePub eBook file  

Connect

    mail icontwitter iconBlogspot iconrss icon

The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 21

On a First Love

page 22

On a First Love.

Go leave me, I am tired of chat,
I care not what you say;
I wish to muse the livelong night
On her I met to-day.

Once more I see her on the walk,
So modest looking down—
Of bright surpassing loveliness,
The beauty of the town.

Brown eyes, black hair, and rosy cheeks,
A form of queen-like grace;
With all the charms of womankind
Concentred in her face.

My thoughts flow back to that sweet time
When first she met my view;
A girl at school with winning ways,
That charmed all she knew.

And I a thoughtless wayward youth,
A stranger from afar,
Wishing myself once more at school,
To learn along with her.

To gaze across the schoolroom,
When her eyes were on her books,
And be taught a deeper lesson
From her fair and lovely looks.

page 23

This world is robed in shadow,
We are riddles to each other;
The dearest ties of kindred,
What are they—sister, brother?

Or that dearer tie than all the rest,
That kindles like a flame,
And makes the very heart leap up
At mention of a name.

Those thoughts, desires, and feelings,
That we know by name of Love,
Are surely emanations
From Infinitude above.

But why should I still think of one;
What silliness to fret;
I may find some other maiden,
Who will make me happy yet.

Let them cluster round about her,
Let them share her talk and mirth;
To see her I was happier
Than any king on earth.

But why was I deserted,
When my need was more than ever;
Like a shatter'd bark whose pilot's lost
When sailing down a river.

O! God, those gushing tears are hot,
My brain begins to swim;
page 24 Come, come once more and chase away
This twilight dark and dim,

That gathers o'er my spirit now,
And burdens my sad breast,
And evermore shall till I'm where
The weary are at rest.

Again her fairest form appears,
And fills me with delight.
As in the spring-time of my youth
She rose upon my sight.

And now she'll never more depart,
But still be at my side,
In the sorrow-laden years to come
A comforter and guide.

And ever at the Throne of Grace
She'll pray that I may stand,
With the blessed saints and angels,
In the happy Spirit Land.

In sweet vision I shall see her,
As I draw my latest breath,
And I close my heavy eyelids
In the long last sleep of death.

And when I'm quite forgotten,
In the low and silent grave,
She will sometimes waste a thought on him
She tried so hard to save.