Sailing over the waters,

Watching the far blue land,

I dropped my golden heart, dear,
Dropped it out of my hand.

It lies in the cold, blue waters,
Fathoms and fathoms deep,
The golden heart which I promised,
Promised to prize and keep.

Gazing at life's bright visions,
So false and fair and new,
I forgot the other heart, dear,
Forgot it and lost it too!

I might seek that heart for ever,
I might seek and seek in vain ;-
And for one short, careless hour,
I pay with a life of pain.

Adelaide Anne Procter.

Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame :
I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met :

In silence I grieve

That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet tliee?—

With silence and tears.

George, Lord Byron.

CCLXXI.

LOVE'S AFTER-YEARS.

THE OLD LOVE.

LOVE-TIME and flower-time for this year are dead-
Bright wealth of Summer, and fervent pulse of
Spring-

But thou art bleaker than sharp winds that shed
The last frail feather from the year's warm wing.
Ah! well, 't is left to dream of and to sing;
We two shall gather no more flowers again,
Nor watch the river leap like a living thing
To catch the cold bright kisses of the rain,

Then maddened with insatiable desire

Flash out among the rocks in foam like fire-But when we hear the unfed wind complain

In barren hollows where are no more flowers, Each will remember that old love of ours, Grown with the dead leaves a departed pain. James Rhoades.

CCLXXII.

LOVE'S AFTER-YEARS.

A GAME AT CHESS.

My little love, do you remember,
Ere we were grown so sadly wise,
Those evenings in the bleak December,
Curtained warm from the snowy weather,
When you and I played chess together,
Checkmated by each other's eyes?
Ah, still I see your soft white hand

Hovering warm o'er Queen and Knight.
Brave Pawns in valiant battle stand:
The double Castles guard the wings :
The Bishop, bent on distant things,
Moves sidling, through the fight.
Our fingers touch; and glances meet,

And falter; falls your golden hair
Against my cheek; your bosom sweet
Is heaving; down the field, your Queen
Rides slow her soldiery between,

And checks me unaware.

Ah me! the little battle's done ;

Disperst is all its chivalry;

Full many a move, since then, have we

'Mid life's perplexing chequers made,
And many a game with Fortune played,--

What is it we have won?

This, this at least-if this alone ;-
That never, never, never more,
As in those old still nights of yore,
(Ere we were grown so sadly wise)
Can you and I shut out the skies,

Shut out the world, and wintry weather,
And, eyes exchanging warmth with eyes,
Play chess, as then we played, together.
Robert, Lord Lytton.

CCLXXIII.

LOVE'S AFTER-YEARS.

TOO LATE.

EACH on his own strict line we move,
And some find death ere they find love;

So far apart their lives are thrown

From the twin soul that halves their own.

And sometimes, by still harder fate,

The lovers meet, but meet too late.

-Thy heart is mine !-True, true! Ah true!

-Then, love, thy hand !-Ah no! Adieu !

Matthew Arnold.

CCLXXIV.

LOVE'S AFTER-YEARS.

TWO SUNDERED HEARTS.

THEY seemed, to those who saw them meet,
The worldly friends of every day;

Her smile was undisturbed and sweet,
His courtesy was free and gay.

But yet, if one the other's name

In some unguarded moment heard,
The heart you thought so calm and tame
Would struggle like a captured bird.

And letters of mere formal phrase
Were blistered with repeated tears,-
And this was not the work of days,

But had gone on for years and years!

Alas! that love was not too strong
For maiden shame and manly pride!
Alas! that they delayed too long

The goal of mutual bliss beside!

Yet what no chance could then reveal,
And neither would be first to own,

Let fate and courage now conceal,

When truth could bring remorse alone.

Richard, Lord Houghton.

CCLXXV.

LOVE'S AFTER-YEARS.

MARGARET.

Ay, I saw her, we have met

Married eyes, how sweet they be

Are you happier, Margaret,

Than you might have been with me? Silence make no more ado !

Did she think I should forget? Matters nothing, though I knew,

Margaret, Margaret !

Once those eyes, full sweet, full shy,
Told a certain thing to mine;

What they told me I put by,
O, so careless of the sign.
Such an easy thing to take,

And I did not want it then;

Fool! I wish my heart would break,
Scorn is hard on hearts of men.