My once dear Love! hapless that I no more Must call thee so--the rich affection’s store That fed our hopes, lies now exhaust and spent, Like sums of treasure unto bankrupts lent. We, that did nothing study but the way 5 To love each other, with which thoughts the day Rose with delight to us, and with them set, Must learn the hateful art, how to forget. We, that did nothing wish that Heaven could give, Beyond ourselves, nor did desire to live 10 Beyond that wish, all these now cancel must, As if not writ in faith, but words and dust. Yet witness those clear vows which lovers make, Witness the chaste desires that never brake Into unruly heats; witness that breast, 15 Which in thy bosom anchored his whole rest, ’Tis no default in us, I dare acquit Thy maiden faith, thy purpose fair and white As thy pure self. Cross planets did envy Us to each other, and Heaven did untie 20 Faster than vows could bind. Oh that the stars, When lovers meet, should stand opposed in wars! Since then some higher destinies command, Let us not strive, nor labour to withstand What is past help. The longest date of grief 25 Can never yield a hope of our relief; And though we waste ourselves in moist laments, Tears may drown us, but not our discontents. Fold back our arms; take home our fruitless loves, That must new fortunes try, like turtle doves 30 Dislodgèd from their haunts. We must in tears Unwind a love knit up in many years. In this last kiss I here surrender thee Back to thyself,--so thou again art free; Thou in another, sad as that, resend 35 The truest heart that lover e’er did lend. Now turn from each. So fare our severed hearts, As the divorced soul from her body parts. _Henry King._ LXXIII _THE BRIDE’S TRAGEDY._ O waly, waly up the bank, And waly, waly down the brae, And waly, waly yon burn-side, Where I and my Love wont to gae. I leaned my back unto an aik, 5 I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bowed, and syne it brak’, Sae my true Love did lichtly me. O waly, waly, but love be bonnie, A little time while it is new, 10 But when ’tis auld, it waxeth cauld, And fades away like morning dew. Oh! wherefore should I busk my head, Or wherefore should I kame my hair? For my true Love has me forsook, 15 And says he’ll never love me mair.