I paced without, nor ever liege in truth His sovran lady watched with more grave eyes Of reverence, and she nothing ware forsooth, Did standing charm the soul with new surprise. Moving flow on a dimpled dream of youth. Look! look! a sunbeam on her. Ay, but lies The shade more sweetly now she passeth through To join her fellow maids returned anew. I saw (myself to bide unmarked intent) Their youthful ease and pretty airs sedate, They are so good, they are so innocent, Those Islanders, they learn their part so late, Of life's demand right careless, dwell content Till the first love's first kiss shall consecrate Their future to a world that can but be By their sweet martyrdom and ministry. Most happy of God's creatures. Afterward More than all women married thou wilt be, E'en to the soul. One glance desired afford, More than knight's service might'st thou ask of me. Not any chance is mine, not the best word, No, nor the salt of life withouten thee. Must this all end, is my day so soon o'er? Untroubled violet eyes, look once,--once more. No, not a glance: the low sun lay and burned, Now din of drum and cry of fife withal, Blithe teachers mustering frolic swarms returned, And new-world ways in that old market hall, Sweet girls, fair women, how my whole heart yearned Her to draw near who made my festival. With others closing round, time speeding on, How soon she would be gone, she would be gone! Ay, but I thought to track the rustic wains, Their goal desired to note, but not anigh, They creaking down long hop ycrested lanes 'Neath the abiding flush of that north sky. I ran, my horse I fetched, but fate ordains Love shall breed laughter when th' unloving spy. As I drew rein to watch the gathered crowd, With sudden mirth an old wife laughed aloud. Her cheeks like winter apples red of hue, Her glance aside. To whom her speech--to me? 'I know the thing you go about to do-- The lady--' 'What! the lady--' 'Sir,' saith she, ('I thank you kindly, sir), I tell you true She's gone,' and 'here's a coil' methought 'will be.' 'Gone--where?' ''Tis past my wit forsooth to say If they went Malvern way or Hereford way. A carriage took her up--where three roads meet They needs must pass; you may o'ertake it yet.' And 'Oyez, Oyez' peals adown the street, 'Lost, lost, a golden heart with pearls beset.' 'I know her, sir?--not I. To help this treat, Many strange ladies from the country met.' 'O heart beset with pearls! my hope was crost. Farewell, good dame. Lost! oh my lady lost.' And 'Oyez, Oyez' following after me On my great errand to the sundown went. Lost, lost, and lost, whenas the cross road flee Up tumbled hills, on each for eyes attent A carriage creepeth. 'Though in neither she, I ne'er shall know life's worst impoverishment, An empty heart. No time, I stake my all, To right! and chase the rose-red evenfall.