Long left unwounded by the grisly foe, Who sometime pierces all with fatal shaft, Still on my cheek fresh youth did lively glow, And at his threatening arrow gaily laught; Came then my friendly scholar, and we quaffed From learning’s spring, its sparkling overflow; All through the lingering evening’s charmèd hours, Delightful fellowship in thought was ours: If I from Poesy could not all abstain, He my poor verses oft did quite undress, New wrapt in words my thought’s veiled nakedness, Or kindly clipt my steed’s luxuriant mane: ’Twas my delight his searching eye to meet, In days of genial versing, memories sweet. JANUARY 1, 1882. PART I. “_O Spring, thou youthful beauty of the year, Mother of flowers, bringer of warbling quires, Of all sweet new green things, and new desires._” GUARINI’S PASTOR FIDO. I. Auspicious morn, com’st opportune, unbought? Bring’st thou glad furtherance in thy rosy train? Speed then, my chariot, following fast my thought, And distance on thy track the lumbering wain, O’er plain and hillock nearing her abode, The goal of expectation, fortune’s road,-- The maiden waits to greet with courtesy Her bashful guest, while stranger yet is he: From friendly circle at the city’s Court She’s come to cull the flowers, to toy and play With prattling childhood, love’s delightful sport; Its smile call forth, to scent the new-mown hay, Enjoy the wholesome laughter, simple mien, Of country people in this rural scene. “_So sweetly she bade me adieu, I thought that she bade me return._” SHENSTONE. II. Ah! why so brief the visit, short his stay? The acquaintance so surprising, and so sweet, Stolen is my heart, ’tis journeying far away, With that shy stranger whom my voice did greet. That hour so fertile of entrancing thought, So rapt the conversation, and so free,-- My heart lost soundings, tenderly upcaught, Driven by soft sails of love and ecstasy! Was I then? was I? clasped in Love’s embrace, And touched with ardors of divinity? Spake with my chosen lover face to face, Espoused then truly? such my destiny? I cannot tell; but own the pleasing theft, That when the stranger went, I was of Love bereft. “_Though the bias of her nature was not to thought but to sympathy, yet was she so perfect in her own nature, as to meet intellectual persons by the fulness of her heart, warming them by her sentiments; believing, as she did, that, by dealing nobly with all, all would show themselves noble_”. III.