ONCE LOVERS by AUGUSTA DAVIES WEBSTER

SOME adverse fate had sundered them in youth,
I know not what, perhaps the cankering might
Of falsehoods clustered round some unkind truth,
Perhaps some half-imagined trifling slight
Grown greater viewed through love's fond microscope,
That ended in agreed inconstancy
And long life-sorrow for their youth's lost hope,
Perchance themselves could scarce have told you why;

But they were parted, and the silent years
Rolled heavily across their lonely ways,
And her blue eyes grew lustreless from tears,
And he was bitter at these present days,
Holding them far removed from love and good
And only lifeful through the lust of pelf,
Holding them guilty, in his vexèd mood,
Of all that grief which he had wrought himself.

And onward heavily the long years moved
Till the last light of youth had died away,
And he had wed at length, but had not loved,
Or had not loved as in that far off day,
And he had seen his wife and babe lie dead,
And in that pain his bitterness had passed;
And she had loved again, but had not wed,
And had forgot the sadness of this last;

And each had memory of that old tie,
And held it as a perished happiness,
An hour of hope for ever floated by
And whelmed beneath a wide sea of distress:
Yet with such golden-gleaming moments set,
That it was better to recall the woe
Than not recall the joy, and so forget
The deep delight of that lost long ago.

So, each remembering the other's smile,
As it had sparkled on a youthful face,
They met when time had dragged a weary while;
And it was as a cruel jest to trace
The unforgotten lineaments below
The crust of age beginning their decay,
The marring lines upon the saddened brow,
The thinner tresses glimmering with grey.

Each, being scarcely conscious heretofore
How life's high season past its noon had grown,
Now seeing how the other's prime was o'er,
They in that mournful waning read their own;
And if the heart of either yet did hide
Some hopeful relic of the old romance,
When thus they met again, so changed, it died
Beneath the coldness of the other's glance.

And each at first with courtesy was cold,
Deeming like coldness in the other's word,
Yet each, remembering their love of old,
Was with the echo of that love-song stirred;
Yet fearing to be met with scorn or blame,
Or jar in anything the other's pride,
Had care to mention no familiar name,
Or touch on aught to their vexed youth allied.

But when some summer days had passed, they sate,
They with the others, resting in the shade
Of a huge lime, and watched the day grow late
And the red sunset streakings glow and fade,
And then, not dreaming that they gave her pain,
Nor seeing, for the branch-barred light was dim,
They teased her for a favourite simple strain
Which she in other days had sung to him:

And at the last she yielded to their prayer;
Her voice, though sweet, had lost much with the years,
Yet as she sang the old love-hallowed air
It moved and weakened him to almost tears,
And as she finished with a lessening swell,
There rang in that last fall such mournful chime,
He could not but believe that she as well
Was thinking sadly of that happy time:

And with the thought a sudden hope there came,
That though their youthful fire had burned in vain,
And smouldered ashes smothered the spent flame,
Some spark of life and heat might yet remain,
And they who had worked out each other's woe
Might find together yet a happy peace,
And hand in hand through their still autumn go,
And watch their quiet wintry days decrease.

So when they rose and turned to go within,
The merry laughers dancing as they went--
His and her cousins, though they were not kin--
Light with the fulness of their young content,
Pelting with clinging burrs in warring play,
And floating thistledown on the light wind,
He, walking by her, lingered on the way,
Checking their pace, till they were left behind.

He looked at her: "When first that song I heard,
'Twas on the evening of that day," he said,
"That first we held long converse and unheard,
When we, rain-driven, sheltered in the shed."--
She sudden, "And when last you heard that song,
'Twas the last time we met before--before--
Well, I as well as you may have been wrong--
'Tis best we speak of those old days no more."

And yet they spoke of them, and yet they spoke
So long that lit stars gleamed upon their talk,
And when the Moon to her full glow awoke
They two were pacing the broad terrace walk;
And the young faces peeping from the room
Were bright with laughter at their quaint conceits
On the old couple that in life's pale gloom
Of twilight dared to seek love's morning sweets.

And when they knew, ere the next morn had come,
That in their talk through that clear summer eve
Those two had shaped themselves a wedded home,
It seemed almost too wondrous to believe;
And they were merry at the sober pair,
"What Rachael! an old maid for many a day,
Well, if she weds, no spinster need despair,
And such a bridegroom--half his scant hairs grey!"

But they in quiet talk together said,
"We cannot feel the raptured mood of youth,
Fancy and passion far from us have fled;
But we can love in such an earnest truth
And such a well enduring tenderness,
As if not love yet looks to love beyond,
And loving thus may dare ask God to bless,
And link ourselves into a holy bond."

And sitting once in the wide oriel,
Hid by a drooping curtain's damask fold,
She heard their youngest cousin jesting tell,
How foolish love-dreams were in one so old.
And, coming forward with forgiving smile,
Said, "Ah! sweet May, your words to you sound sage,
Yet you will know when you have lived awhile
How hard it is to comprehend one's age.

"For though deep lines may creep across the brow,
And we grow grave with greater weight of care,
While life has still its full heart-stirring glow
We scarcely feel how worn and old we are,
And so, sweet May, I do not feel too old
To take on me the sacred name of wife,
And I have hope that some of Love's pure gold,
Shall gleam beneath the current of our life."

So when the russet autumn season came,
And brown leaves rustled crisp beneath their tread
He came again his placid bride to claim
In the old village church, and they were wed;
And they were calm, and younger seemed to grow,
Now that their happiness was not apart,
And when the years had crested them with snow,
They smiled to youth, and were not old in heart.

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