Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/72

46 Of Hindoo widows burnt alive, And how he'd fought the French with Clive; He watched her cheek go red and pale— The light and shadow of his tale— And on her eyelid shining clear The crystal candour of a tear.

Ah, gentle reader, need I tell The story that you know so well— Of tender looks and stifled sighs, Of ardent vows and soft replies? It is, I think, enough to say They loved as lovers love to-day, And in the way of lovers swore That no one ever loved before. For centuries may come and go, But Love and Youth are always so. Nor need I rend your hearts to tell The passion of their sad farewell. But he, a moment to beguile The April sunshine of a smile, Asked for her choice 'twixt hat and gown, A gift to bring from London Town; And she, although her cheeks were wet, Was in a moment all coquette— "Your English fashions would, I fear, But ill become my homely sphere; Besides, you know not how to choose; Bring me instead a pair of shoes."

With leaden feet the days passed o'er The maid who watched upon the shore;