Page:Once a Week June to Dec 1863.pdf/387

. 26, 1863.] 

and I Were less than lovers,—something more than friends. All through the summer, undesigned, our paths Had crossed each other. In deep Surrey lanes, Whose sandy banks the flitting martins drilled, We chanced to meet. In pleasant garden walks, At archery, and dance, and country fête We met; made neighbours for the time. We met Without constraint; conversed like ancient friends, And when we parted, did so without sighs. Then autumn came, in his sad, golden glory. The birds flew southward to Egyptian homes; Uplands looked hoary under stubble close; And the soft stillness of ensuing days Was as the tenderer manner in a home Whose inmates sever. My long holiday, By health enforced, was over; and I planned Again to mingle in the din of life ’Mid a dark city. Amoret recalled, Soon was returning to her northern home. All things in cadence with the falling leaves Seemed to breathe out Farewell. To-morrow, then, the parting:—and to-day We four, the relics of a group dispersed, Edward and Grace, and Amoret and I, Spend our last hours among the hazled lanes, In purposeless but pleasant wanderings passed: Our baskets filled with lunch, to be refilled With nuts, and rarer ferns. The day was blent Of sun-bright snatches, and fast-travelling clouds: Not over gay, nor gloomy, but in tune With our own hearts. In presence of The End Our cheerful banter oft gave way to words More true and earnest,—oft in silence died. For sometimes we speak most by silent acts; Averted eyes; the breaking short a flower; A stifled sigh; the pressure of a hand, Its warmth excused, as sign of absent mind. And the heart hath an ear more swift to read Such silent language, than if words precise Were writ on parchment with the best nibbed pen. We strolled, we sat, we listened to the lark, Opened our sketch-books; put them up again; Watched the grave dancings of the chequered light On the dun, sandy floor—stilled suddenly By thwarting clouds: talked of the pleasant past, The possible future; hoped a thousand things; Threw pebbles idly at a web-caught leaf, Or gazed unspeaking in each other’s face. Well: after lunching (for our pensive mood Had not destroyed our appetite) we rose, And girded up ourselves unto the stern And half-forgotten business of the day, The nutting. Grace, whose hazel eyes were quick To find their namesakes, soon led Edward on Through gaps, o’er stiles, and into copses close: And oft we heard her merry ringing laugh, As caught by briars she burst her daring way. Amoret and I in safer, trodden paths Kept on our course. Sometimes I bent a bough, While she with ungloved fingers, shining white ’Mid green, translucent leaves, broke off the bunch Of grey and glossy nuts: and if she leant, So doing, on my arm her welcome weight, She blushing begged a pardon for the wrong. When the slant sun shot dazzling through the boughs, We sought our lost companions,—out of reach Of hearing, and of Amoret’s clear call. A winding lane, that with circuitous steps Led homeward, might perchance fall on the path Of Grace and Edward. Beautiful it was In lights and shadows; deep beneath the fields; Famous for ferns, and largest, first-ripe nuts. 

 Our willing feet it won, and long we trod Its snake-like wanderings: stopping now to cull The azure bell-flowers, or a berry ripe: Then moving on: and yet with more constraint, More tongue-tied, than if opportunity, Love’s step-mother, had never smiled on us. We were more cold, more timid than at morn, Walked more apart, buried in separate thought, And almost wished an awkward walk were o’er. Just then, a robin suddenly and clear, Chirped out a song among the boughs o’erhead. When Amoret looked up the song had ceased; But at the spot, there hung a tempting prize, A noble filbert cluster, all the nuts Ready to leave their dry and russet sheaths. Just out of reach it hung; and gained fresh price From difficulty. “See!” cried Amoret, All animation in her tones and face, “I must have this! Ambition, avarice, And love of fame, unite to make me dare To take these filberts captive. Lend your hand, Whilst I this perilous, deceitful bank Scale, in the front of danger.” Laughing loud At so much zeal, I aided her emprise. Firmly her delicate hand grasped mine; her eyes Lifted above, intent. But still she slid On the loose sandy bank! and still the nuts Smiled calm defiance. More determined yet By each repulse,—resolved with her own hand To garner them, she mighty efforts made; Ever her eyes uplifted, and her thoughts Rapt from inferior objects. Still she slid. Not Tantalus’ lips more nearly kissed the stream Than came her fingers on the swaying branch, Which yet escaped her. A quick glance she threw Half eager, half despairing, all around For something to upraise her;—a great stone, A browsing ass astray,—but there was nought To give her footing. Suddenly impelled, Planting my boot firm in the sandy wall I bent my knee, and made a level floor For fairy feet upon my brawny limb. Amoret took the advantage, and like light, Stepped on the welcome platform, with her eyes Still on their goal. To steady her I placed One arm for balustrade ’neath her left hand; The other gently threw around her waist To save her falling. Thus we stood; the wind Swaying with restless puffs the upper boughs. She laughed; her heart was beating; and the breeze, I think, was laughing too. I, not unpleased, Bearing the precious burthen patiently: Until, at last, she holding firm my arm, I circling fast her round and belted waist, The nuts were won and basketed. Just then Edward and Grace came round the jutting bank Full on the group. Quick, Amoret stepped down, Laughing and blushing, holding still my hand. Our conscious comrades reddened at the chance Encounter,—their own steps being close, and arms Methought entwined. No other nuts that day We gathered: but all coldness vanished quite, Nor kept we separate sides. That lane is long,— Is long and winding. ’Tis the longest lane Perhaps in Surrey; and the sun was low Ere Amoret and I had found its end, Our hospitable home.