 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
307
THE LOVER'S LIST.
“Come, sit on this bank so shady,
Sweet Evelyn, sit with me;
And count me your loves, fair lady—
How many may they be?”
Sweet Evelyn, sit with me;
And count me your loves, fair lady—
How many may they be?”
The maiden smiled on her lover,
And traced, with her dimpled hand,
Of names a dozen and over
Down in the shining sand.
And traced, with her dimpled hand,
Of names a dozen and over
Down in the shining sand.
“And now,” said Evelyn, rising,
“Sir Knight! your own, if you please;
And if there be no disguising,
The list will outnumber these.
“Sir Knight! your own, if you please;
And if there be no disguising,
The list will outnumber these.
“Then count me them truly, rover!”
And the noble knight obey'd;
And of names a dozen and over
He traced within the shade.
And the noble knight obey'd;
And of names a dozen and over
He traced within the shade.
308
Fair Evelyn pouted proudly;
She sigh'd, “Will he never have done?”
And at last she murmur'd loudly,
“I thought he would write but one!”
She sigh'd, “Will he never have done?”
And at last she murmur'd loudly,
“I thought he would write but one!”
“Now read,” said the gay youth rising;
“The scroll—it is fair and free;
In truth, there is no disguising
That list is the world to me!”
“The scroll—it is fair and free;
In truth, there is no disguising
That list is the world to me!”
She read it with joy and wonder,
For the first was her own sweet name;
And again and again written under,
It was still—it was still the same!
For the first was her own sweet name;
And again and again written under,
It was still—it was still the same!
It began with—“My Evelyn fairest!”
It ended with—“Evelyn best!”
And epithets fondest and dearest
Were lavish'd between on the rest.
It ended with—“Evelyn best!”
And epithets fondest and dearest
Were lavish'd between on the rest.
There were tears in the eyes of the lady
As she swept, with her delicate hand,
On the river-bank cool and shady,
The list she had traced in the sand.
As she swept, with her delicate hand,
On the river-bank cool and shady,
The list she had traced in the sand.
309
There were smiles on the lip of the maiden
As she turn'd to her knight once more,
And the heart was with joy o'erladen
That was heavy with doubt before!
As she turn'd to her knight once more,
And the heart was with joy o'erladen
That was heavy with doubt before!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |