Alas, I lie: rare hath this error bred;

Love is not dead;

Love in not dead but sleepeth

In her unmatched mind.

Where she his counsel keepeth,
Till due deserts she find.

Therefore from so vile fancy,
To call such wit a franzy,
Who Love can temper thus,
Good Lord, deliver us!"

Now note the loneliness expressed in the next stan

on the same subject taken from:

A FORSAKEN GARDEN

By A.C. Swinburne

(Vic. An. pare 452)

"The fields fall southward, abrut and broken,

To the low east edre of the

If a step should sound or a

long lone land.
word be spoken,

Would a ghost not rise at the strange est's hand? So long have the gray, bare walls lain guestless, Through branches and briars if a man make way, "e shall find no life but the sea-wind's, restless Night and day.

Heart hand fast in heart as they stood,

"Look thither,"

Did he whisper? "Lock forth from the flowers to the

sea;

For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms wither; And men that love lightly may die but we?"

And the same wind sang and the same waves white 'd,

An or ever the garden's last pet:ls were shed,

In the lips that had whisper'd, the eyes that had lighten 'a. Love was dead."

See "Requiem" by Paton Vic. An. page 350, note the delicate

pathos in the lines:

"Wither 'd

pansies faint and sweet,

O'er his breast in silence shed,
Faded lilies o'er his fest,

Waning roses round his head,

Where in dreamless sleep he lies
Folded palms and sealed eyes -

Young Love, within my bosom dead."

To the Elizabethan the loved one creared as a que en

of beauty, a goddess of wit; to the Victorian as an angel

of light, a sweet ministering spirit.

SONNET

B: William Barleys

(Schelling page S)

"Those eyes that set my fancy on a fire,

Those crisped hairs that hold my heart in chains,
Those dainty hands which conquered my desire,
That wit which of my thoughts doth hold the reins,
Then Love be judge, what heart may there withstand
Such eyes, such head, such wit, and such a hand?