First LoveRichard ForsterSketchleySketchley, Richard ForsterIllustratorFrederickWalkerWalker, Frederick
Metadata research and editing
DVPP Project TeamFukushimaKaileyUniversity of Victoria Digital Victorian Periodical Poetry ProjectVictoria, BC, Canada
In the public domain
Poem signed R. F. Sketchley. (AC)Once a Week1364322–323She was the first, the only startext-transform: uppercase; font-size: 115%; letter-spacing: 0.075em; word-spacing:
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First Love.She was the first, the only starThat shone upon my life,The summer of my days had setBefore I called her wife ;The leaves have fallen twenty timesBeneath our trysting tree,Since the ringers shook the raftersIn the belfry by the sea.The pulses of my heart beat slow,With calm, unflutter’d stroke,Till with a party from the GrangeI pic-nic’d at the Oak ;A stranger to our Forest ways,She came with Alan’s bride,One glance—I knew my love was come—The old indifference died.The park, a summer’s walk across,Was famous in the shire ;The porter at the crested gatesGrew rich and blessed the Squire ;I show’d the glade where ballads sayThe King met Robin Hood,I took her where, as boys, we cropp’dWild strawberries in the wood.The gardens and the orange-trees,The swans upon the lake,The gazing stags among the fern,The pheasants in the brake :These sumptuous signs of wealthy stateShe saw with sweet surprise,And I——new light was on them all,Seen with a lover’s eyes.When Alan blew his warning horn,My chestnut join’d her bay ;Down the long grassy “ rides” we rode,And watch’ the rabbits play.The dead sun in his crimson shroudLay buried in the west,And Love was nestling in my heart,An inmate, not a guest.A gipsy party gaily plann’d,A smile, a soft “ good night,”And then I left the low white house,Just as the stars were bright :—Lost in some far, forgotten sea,The sailor on the shoreSights, to his joy, the ship that comesTo bear him home once more.The bride moon with her dower of starsTwice grew to matron age,Before my birdie flew away.Back to her northern cage ;She knew the abbey pictures well,She dared the haunted room,We laughed around the Oak again,And saw the aloe bloom.A promise in the oriel wonTo crown my growing bliss,A drooping head, a circled waist,And such a binding kiss !O, happy time ! O, happy time !It never has its fellow,—The one green leaf that hangs among,So many sere and yellow.Before the Autumn spent his wrathUpon the Rectory vine,I claim’d the promise that she made,I went and whisper’d, “ mine :”’May’s father trembled as he said,“ Take her, a trusting wife,And cherish one whose love has thrownA glory round my life.”Some days beside a lonely mere,(Lured by the waterfall),And then we settled at the Grange,For Alan took the Hall :How swift the lustres pass’d along,Sweet heart, with love and you,For if the sky was sometimes dark,There came a break of blue.And ever, as the year winds round,And brings the longest day,We gather at the Forest Oak,Where first I met my May ;Look, Alan’s boy and our maybudAre coming down the “ ride,”’Perhaps before another JuneThere ’1l be another bride.R. F. Sketchley.