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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4099-0.txt b/4099-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..540b231 --- /dev/null +++ b/4099-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5586 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Angel in the House, by Coventry Patmore, +Edited by Henry Morley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Angel in the House + + +Author: Coventry Patmore + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: August 10, 2014 [eBook #4099] +[This file was first posted on November 27, 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE*** + + +Transcribed from the 1891 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY + + * * * * * + + + + + + THE + ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. + + + * * * * * + + BY + COVENTRY PATMORE. + + * * * * * + + “Par la grace infinie, Dieu les mist au monde ensemble.” + + _Rousier des Dames_. + + [Picture: Decorative graphic] + + CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED: + _LONDON, PARIS & MELBOURNE_. + 1891. + + * * * * * + + THIS POEM + IS INSCRIBED + TO + THE MEMORY OF HER + BY WHOM AND FOR WHOM I BECAME A POET. + + * * * * * + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +THERE could be but one answer to the suggestion of Mr. Coventry Patmore +that his “Angel in the House” might usefully have a place in this +“National Library.” The suggestion was made with the belief that wide +and cheap diffusion would not take from the value of a copyright library +edition, while the best use of writing is fulfilled by the spreading of +verse dedicated to the sacred love of home. The two parts of the Poem +appeared in 1854 and 1856, were afterwards elaborately revised, and have +since obtained a permanent place among the Home Books of the English +People. Our readers will join, surely, in thanks to the author for the +present he has made us. + + H. M. + + + + +CONTENTS + + BOOK I. + PAGE + THE PROLOGUE. 13 +CANTO + I. THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE 17 + Preludes: + 1. The Impossibility 17 + 2. Love’s Really 17 + 3. The Poet’s Confidence 18 + The Cathedral Close 19 + II. MARY AND MILDRED 24 + Preludes: + 1. The Paragon 24 + 2. Love at Large 26 + 3. Love and Duty 27 + 4. A Distinction 28 + Mary and Mildred 28 + III. HONORIA 32 + Preludes: + 1. The Lover 32 + 2. Love a Virtue 34 + 3. The Attainment 34 + Honoria 35 + IV. THE MORNING CALL 39 + Preludes: + 1. The Rose of the World 39 + 2. The Tribute 41 + 3. Compensation 42 + The Morning Call 42 + V. THE VIOLETS 46 + Preludes: + 1. The Comparison 46 + 2. Love in Tears 48 + 3. Prospective Faith 48 + 4. Venus Victrix 49 + The Violets 49 + VI. THE DEAN 53 + Preludes: + 1. Perfect Love rare 53 + 2. Love Justified 54 + 3. Love Serviceable 55 + 4. A Riddle Solved 56 + The Dean 56 + VII. ÆTNA AND THE MOON 60 + Preludes: + 1. Love’s Immortality 60 + 2. Heaven and Earth 61 + Ætna and the Moon 62 + VIII. SARUM PLAIN 66 + Preludes: + 1. Life of Life 66 + 2. The Revelation 67 + 3. The Spirit’s Epochs 67 + 4. The Prototype 68 + 5. The Praise of Love 68 + Sarum Plain 69 + IX. SAHARA 74 + Preludes: + 1. The Wife’s Tragedy 74 + 2. Common Graces 75 + 3. The Zest of Life 76 + 4. Fool and Wise 76 + Sahara 77 + X. CHURCH TO CHURCH 81 + Preludes: + 1. The Joyful Wisdom 81 + 2. The Devices 84 + Going to Church 84 + XI. THE DANCE 89 + Preludes: + 1. The Daughter of Eve 89 + 2. Aurea Dicta 91 + The Dance 93 + XII. THE ABDICATION 97 + Preludes: + 1. The Chace 97 + 2. Denied 100 + 3. The Churl 101 + The Abdication 102 + BOOK II. + THE PROLOGUE 105 + I. ACCEPTED 109 + Preludes: + 1. The Song of Songs 109 + 2. The Kites 110 + 3. Orpheus 111 + 4. Nearest the Dearest 111 + 5. Perspective 112 + Accepted 112 + II. THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 116 + Preludes: + 1. The Changed Allegiance 116 + 2. Beauty 120 + 3. Lais and Lucretia 120 + The Course of True Love 121 + III. THE COUNTRY BALL 126 + Preludes: + 1. Love Ceremonious 126 + 2. The Rainbow 127 + 3. A Paradox 127 + The County Ball 128 + IV. LOVE IN IDLENESS 132 + Preludes: + 1. Honour and Desert 132 + 2. Love and Honour 133 + 3. Valour Misdirected 134 + Love in Idleness 134 + V. THE QUEEN’S ROOM 139 + Preludes: + 1. Rejected 139 + 2. Rachel 140 + 3. The Heart’s Prophecies 141 + The Queen’s Room 141 + VI. THE LOVE-LETTERS 145 + Preludes: + 1. Love’s Perversity 145 + 2. The Power of Love 147 + The Love-Letters 148 + VII. THE REVULSION 152 + Preludes: + 1. Joy and Use 152 + 2. ‘She was Mine’ 153 + The Revulsion 153 + VIII. THE KOH-I-NOOR 158 + Preludes: + 1. In Love 158 + 2. Love Thinking 160 + 3. The Kiss 161 + The Koh-i-noor 161 + IX. THE FRIENDS 165 + Preludes: + 1. The Nursling of Civility 165 + 2. The Foreign Land 166 + 3. Disappointment 166 + The Friends 167 + X. THE EPITAPH 170 + Preludes: + 1. Frost in Harvest 170 + 2. Felicity 171 + 3. Marriage Indissoluble 172 + The Epitaph 172 + XI. THE WEDDING 176 + Preludes: + 1. Platonic Love 176 + 2. A Demonstration 177 + 3. The Symbol 178 + 4. Constancy Rewarded 178 + The Wedding 179 + XII. HUSBAND AND WIFE 183 + Preludes: + 1. The Married Lover 183 + 2. The Amaranth 184 + Husband and Wife 185 + The Epilogue 189 + + + + +Book I. + + +THE PROLOGUE. + + +1 + + + ‘MINE is no horse with wings, to gain + The region of the spheral chime; + He does but drag a rumbling wain, + Cheer’d by the coupled bells of rhyme; + And if at Fame’s bewitching note + My homely Pegasus pricks an ear, + The world’s cart-collar hugs his throat, + And he’s too wise to prance or rear.’ + + +2 + + + Thus ever answer’d Vaughan his Wife, + Who, more than he, desired his fame; + But, in his heart, his thoughts were rife + How for her sake to earn a name. + With bays poetic three times crown’d, + And other college honours won, + He, if he chose, might be renown’d, + He had but little doubt, she none; + And in a loftier phrase he talk’d + With her, upon their Wedding-Day, + (The eighth), while through the fields they walk’d, + Their children shouting by the way. + + +3 + + + ‘Not careless of the gift of song, + Nor out of love with noble fame, + I, meditating much and long + What I should sing, how win a name, + Considering well what theme unsung, + What reason worth the cost of rhyme, + Remains to loose the poet’s tongue + In these last days, the dregs of time, + Learn that to me, though born so late, + There does, beyond desert, befall + (May my great fortune make me great!) + The first of themes, sung last of all. + In green and undiscover’d ground, + Yet near where many others sing, + I have the very well-head found + Whence gushes the Pierian Spring.’ + + +4 + + + Then she: ‘What is it, Dear? The Life + Of Arthur, or Jerusalem’s Fall?’ + ‘Neither: your gentle self, my Wife, + And love, that grows from one to all. + And if I faithfully proclaim + Of these the exceeding worthiness, + Surely the sweetest wreath of Fame + Shall, to your hope, my brows caress; + And if, by virtue of my choice + Of this, the most heart-touching theme + That ever tuned a poet’s voice, + I live, as I am bold to dream, + To be delight to many days, + And into silence only cease + When those are still, who shared their bays + With Laura and with Beatrice, + Imagine, Love, how learned men + Will deep-conceiv’d devices find, + Beyond my purpose and my ken, + An ancient bard of simple mind. + You, Sweet, his Mistress, Wife, and Muse, + Were you for mortal woman meant? + Your praises give a hundred clues + To mythological intent! + And, severing thus the truth from trope, + In you the Commentators see + Outlines occult of abstract scope, + A future for philosophy! + Your arm’s on mine! these are the meads + In which we pass our living days; + There Avon runs, now hid with reeds, + Now brightly brimming pebbly bays; + Those are our children’s songs that come + With bells and bleatings of the sheep; + And there, in yonder English home, + We thrive on mortal food and sleep!’ + She laugh’d. How proud she always was + To feel how proud he was of her! + But he had grown distraught, because + The Muse’s mood began to stir. + + +5 + + + His purpose with performance crown’d, + He to his well-pleased Wife rehears’d, + When next their Wedding-Day came round, + His leisure’s labour, ‘Book the First.’ + + + +CANTO I +The Cathedral Close. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_The Impossibility_. + + + Lo, love’s obey’d by all. ’Tis right + That all should know what they obey, + Lest erring conscience damp delight, + And folly laugh our joys away. + Thou Primal Love, who grantest wings + And voices to the woodland birds, + Grant me the power of saying things + Too simple and too sweet for words! + + +II. +_Love’s Really_. + + + I walk, I trust, with open eyes; + I’ve travell’d half my worldly course; + And in the way behind me lies + Much vanity and some remorse; + I’ve lived to feel how pride may part + Spirits, tho’ match’d like hand and glove; + I’ve blush’d for love’s abode, the heart; + But have not disbelieved in love; + Nor unto love, sole mortal thing + Of worth immortal, done the wrong + To count it, with the rest that sing, + Unworthy of a serious song; + And love is my reward; for now, + When most of dead’ning time complain, + The myrtle blooms upon my brow, + Its odour quickens all my brain. + + +III. +_The Poet’s Confidence_. + + + The richest realm of all the earth + Is counted still a heathen land: + Lo, I, like Joshua, now go forth + To give it into Israel’s hand. + I will not hearken blame or praise; + For so should I dishonour do + To that sweet Power by which these Lays + Alone are lovely, good, and true; + Nor credence to the world’s cries give, + Which ever preach and still prevent + Pure passion’s high prerogative + To make, not follow, precedent. + From love’s abysmal ether rare + If I to men have here made known + New truths, they, like new stars, were there + Before, though not yet written down. + Moving but as the feelings move, + I run, or loiter with delight, + Or pause to mark where gentle Love + Persuades the soul from height to height. + Yet, know ye, though my words are gay + As David’s dance, which Michal scorn’d. + If kindly you receive the Lay, + You shall be sweetly help’d and warn’d. + + +THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE. + +1 + + + Once more I came to Sarum Close, + With joy half memory, half desire, + And breathed the sunny wind that rose + And blew the shadows o’er the Spire, + And toss’d the lilac’s scented plumes, + And sway’d the chestnut’s thousand cones, + And fill’d my nostrils with perfumes, + And shaped the clouds in waifs and zones, + And wafted down the serious strain + Of Sarum bells, when, true to time, + I reach’d the Dean’s, with heart and brain + That trembled to the trembling chime. + + +2 + + + ’Twas half my home, six years ago. + The six years had not alter’d it: + Red-brick and ashlar, long and low, + With dormers and with oriels lit. + Geranium, lychnis, rose array’d + The windows, all wide open thrown; + And some one in the Study play’d + The Wedding-March of Mendelssohn. + And there it was I last took leave: + ’Twas Christmas: I remember’d now + The cruel girls, who feign’d to grieve, + Took down the evergreens; and how + The holly into blazes woke + The fire, lighting the large, low room, + A dim, rich lustre of old oak + And crimson velvet’s glowing gloom. + No change had touch’d Dean Churchill: kind, + By widowhood more than winters bent, + And settled in a cheerful mind, + As still forecasting heaven’s content. + Well might his thoughts be fix’d on high, + Now she was there! Within her face + Humility and dignity + Were met in a most sweet embrace. + She seem’d expressly sent below + To teach our erring minds to see + The rhythmic change of time’s swift flow + As part of still eternity. + Her life, all honour, observed, with awe + Which cross experience could not mar, + The fiction of the Christian law + That all men honourable are; + And so her smile at once conferr’d + High flattery and benign reproof; + And I, a rude boy, strangely stirr’d, + Grew courtly in my own behoof. + The years, so far from doing her wrong, + Anointed her with gracious balm, + And made her brows more and more young + With wreaths of amaranth and palm. + + +4 + + + Was this her eldest, Honor; prude, + Who would not let me pull the swing; + Who, kiss’d at Christmas, call’d me rude, + And, sobbing low, refused to sing? + How changed! In shape no slender Grace, + But Venus; milder than the dove; + Her mother’s air; her Norman face; + Her large sweet eyes, clear lakes of love. + Mary I knew. In former time + Ailing and pale, she thought that bliss + Was only for a better clime, + And, heavenly overmuch, scorn’d this. + I, rash with theories of the right, + Which stretch’d the tether of my Creed, + But did not break it, held delight + Half discipline. We disagreed. + She told the Dean I wanted grace. + Now she was kindest of the three, + And soft wild roses deck’d her face. + And, what, was this my Mildred, she + To herself and all a sweet surprise? + My Pet, who romp’d and roll’d a hoop? + I wonder’d where those daisy eyes + Had found their touching curve and droop. + + +5 + + + Unmannerly times! But now we sat + Stranger than strangers; till I caught + And answer’d Mildred’s smile; and that + Spread to the rest, and freedom brought. + The Dean talk’d little, looking on, + Of three such daughters justly vain. + What letters they had had from Bonn, + Said Mildred, and what plums from Spain! + By Honor I was kindly task’d + To excuse my never coming down + From Cambridge; Mary smiled and ask’d + Were Kant and Goethe yet outgrown? + And, pleased, we talk’d the old days o’er; + And, parting, I for pleasure sigh’d. + To be there as a friend, (since more), + Seem’d then, seems still, excuse for pride; + For something that abode endued + With temple-like repose, an air + Of life’s kind purposes pursued + With order’d freedom sweet and fair. + A tent pitch’d in a world not right + It seem’d, whose inmates, every one, + On tranquil faces bore the light + Of duties beautifully done, + And humbly, though they had few peers, + Kept their own laws, which seem’d to be + The fair sum of six thousand years’ + Traditions of civility. + + + +CANTO II. +Mary And Mildred. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_The Paragon_. + + + WHEN I behold the skies aloft + Passing the pageantry of dreams, + The cloud whose bosom, cygnet-soft, + A couch for nuptial Juno seems, + The ocean broad, the mountains bright, + The shadowy vales with feeding herds, + I from my lyre the music smite, + Nor want for justly matching words. + All forces of the sea and air, + All interests of hill and plain, + I so can sing, in seasons fair, + That who hath felt may feel again. + Elated oft by such free songs, + I think with utterance free to raise + That hymn for which the whole world longs, + A worthy hymn in woman’s praise; + A hymn bright-noted like a bird’s, + Arousing these song-sleepy times + With rhapsodies of perfect words, + Ruled by returning kiss of rhymes. + But when I look on her and hope + To tell with joy what I admire, + My thoughts lie cramp’d in narrow scope, + Or in the feeble birth expire; + No mystery of well-woven speech, + No simplest phrase of tenderest fall, + No liken’d excellence can reach + Her, thee most excellent of all, + The best half of creation’s best, + Its heart to feel, its eye to see, + The crown and complex of the rest, + Its aim and its epitome. + Nay, might I utter my conceit, + ’Twere after all a vulgar song, + For she’s so simply, subtly sweet, + My deepest rapture does her wrong. + Yet is it now my chosen task + To sing her worth as Maid and Wife; + Nor happier post than this I ask, + To live her laureate all my life. + On wings of love uplifted free, + And by her gentleness made great, + I’ll teach how noble man should be + To match with such a lovely mate; + And then in her may move the more + The woman’s wish to be desired, + (By praise increased), till both shall soar, + With blissful emulations fired. + And, as geranium, pink, or rose + Is thrice itself through power of art, + So may my happy skill disclose + New fairness even in her fair heart; + Until that churl shall nowhere be + Who bends not, awed, before the throne + Of her affecting majesty, + So meek, so far unlike our own; + Until (for who may hope too much + From her who wields the powers of love?) + Our lifted lives at last shall touch + That happy goal to which they move; + Until we find, as darkness rolls + Away, and evil mists dissolve, + That nuptial contrasts are the poles + On which the heavenly spheres revolve. + + +II. +_Love at Large_. + + + Whene’er I come where ladies are, + How sad soever I was before, + Though like a ship frost-bound and far + Withheld in ice from the ocean’s roar, + Third-winter’d in that dreadful dock, + With stiffen’d cordage, sails decay’d, + And crew that care for calm and shock + Alike, too dull to be dismay’d, + Yet, if I come where ladies are, + How sad soever I was before, + Then is my sadness banish’d far, + And I am like that ship no more; + Or like that ship if the ice-field splits, + Burst by the sudden polar Spring, + And all thank God with their warming wits, + And kiss each other and dance and sing, + And hoist fresh sails, that make the breeze + Blow them along the liquid sea, + Out of the North, where life did freeze, + Into the haven where they would be. + + +III. +_Love and Duty_. + + + Anne lived so truly from above, + She was so gentle and so good, + That duty bade me fall in love, + And ‘but for that,’ thought I, ‘I should!’ + I worshipp’d Kate with all my will, + In idle moods you seem to see + A noble spirit in a hill, + A human touch about a tree. + + +IV. +_A Distinction_. + + + The lack of lovely pride, in her + Who strives to please, my pleasure numbs, + And still the maid I most prefer + Whose care to please with pleasing comes. + + +MARY AND MILDRED. + +1 + + + One morning, after Church, I walk’d + Alone with Mary on the lawn, + And felt myself, howe’er we talk’d, + To grave themes delicately drawn. + When she, delighted, found I knew + More of her peace than she supposed, + Our confidences heavenwards grew, + Like fox-glove buds, in pairs disclosed. + Our former faults did we confess, + Our ancient feud was more than heal’d, + And, with the woman’s eagerness + For amity full-sign’d and seal’d, + She, offering up for sacrifice + Her heart’s reserve, brought out to show + Some verses, made when she was ice + To all but Heaven, six years ago; + Since happier grown! I took and read + The neat-writ lines. She, void of guile, + Too late repenting, blush’d, and said, + I must not think about the style. + + +2 + + + ‘Day after day, until to-day, + Imaged the others gone before, + The same dull task, the weary way, + The weakness pardon’d o’er and o’er, + + ‘The thwarted thirst, too faintly felt, + For joy’s well-nigh forgotten life, + The restless heart, which, when I knelt, + Made of my worship barren strife. + + ‘Ah, whence to-day’s so sweet release, + This clearance light of all my care, + This conscience free, this fertile peace, + These softly folded wings of prayer, + + ‘This calm and more than conquering love, + With which nought evil dares to cope, + This joy that lifts no glance above, + For faith too sure, too sweet for hope? + + ‘O, happy time, too happy change, + It will not live, though fondly nurst! + Full soon the sun will seem as strange + As now the cloud which seems dispersed.’ + + +3 + + + She from a rose-tree shook the blight; + And well she knew that I knew well + Her grace with silence to requite; + And, answering now the luncheon bell, + I laugh’d at Mildred’s laugh, which made + All melancholy wrong, its mood + Such sweet self-confidence display’d, + So glad a sense of present good. + + +4 + + + I laugh’d and sigh’d: for I confess + I never went to Ball, or Fête, + Or Show, but in pursuit express + Of my predestinated mate; + And thus to me, who had in sight + The happy chance upon the cards, + Each beauty blossom’d in the light + Of tender personal regards; + And, in the records of my breast, + Red-letter’d, eminently fair, + Stood sixteen, who, beyond the rest, + By turns till then had been my care: + At Berlin three, one at St. Cloud, + At Chatteris, near Cambridge, one, + At Ely four, in London two, + Two at Bowness, in Paris none, + And, last and best, in Sarum three; + But dearest of the whole fair troop, + In judgment of the moment, she + Whose daisy eyes had learn’d to droop. + Her very faults my fancy fired; + My loving will, so thwarted, grew; + And, bent on worship, I admired + Whate’er she was, with partial view. + And yet when, as to-day, her smile + Was prettiest, I could not but note + Honoria, less admired the while, + Was lovelier, though from love remote. + + + +CANTO III. +Honoria + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_The Lover_. + + + HE meets, by heavenly chance express, + The destined maid; some hidden hand + Unveils to him that loveliness + Which others cannot understand. + His merits in her presence grow, + To match the promise in her eyes, + And round her happy footsteps blow + The authentic airs of Paradise. + For joy of her he cannot sleep; + Her beauty haunts him all the night; + It melts his heart, it makes him weep + For wonder, worship, and delight. + O, paradox of love, he longs, + Most humble when he most aspires, + To suffer scorn and cruel wrongs + From her he honours and desires. + Her graces make him rich, and ask + No guerdon; this imperial style + Affronts him; he disdains to bask, + The pensioner of her priceless smile. + He prays for some hard thing to do, + Some work of fame and labour immense, + To stretch the languid bulk and thew + Of love’s fresh-born magnipotence. + No smallest boon were bought too dear, + Though barter’d for his love-sick life; + Yet trusts he, with undaunted cheer, + To vanquish heaven, and call her Wife + He notes how queens of sweetness still + Neglect their crowns, and stoop to mate; + How, self-consign’d with lavish will, + They ask but love proportionate; + How swift pursuit by small degrees, + Love’s tactic, works like miracle; + How valour, clothed in courtesies, + Brings down the haughtiest citadel; + And therefore, though he merits not + To kiss the braid upon her skirt, + His hope, discouraged ne’er a jot, + Out-soars all possible desert. + + +II. +_Love a Virtue_. + + + Strong passions mean weak will, and he + Who truly knows the strength and bliss + Which are in love, will own with me + No passion but a virtue ’tis. + Few hear my word; it soars above + The subtlest senses of the swarm + Of wretched things which know not love, + Their Psyche still a wingless worm. + Ice-cold seems heaven’s noble glow + To spirits whose vital heat is hell; + And to corrupt hearts even so + The songs I sing, the tale I tell. + These cannot see the robes of white + In which I sing of love. Alack, + But darkness shows in heavenly light, + Though whiteness, in the dark, is black! + + +III. +_The Attainment_. + + + You love? That’s high as you shall go; + For ’tis as true as Gospel text, + Not noble then is never so, + Either in this world or the next. + + +HONORIA. + +1 + + + Grown weary with a week’s exile + From those fair friends, I rode to see + The church-restorings; lounged awhile, + And met the Dean; was ask’d to tea, + And found their cousin, Frederick Graham + At Honor’s side. Was I concern’d, + If, when she sang, his colour came, + That mine, as with a buffet, burn’d? + A man to please a girl! thought I, + Retorting his forced smiles, the shrouds + Of wrath, so hid as she was by, + Sweet moon between her lighted clouds! + + +2 + + + Whether this Cousin was the cause + I know not, but I seem’d to see, + The first time then, how fair she was, + How much the fairest of the three. + Each stopp’d to let the other go; + But, time-bound, he arose the first. + Stay’d he in Sarum long? If so + I hoped to see him at the Hurst. + No: he had call’d here, on his way + To Portsmouth, where the Arrogant, + His ship, was; he should leave next day, + For two years’ cruise in the Levant. + + +3 + + + Had love in her yet struck its germs? + I watch’d. Her farewell show’d me plain + She loved, on the majestic terms + That she should not be loved again; + And so her cousin, parting, felt. + Hope in his voice and eye was dead. + Compassion did my malice melt; + Then went I home to a restless bed. + I, who admired her too, could see + His infinite remorse at this + Great mystery, that she should be + So beautiful, yet not be his, + And, pitying, long’d to plead his part; + But scarce could tell, so strange my whim, + Whether the weight upon my heart + Was sorrow for myself or him. + + +4 + + + She was all mildness; yet ’twas writ + In all her grace, most legibly, + ‘He that’s for heaven itself unfit, + Let him not hope to merit me.’ + And such a challenge, quite apart + From thoughts of love, humbled, and thus + To sweet repentance moved my heart, + And made me more magnanimous, + And led me to review my life, + Inquiring where in aught the least, + If question were of her for wife, + Ill might be mended, hope increas’d. + Not that I soar’d so far above + Myself, as this great hope to dare; + And yet I well foresaw that love + Might hope where reason must despair; + And, half-resenting the sweet pride + Which would not ask me to admire, + ‘Oh,’ to my secret heart I sigh’d, + ‘That I were worthy to desire!’ + + +5 + + + As drowsiness my brain reliev’d, + A shrill defiance of all to arms, + Shriek’d by the stable-cock, receiv’d + An angry answer from three farms. + And, then, I dream’d that I, her knight, + A clarion’s haughty pathos heard, + And rode securely to the fight, + Cased in the scarf she had conferr’d; + And there, the bristling lists behind, + Saw many, and vanquish’d all I saw + Of her unnumber’d cousin-kind, + In Navy, Army, Church, and Law; + Smitten, the warriors somehow turn’d + To Sarum choristers, whose song, + Mix’d with celestial sorrow, yearn’d + With joy no memory can prolong; + And phantasms as absurd and sweet + Merged each in each in endless chace, + And everywhere I seem’d to meet + The haunting fairness of her face. + + + +CANTO IV. +The Morning Call. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_The Rose of the World_. + + + LO, when the Lord made North and South + And sun and moon ordained, He, + Forthbringing each by word of mouth + In order of its dignity, + Did man from the crude clay express + By sequence, and, all else decreed, + He form’d the woman; nor might less + Than Sabbath such a work succeed. + And still with favour singled out, + Marr’d less than man by mortal fall, + Her disposition is devout, + Her countenance angelical; + The best things that the best believe + Are in her face so kindly writ + The faithless, seeing her, conceive + Not only heaven, but hope of it; + No idle thought her instinct shrouds, + But fancy chequers settled sense, + Like alteration of the clouds + On noonday’s azure permanence; + Pure dignity, composure, ease + Declare affections nobly fix’d, + And impulse sprung from due degrees + Of sense and spirit sweetly mix’d. + Her modesty, her chiefest grace, + The cestus clasping Venus’ side, + How potent to deject the face + Of him who would affront its pride! + Wrong dares not in her presence speak, + Nor spotted thought its taint disclose + Under the protest of a cheek + Outbragging Nature’s boast the rose. + In mind and manners how discreet; + How artless in her very art; + How candid in discourse; how sweet + The concord of her lips and heart; + How simple and how circumspect; + How subtle and how fancy-free; + Though sacred to her love, how deck’d + With unexclusive courtesy; + How quick in talk to see from far + The way to vanquish or evade; + How able her persuasions are + To prove, her reasons to persuade; + How (not to call true instinct’s bent + And woman’s very nature, harm), + How amiable and innocent + Her pleasure in her power to charm; + How humbly careful to attract, + Though crown’d with all the soul desires, + Connubial aptitude exact, + Diversity that never tires. + + +II. +_The Tribute_. + + + Boon Nature to the woman bows; + She walks in earth’s whole glory clad, + And, chiefest far herself of shows, + All others help her, and are glad: + No splendour ’neath the sky’s proud dome + But serves for her familiar wear; + The far-fetch’d diamond finds its home + Flashing and smouldering in her hair; + For her the seas their pearls reveal; + Art and strange lands her pomp supply + With purple, chrome, and cochineal, + Ochre, and lapis lazuli; + The worm its golden woof presents; + Whatever runs, flies, dives, or delves, + All doff for her their ornaments, + Which suit her better than themselves; + And all, by this their power to give, + Proving her right to take, proclaim + Her beauty’s clear prerogative + To profit so by Eden’s blame. + + +III. +_Compensation_. + + + That nothing here may want its praise, + Know, she who in her dress reveals + A fine and modest taste, displays + More loveliness than she conceals. + + +THE MORNING CALL. + +1 + + + ‘By meekness charm’d, or proud to allow + A queenly claim to live admired, + Full many a lady has ere now + My apprehensive fancy fired, + And woven many a transient chain; + But never lady like to this, + Who holds me as the weather-vane + Is held by yonder clematis. + She seems the life of nature’s powers; + Her beauty is the genial thought + Which makes the sunshine bright; the flowers, + But for their hint of her, were nought.’ + + +2 + + + A voice, the sweeter for the grace + Of suddenness, while thus I dream’d, + ‘Good morning!’ said or sang. Her face + The mirror of the morning seem’d. + Her sisters in the garden walk’d, + And would I come? Across the Hall + She led me; and we laugh’d and talk’d, + And praised the Flower-show and the Ball; + And Mildred’s pinks had gain’d the Prize; + And, stepping like the light-foot fawn, + She brought me ‘Wiltshire Butterflies,’ + The Prize-book; then we paced the lawn, + Close-cut, and with geranium-plots, + A rival glow of green and red; + Than counted sixty apricots + On one small tree; the gold-fish fed; + And watch’d where, black with scarlet tans, + Proud Psyche stood and flash’d like flame, + Showing and shutting splendid fans; + And in the prize we found its name. + + +3 + + + The sweet hour lapsed, and left my breast + A load of joy and tender care; + And this delight, which life oppress’d, + To fix’d aims grew, that ask’d for pray’r. + I rode home slowly; whip-in-hand + And soil’d bank-notes all ready, stood + The Farmer who farm’d all my land, + Except the little Park and Wood; + And with the accustom’d compliment + Of talk, and beef, and frothing beer, + I, my own steward, took my rent, + Three hundred pounds for half the year; + Our witnesses the Cook and Groom, + We sign’d the lease for seven years more, + And bade Good-day; then to my room + I went, and closed and lock’d the door, + And cast myself down on my bed, + And there, with many a blissful tear, + I vow’d to love and pray’d to wed + The maiden who had grown so dear; + Thank’d God who had set her in my path; + And promised, as I hoped to win, + That I would never dim my faith + By the least selfishness or sin; + Whatever in her sight I’d seem + I’d truly be; I’d never blend + With my delight in her a dream + ’Twould change her cheek to comprehend; + And, if she wish’d it, I’d prefer + Another’s to my own success; + And always seek the best for her + With unofficious tenderness. + + +4 + + + Rising, I breathed a brighter clime, + And found myself all self above, + And, with a charity sublime, + Contemn’d not those who did not love: + And I could not but feel that then + I shone with something of her grace, + And went forth to my fellow men + My commendation in my face. + + + +CANTO V. +The Violets. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_The Comparison_. + + + WHERE she succeeds with cloudless brow, + In common and in holy course, + He fails, in spite of prayer and vow + And agonies of faith and force; + Or, if his suit with Heaven prevails + To righteous life, his virtuous deeds + Lack beauty, virtue’s badge; she fails + More graciously than he succeeds. + Her spirit, compact of gentleness, + If Heaven postpones or grants her pray’r, + Conceives no pride in its success, + And in its failure no despair; + But his, enamour’d of its hurt, + Baffled, blasphemes, or, not denied, + Crows from the dunghill of desert, + And wags its ugly wings for pride. + He’s never young nor ripe; she grows + More infantine, auroral, mild, + And still the more she lives and knows + The lovelier she’s express’d a child. + Say that she wants the will of man + To conquer fame, not check’d by cross, + Nor moved when others bless or ban; + She wants but what to have were loss. + Or say she wants the patient brain + To track shy truth; her facile wit + At that which he hunts down with pain + Flies straight, and does exactly hit. + Were she but half of what she is, + He twice himself, mere love alone, + Her special crown, as truth is his, + Gives title to the worthier throne; + For love is substance, truth the form; + Truth without love were less than nought; + But blindest love is sweet and warm, + And full of truth not shaped by thought, + And therefore in herself she stands + Adorn’d with undeficient grace, + Her happy virtues taking hands, + Each smiling in another’s face. + So, dancing round the Tree of Life, + They make an Eden in her breast, + While his, disjointed and at strife, + Proud-thoughted, do not bring him rest. + + +II. +_Love in Tears_. + + + If fate Love’s dear ambition mar, + And load his breast with hopeless pain, + And seem to blot out sun and star, + Love, won or lost, is countless gain; + His sorrow boasts a secret bliss + Which sorrow of itself beguiles, + And Love in tears too noble is + For pity, save of Love in smiles. + But, looking backward through his tears, + With vision of maturer scope, + How often one dead joy appears + The platform of some better hope! + And, let us own, the sharpest smart + Which human patience may endure + Pays light for that which leaves the heart + More generous, dignified, and pure. + + +III. +_Prospective Faith_. + + + They safely walk in darkest ways + Whose youth is lighted from above, + Where, through the senses’ silvery haze, + Dawns the veil’d moon of nuptial love. + Who is the happy husband? He + Who, scanning his unwedded life, + Thanks Heaven, with a conscience free, + ’Twas faithful to his future wife. + + +IV. +_Venus Victrix_. + + + Fatal in force, yet gentle in will, + Defeats, from her, are tender pacts, + For, like the kindly lodestone, still + She’s drawn herself by what she attracts. + + +THE VIOLETS. + +1 + + + I went not to the Dean’s unbid: + I would not have my mystery, + From her so delicately hid, + The guess of gossips at their tea. + A long, long week, and not once there, + Had made my spirit sick and faint, + And lack-love, foul as love is fair, + Perverted all things to complaint. + How vain the world had grown to be! + How mean all people and their ways, + How ignorant their sympathy, + And how impertinent their praise; + What they for virtuousness esteem’d, + How far removed from heavenly right; + What pettiness their trouble seem’d, + How undelightful their delight; + To my necessity how strange + The sunshine and the song of birds; + How dull the clouds’ continual change, + How foolishly content the herds; + How unaccountable the law + Which bade me sit in blindness here, + While she, the sun by which I saw, + Shed splendour in an idle sphere! + And then I kiss’d her stolen glove, + And sigh’d to reckon and define + The modes of martyrdom in love, + And how far each one might be mine. + I thought how love, whose vast estate + Is earth and air and sun and sea, + Encounters oft the beggar’s fate, + Despised on score of poverty; + How Heaven, inscrutable in this, + Lets the gross general make or mar + The destiny of love, which is + So tender and particular; + How nature, as unnatural + And contradicting nature’s source, + Which is but love, seems most of all + Well-pleased to harry true love’s course; + How, many times, it comes to pass + That trifling shades of temperament, + Affecting only one, alas, + Not love, but love’s success prevent; + How manners often falsely paint + The man; how passionate respect, + Hid by itself, may bear the taint + Of coldness and a dull neglect; + And how a little outward dust + Can a clear merit quite o’ercloud, + And make her fatally unjust, + And him desire a darker shroud; + How senseless opportunity + Gives baser men the better chance; + How powers, adverse else, agree + To cheat her in her ignorance; + How Heaven its very self conspires + With man and nature against love, + As pleased to couple cross desires, + And cross where they themselves approve. + Wretched were life, if the end were now! + But this gives tears to dry despair, + Faith shall be blest, we know not how, + And love fulfill’d, we know not where. + + +2 + + + While thus I grieved, and kiss’d her glove, + My man brought in her note to say, + Papa had hid her send his love, + And would I dine with them next day? + They had learn’d and practised Purcell’s glee, + To sing it by to-morrow night. + The Postscript was: Her sisters and she + Inclosed some violets, blue and white; + She and her sisters found them where + I wager’d once no violets grew; + So they had won the gloves. And there + The violets lay, two white, one blue. + + + +CANTO VI. +The Dean. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_Perfect Love rare_. + + + MOST rare is still most noble found, + Most noble still most incomplete; + Sad law, which leaves King Love uncrown’d + In this obscure, terrestrial seat! + With bale more sweet than others’ bliss, + And bliss more wise than others’ bale, + The secrets of the world are his. + And freedom without let or pale. + O, zealous good, O, virtuous glee, + Religious, and without alloy, + O, privilege high, which none but he + Who highly merits can enjoy; + O, Love, who art that fabled sun + Which all the world with bounty loads, + Without respect of realms, save one, + And gilds with double lustre Rhodes; + A day of whose delicious life, + Though full of terrors, full of tears, + Is better than of other life + A hundred thousand million years; + Thy heavenly splendour magnifies + The least commixture of earth’s mould, + Cheapens thyself in thine own eyes, + And makes the foolish mocker bold. + + +II. +_Love Justified_. + + + What if my pole-star of respect + Be dim to others? Shall their ‘Nay,’ + Presumably their own defect, + Invalidate my heart’s strong ‘Yea’? + And can they rightly me condemn, + If I, with partial love, prefer? + I am not more unjust to them, + But only not unjust to her. + Leave us alone! After awhile, + This pool of private charity + Shall make its continent an isle, + And roll, a world-embracing sea; + This foolish zeal of lip for lip, + This fond, self-sanction’d, wilful zest, + Is that elect relationship + Which forms and sanctions all the rest; + This little germ of nuptial love, + Which springs so simply from the sod, + The root is, as my song shall prove, + Of all our love to man and God. + + +III. +_Love Serviceable_. + + + What measure Fate to him shall mete + Is not the noble Lover’s care; + He’s heart-sick with a longing sweet + To make her happy as she’s fair. + Oh, misery, should she him refuse, + And so her dearest good mistake! + His own success he thus pursues + With frantic zeal for her sole sake. + To lose her were his life to blight, + Being loss to hers; to make her his, + Except as helping her delight, + He calls but incidental bliss; + And holding life as so much pelf + To buy her posies, learns this lore: + He does not rightly love himself + Who does not love another more. + + +IV. +_A Riddle Solved_. + + + Kind souls, you wonder why, love you, + When you, you wonder why, love none. + We love, Fool, for the good we do, + Not that which unto us is done! + + +THE DEAN. + +1 + + + The Ladies rose. I held the door, + And sigh’d, as her departing grace + Assured me that she always wore + A heart as happy as her face; + And, jealous of the winds that blew, + I dreaded, o’er the tasteless wine, + What fortune momently might do + To hurt the hope that she’d be mine. + + +2 + + + Towards my mark the Dean’s talk set: + He praised my ‘Notes on Abury,’ + Read when the Association met + At Sarum; he was pleased to see + I had not stopp’d, as some men had, + At Wrangler and Prize Poet; last, + He hoped the business was not bad + I came about: then the wine pass’d. + + +3 + + + A full glass prefaced my reply: + I loved his daughter, Honor; I told + My estate and prospects; might I try + To win her? At my words so bold + My sick heart sank. Then he: He gave + His glad consent, if I could get + Her love. A dear, good Girl! she’d have + Only three thousand pounds as yet; + More bye and bye. Yes, his good will + Should go with me; he would not stir; + He and my father in old time still + Wish’d I should one day marry her; + But God so seldom lets us take + Our chosen pathway, when it lies + In steps that either mar or make + Or alter others’ destinies, + That, though his blessing and his pray’r + Had help’d, should help, my suit, yet he + Left all to me, his passive share + Consent and opportunity. + My chance, he hoped, was good: I’d won + Some name already; friends and place + Appear’d within my reach, but none + Her mind and manners would not grace. + Girls love to see the men in whom + They invest their vanities admired; + Besides, where goodness is, there room + For good to work will be desired. + ’Twas so with one now pass’d away; + And what she was at twenty-two, + Honor was now; and he might say + Mine was a choice I could not rue. + + +4 + + + He ceased, and gave his hand. He had won + (And all my heart was in my word), + From me the affection of a son, + Whichever fortune Heaven conferr’d! + Well, well, would I take more wine? Then go + To her; she makes tea on the lawn + These fine warm afternoons. And so + We went whither my soul was drawn; + And her light-hearted ignorance + Of interest in our discourse + Fill’d me with love, and seem’d to enhance + Her beauty with pathetic force, + As, through the flowery mazes sweet, + Fronting the wind that flutter’d blythe, + And loved her shape, and kiss’d her feet, + Shown to their insteps proud and lithe, + She approach’d, all mildness and young trust, + And ever her chaste and noble air + Gave to love’s feast its choicest gust, + A vague, faint augury of despair. + + + +CANTO VII. +Ætna and the Moon. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_Love’s Immortality_. + + + How vilely ’twere to misdeserve + The poet’s gift of perfect speech, + In song to try, with trembling nerve, + The limit of its utmost reach, + Only to sound the wretched praise + Of what to-morrow shall not be; + So mocking with immortal bays + The cross-bones of mortality! + I do not thus. My faith is fast + That all the loveliness I sing + Is made to bear the mortal blast, + And blossom in a better Spring. + Doubts of eternity ne’er cross + The Lover’s mind, divinely clear; + _For ever_ is the gain or loss + Which maddens him with hope or fear: + So trifles serve for his relief, + And trifles make him sick and pale; + And yet his pleasure and his grief + Are both on a majestic scale. + The chance, indefinitely small, + Of issue infinitely great, + Eclipses finite interests all, + And has the dignity of fate. + + +II. +_Heaven and Earth_. + + + How long shall men deny the flower + Because its roots are in the earth, + And crave with tears from God the dower + They have, and have despised as dearth, + And scorn as low their human lot, + With frantic pride, too blind to see + That standing on the head makes not + Either for ease or dignity! + But fools shall feel like fools to find + (Too late inform’d) that angels’ mirth + Is one in cause, and mode, and kind + With that which they profaned on earth. + + +ÆTNA AND THE MOON. + +1 + + + To soothe my heart I, feigning, seized + A pen, and, showering tears, declared + My unfeign’d passion; sadly pleased + Only to dream that so I dared. + Thus was the fervid truth confess’d, + But wild with paradox ran the plea. + As wilfully in hope depress’d, + Yet bold beyond hope’s warranty: + + +2 + + + ‘O, more than dear, be more than just, + And do not deafly shut the door! + I claim no right to speak; I trust + Mercy, not right; yet who has more? + For, if more love makes not more fit, + Of claimants here none’s more nor less, + Since your great worth does not permit + Degrees in our unworthiness. + Yet, if there’s aught that can be done + With arduous labour of long years, + By which you’ll say that you’ll be won, + O tell me, and I’ll dry my tears. + Ah, no; if loving cannot move, + How foolishly must labour fail! + The use of deeds is to show love; + If signs suffice let these avail: + Your name pronounced brings to my heart + A feeling like the violet’s breath, + Which does so much of heaven impart + It makes me amorous of death; + The winds that in the garden toss + The Guelder-roses give me pain, + Alarm me with the dread of loss, + Exhaust me with the dream of gain; + I’m troubled by the clouds that move; + Tired by the breath which I respire; + And ever, like a torch, my love, + Thus agitated, flames the higher; + All’s hard that has not you for goal; + I scarce can move my hand to write, + For love engages all my soul, + And leaves the body void of might; + The wings of will spread idly, as do + The bird’s that in a vacuum lies; + My breast, asleep with dreams of you, + Forgets to breathe, and bursts in sighs; + I see no rest this side the grave, + No rest nor hope, from you apart; + Your life is in the rose you gave, + Its perfume suffocates my heart; + There’s no refreshment in the breeze; + The heaven o’erwhelms me with its blue; + I faint beside the dancing seas; + Winds, skies, and waves are only you; + The thought or act which not intends + You service seems a sin and shame; + In that one only object ends + Conscience, religion, honour, fame. + Ah, could I put off love! Could we + Never have met! What calm, what ease! + Nay, but, alas, this remedy + Were ten times worse than the disease! + For when, indifferent, I pursue + The world’s best pleasures for relief, + My heart, still sickening back to you, + Finds none like memory of its grief; + And, though ’twere very hell to hear + You felt such misery as I, + All good, save you, were far less dear! + Than is that ill with which I die + Where’er I go, wandering forlorn, + You are the world’s love, life, and glee: + Oh, wretchedness not to be borne + If she that’s Love should not love me!’ + + +3 + + + I could not write another word, + Through pity for my own distress; + And forth I went, untimely stirr’d + To make my misery more or less. + I went, beneath the heated noon, + To where, in her simplicity, + She sate at work; and, as the Moon + On Ætna smiles, she smiled on me. + But, now and then, in cheek and eyes, + I saw, or fancied, such a glow + As when, in summer-evening skies, + Some say, ‘It lightens,’ some say, ‘No.’ + ‘Honoria,’ I began—No more. + The Dean, by ill or happy hap, + Came home; and Wolf burst in before, + And put his nose upon her lap. + + + +CANTO VIII. +Sarum Plain. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_Life of Life_. + + + WHAT’S that, which, ere I spake, was gone? + So joyful and intense a spark + That, whilst o’erhead the wonder shone, + The day, before but dull, grew dark. + I do not know; but this I know, + That, had the splendour lived a year, + The truth that I some heavenly show + Did see, could not be now more clear. + This know I too: might mortal breath + Express the passion then inspired, + Evil would die a natural death, + And nothing transient be desired; + And error from the soul would pass, + And leave the senses pure and strong + As sunbeams. But the best, alas, + Has neither memory nor tongue! + + +II. +_The Revelation_. + + + An idle poet, here and there, + Looks round him; but, for all the rest, + The world, unfathomably fair, + Is duller than a witling’s jest. + Love wakes men, once a lifetime each; + They lift their heavy lids, and look; + And, lo, what one sweet page can teach, + They read with joy, then shut the book. + And some give thanks, and some blaspheme, + And most forget; but, either way, + That and the Child’s unheeded dream + Is all the light of all their day. + + +III. +_The Spirit’s Epochs_. + + + Not in the crises of events, + Of compass’d hopes, or fears fulfill’d, + Or acts of gravest consequence, + Are life’s delight and depth reveal’d. + The day of days was not the day; + That went before, or was postponed; + The night Death took our lamp away + Was not the night on which we groan’d. + I drew my bride, beneath the moon, + Across my threshold; happy hour! + But, ah, the walk that afternoon + We saw the water-flags in flower! + + +IV. +_The Prototype_. + + + Lo, there, whence love, life, light are pour’d, + Veil’d with impenetrable rays, + Amidst the presence of the Lord + Co-equal Wisdom laughs and plays. + Female and male God made the man; + His image is the whole, not half; + And in our love we dimly scan + The love which is between Himself. + + +V. +_The Praise of Love_. + + + Spirit of Knowledge, grant me this: + A simple heart and subtle wit + To praise the thing whose praise it is + That all which can be praised is it. + + +SARUM PLAIN. + +1 + + + Breakfast enjoy’d, ’mid hush of boughs + And perfumes thro’ the windows blown; + Brief worship done, which still endows + The day with beauty not its own; + With intervening pause, that paints + Each act with honour, life with calm + (As old processions of the Saints + At every step have wands of palm), + We rose; the ladies went to dress, + And soon return’d with smiles; and then, + Plans fix’d, to which the Dean said ‘Yes,’ + Once more we drove to Salisbury Plain. + We past my house (observed with praise + By Mildred, Mary acquiesced), + And left the old and lazy greys + Below the hill, and walk’d the rest. + + +2 + + + The moods of love are like the wind, + And none knows whence or why they rise: + I ne’er before felt heart and mind + So much affected through mine eyes. + How cognate with the flatter’d air, + How form’d for earth’s familiar zone, + She moved; how feeling and how fair + For others’ pleasure and her own! + And, ah, the heaven of her face! + How, when she laugh’d, I seem’d to see + The gladness of the primal grace, + And how, when grave, its dignity! + Of all she was, the least not less + Delighted the devoted eye; + No fold or fashion of her dress + Her fairness did not sanctify. + I could not else than grieve. What cause? + Was I not blest? Was she not there? + Likely my own? Ah, that it was: + How like seem’d ‘likely’ to despair! + + +3 + + + And yet to see her so benign, + So honourable and womanly, + In every maiden kindness mine, + And full of gayest courtesy, + Was pleasure so without alloy, + Such unreproved, sufficient bliss, + I almost wish’d, the while, that joy + Might never further go than this. + So much it was as now to walk, + And humbly by her gentle side + Observe her smile and hear her talk, + Could it be more to call her Bride? + I feign’d her won: the mind finite, + Puzzled and fagg’d by stress and strain + To comprehend the whole delight, + Made bliss more hard to bear than pain. + All good, save heart to hold, so summ’d + And grasp’d, the thought smote, like a knife, + How laps’d mortality had numb’d + The feelings to the feast of life; + How passing good breathes sweetest breath; + And love itself at highest reveals + More black than bright, commending death + By teaching how much life conceals. + + +4 + + + But happier passions these subdued, + When from the close and sultry lane, + With eyes made bright by what they view’d, + We emerged upon the mounded Plain. + As to the breeze a flag unfurls, + My spirit expanded, sweetly embraced + By those same gusts that shook her curls + And vex’d the ribbon at her waist. + To the future cast I future cares; + Breathed with a heart unfreighted, free, + And laugh’d at the presumptuous airs + That with her muslins folded me; + Till, one vague rack along my sky, + The thought that she might ne’er be mine + Lay half forgotten by the eye + So feasted with the sun’s warm shine. + + +5 + + + By the great stones we chose our ground + For shade; and there, in converse sweet, + Took luncheon. On a little mound + Sat the three ladies; at their feet + I sat; and smelt the heathy smell, + Pluck’d harebells, turn’d the telescope + To the country round. My life went well, + For once, without the wheels of hope; + And I despised the Druid rocks + That scowl’d their chill gloom from above, + Like churls whose stolid wisdom mocks + The lightness of immortal love. + And, as we talk’d, my spirit quaff’d + The sparkling winds; the candid skies + At our untruthful strangeness laugh’d; + I kiss’d with mine her smiling eyes; + And sweet familiarness and awe + Prevail’d that hour on either part, + And in the eternal light I saw + That she was mine; though yet my heart + Could not conceive, nor would confess + Such contentation; and there grew + More form and more fair stateliness + Than heretofore between us two. + + + +CANTO IX. +Sahara. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_The Wife’s Tragedy_. + + + MAN must be pleased; but him to please + Is woman’s pleasure; down the gulf + Of his condoled necessities + She casts her best, she flings herself. + How often flings for nought, and yokes + Her heart to an icicle or whim, + Whose each impatient word provokes + Another, not from her, but him; + While she, too gentle even to force + His penitence by kind replies, + Waits by, expecting his remorse, + With pardon in her pitying eyes; + And if he once, by shame oppress’d, + A comfortable word confers, + She leans and weeps against his breast, + And seems to think the sin was hers; + And whilst his love has any life, + Or any eye to see her charms, + At any time, she’s still his wife, + Dearly devoted to his arms; + She loves with love that cannot tire; + And when, ah woe, she loves alone, + Through passionate duty love springs higher, + As grass grows taller round a stone. + + +II. +_Common Graces_. + + + Is nature in thee too spiritless, + Ignoble, impotent, and dead, + To prize her love and loveliness + The more for being thy daily bread? + And art thou one of that vile crew + Which see no splendour in the sun, + Praising alone the good that’s new, + Or over, or not yet begun? + And has it dawn’d on thy dull wits + That love warms many as soft a nest, + That, though swathed round with benefits, + Thou art not singularly blest? + And fail thy thanks for gifts divine, + The common food of many a heart, + Because they are not only thine? + Beware lest in the end thou art + Cast for thy pride forth from the fold, + Too good to feel the common grace + Of blissful myriads who behold + For evermore the Father’s face. + + +III. +_The Zest of Life_. + + + Give thanks. It is not time misspent; + Worst fare this betters, and the best, + Wanting this natural condiment, + Breeds crudeness, and will not digest. + The grateful love the Giver’s law; + But those who eat, and look no higher, + From sin or doubtful sanction draw + The biting sauce their feasts require. + Give thanks for nought, if you’ve no more, + And, having all things, do not doubt + That nought, with thanks, is blest before + Whate’er the world can give, without. + + +IV. +_Fool and Wise_. + + + Endow the fool with sun and moon, + Being his, he holds them mean and low, + But to the wise a little boon + Is great, because the giver’s so. + + +SAHARA. + +1 + + + I stood by Honor and the Dean, + They seated in the London train. + A month from her! yet this had been, + Ere now, without such bitter pain. + But neighbourhood makes parting light, + And distance remedy has none; + Alone, she near, I felt as might + A blind man sitting in the sun; + She near, all for the time was well; + Hope’s self, when we were far apart, + With lonely feeling, like the smell + Of heath on mountains, fill’d my heart. + To see her seem’d delight’s full scope, + And her kind smile, so clear of care, + Ev’n then, though darkening all my hope, + Gilded the cloud of my despair. + + +2 + + + She had forgot to bring a book. + I lent one; blamed the print for old; + And did not tell her that she took + A Petrarch worth its weight in gold. + I hoped she’d lose it; for my love + Was grown so dainty, high, and nice, + It prized no luxury above + The sense of fruitless sacrifice. + + +3 + + + The bell rang, and, with shrieks like death, + Link catching link, the long array, + With ponderous pulse and fiery breath, + Proud of its burthen, swept away; + And through the lingering crowd I broke, + Sought the hill-side, and thence, heart-sick, + Beheld, far off, the little smoke + Along the landscape kindling quick. + + +4 + + + What should I do, where should I go, + Now she was gone, my love! for mine + She was, whatever here below + Cross’d or usurp’d my right divine. + Life, without her, was vain and gross, + The glory from the world was gone, + And on the gardens of the Close + As on Sahara shone the sun. + Oppress’d with her departed grace, + My thoughts on ill surmises fed; + The harmful influence of the place + She went to fill’d my soul with dread. + She, mixing with the people there, + Might come back alter’d, having caught + The foolish, fashionable air + Of knowing all, and feeling nought. + Or, giddy with her beauty’s praise, + She’d scorn our simple country life, + Its wholesome nights and tranquil days. + And would not deign to be my Wife. + ‘My Wife,’ ‘my Wife,’ ah, tenderest word! + How oft, as fearful she might hear, + Whispering that name of ‘Wife,’ I heard + The chiming of the inmost sphere. + + +5 + + + I pass’d the home of my regret. + The clock was striking in the hall, + And one sad window open yet, + Although the dews began to fall. + Ah, distance show’d her beauty’s scope! + How light of heart and innocent + That loveliness which sicken’d hope + And wore the world for ornament! + How perfectly her life was framed; + And, thought of in that passionate mood, + How her affecting graces shamed + The vulgar life that was but good! + + +6 + + + I wonder’d, would her bird be fed, + Her rose-plots water’d, she not by; + Loading my breast with angry dread + Of light, unlikely injury. + So, fill’d with love and fond remorse, + I paced the Close, its every part + Endow’d with reliquary force + To heal and raise from death my heart. + How tranquil and unsecular + The precinct! Once, through yonder gate, + I saw her go, and knew from far + Her love-lit form and gentle state. + Her dress had brush’d this wicket; here + She turn’d her face, and laugh’d, with light + Like moonbeams on a wavering mere. + Weary beforehand of the night, + I went; the blackbird, in the wood + Talk’d by himself, and eastward grew + In heaven the symbol of my mood, + Where one bright star engross’d the blue. + + + +CANTO X. +Church to Church. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_The Joyful Wisdom_. + + + WOULD Wisdom for herself be woo’d, + And wake the foolish from his dream, + She must be glad as well as good, + And must not only be, but seem. + Beauty and joy are hers by right; + And, knowing this, I wonder less + That she’s so scorn’d, when falsely dight + In misery and ugliness. + What’s that which Heaven to man endears, + And that which eyes no sooner see + Than the heart says, with floods of tears, + ‘Ah, that’s the thing which I would be!’ + Not childhood, full of frown and fret; + Not youth, impatient to disown + Those visions high, which to forget + Were worse than never to have known; + Not worldlings, in whose fair outside + Nor courtesy nor justice fails, + Thanks to cross-pulling vices tied, + Like Samson’s foxes, by the tails; + Not poets; real things are dreams, + When dreams are as realities, + And boasters of celestial gleams + Go stumbling aye for want of eyes; + Not patriots or people’s men, + In whom two worse-match’d evils meet + Than ever sought Adullam’s den, + Base conscience and a high conceit; + Not new-made saints, their feelings iced, + Their joy in man and nature gone, + Who sing ‘O easy yoke of Christ!’ + But find ’tis hard to get it on; + Not great men, even when they’re good; + The good man whom the time makes great, + By some disgrace of chance or blood, + God fails not to humiliate; + Not these: but souls, found here and there, + Oases in our waste of sin, + Where everything is well and fair, + And Heav’n remits its discipline; + Whose sweet subdual of the world + The worldling scarce can recognise, + And ridicule, against it hurl’d, + Drops with a broken sting and dies; + Who nobly, if they cannot know + Whether a ’scutcheon’s dubious field + Carries a falcon or a crow, + Fancy a falcon on the shield; + Yet, ever careful not to hurt + God’s honour, who creates success, + Their praise of even the best desert + Is but to have presumed no less; + Who, should their own life plaudits bring, + Are simply vex’d at heart that such + An easy, yea, delightful thing + Should move the minds of men so much. + They live by law, not like the fool, + But like the bard, who freely sings + In strictest bonds of rhyme and rule, + And finds in them, not bonds, but wings. + Postponing still their private ease + To courtly custom, appetite, + Subjected to observances, + To banquet goes with full delight; + Nay, continence and gratitude + So cleanse their lives from earth’s alloy, + They taste, in Nature’s common food, + Nothing but spiritual joy. + They shine like Moses in the face, + And teach our hearts, without the rod, + That God’s grace is the only grace, + And all grace is the grace of God. + + +II. +_The Devices_. + + + Love, kiss’d by Wisdom, wakes twice Love, + And Wisdom is, thro’ loving, wise. + Let Dove and Snake, and Snake and Dove, + This Wisdom’s be, that Love’s device. + + +GOING TO CHURCH. + +1 + + + I woke at three; for I was bid + To breakfast with the Dean at nine, + And thence to Church. My curtain slid, + I found the dawning Sunday fine, + And could not rest, so rose. The air + Was dark and sharp; the roosted birds + Cheep’d, ‘Here am I, Sweet; are you there?’ + On Avon’s misty flats the herds + Expected, comfortless, the day, + Which slowly fired the clouds above; + The cock scream’d, somewhere far away; + In sleep the matrimonial dove + Was crooning; no wind waked the wood, + Nor moved the midnight river-damps, + Nor thrill’d the poplar; quiet stood + The chestnut with its thousand lamps; + The moon shone yet, but weak and drear, + And seem’d to watch, with bated breath, + The landscape, all made sharp and clear + By stillness, as a face by death. + + +2 + + + My pray’rs for her being done, I took + Occasion by the quiet hour + To find and know, by Rule and Book, + The rights of love’s beloved power. + + +3 + + + Fronting the question without ruth, + Nor ignorant that, evermore, + If men will stoop to kiss the Truth, + She lifts them higher than before, + I, from above, such light required + As now should once for all destroy + The folly which at times desired + A sanction for so great a joy. + + +4 + + + Thenceforth, and through that pray’r, I trod + A path with no suspicions dim. + I loved her in the name of God, + And for the ray she was of Him; + I ought to admire much more, not less + Her beauty was a godly grace; + The mystery of loveliness, + Which made an altar of her face, + Was not of the flesh, though that was fair, + But a most pure and living light + Without a name, by which the rare + And virtuous spirit flamed to sight. + If oft, in love, effect lack’d cause + And cause effect, ’twere vain to soar + Reasons to seek for that which was + Reason itself, or something more. + My joy was no idolatry + Upon the ends of the vile earth bent, + For when I loved her most then I + Most yearn’d for more divine content. + That other doubt, which, like a ghost, + In the brain’s darkness haunted me, + Was thus resolved: Him loved I most, + But her I loved most sensibly. + Lastly, my giddiest hope allow’d + No selfish thought, or earthly smirch; + And forth I went, in peace, and proud + To take my passion into Church; + Grateful and glad to think that all + Such doubts would seem entirely vain + To her whose nature’s lighter fall + Made no divorce of heart from brain. + + +5 + + + I found them, with exactest grace + And fresh as Spring, for Spring attired; + And by the radiance in her face + I saw she felt she was admired; + And, through the common luck of love, + A moment’s fortunate delay, + To fit the little lilac glove, + Gave me her arm; and I and they + (They true to this and every hour, + As if attended on by Time), + Enter’d the Church while yet the tower + Was noisy with the finish’d chime. + + +6 + + + Her soft voice, singularly heard + Beside me, in her chant, withstood + The roar of voices, like a bird + Sole warbling in a windy wood; + And, when we knelt, she seem’d to be + An angel teaching me to pray; + And all through the high Liturgy + My spirit rejoiced without allay, + Being, for once, borne clearly above + All banks and bars of ignorance, + By this bright spring-tide of pure love, + And floated in a free expanse, + Whence it could see from side to side, + The obscurity from every part + Winnow’d away and purified + By the vibrations of my heart. + + + +CANTO XI. +The Dance. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_The Daughter of Eve_. + + + THE woman’s gentle mood o’erstept + Withers my love, that lightly scans + The rest, and does in her accept + All her own faults, but none of man’s. + As man I cannot judge her ill, + Or honour her fair station less, + Who, with a woman’s errors, still + Preserves a woman’s gentleness; + For thus I think, if one I see + Who disappoints my high desire, + ‘How admirable would she be, + Could she but know how I admire!’ + Or fail she, though from blemish clear, + To charm, I call it my defect; + And so my thought, with reverent fear + To err by doltish disrespect, + Imputes love’s great regard, and says, + ‘Though unapparent ’tis to me, + Be sure this Queen some other sways + With well-perceiv’d supremacy.’ + Behold the worst! Light from above + On the blank ruin writes ‘Forbear! + Her first crime was unguarded love, + And all the rest, perhaps, despair.’ + Discrown’d, dejected, but not lost, + O, sad one, with no more a name + Or place in all the honour’d host + Of maiden and of matron fame, + Grieve on; but, if thou grievest right, + ’Tis not that these abhor thy state, + Nor would’st thou lower the least the height + Which makes thy casting down so great. + Good is thy lot in its degree; + For hearts that verily repent + Are burden’d with impunity + And comforted by chastisement. + Sweet patience sanctify thy woes! + And doubt not but our God is just, + Albeit unscathed thy traitor goes, + And thou art stricken to the dust. + That penalty’s the best to bear + Which follows soonest on the sin; + And guilt’s a game where losers fare + Better than those who seem to win. + + +II. +_Aurea Dicta_. + + + ’Tis truth (although this truth’s a star + Too deep-enskied for all to see), + As poets of grammar, lovers are + The fountains of morality. + + Child, would you shun the vulgar doom, + In love disgust, in death despair? + Know, death must come and love must come, + And so for each your soul prepare. + + Who pleasure follows pleasure slays; + God’s wrath upon himself he wreaks; + But all delights rejoice his days + Who takes with thanks, and never seeks. + + The wrong is made and measured by + The right’s inverted dignity. + Change love to shame, as love is high + So low in hell your bed shall be. + + How easy to keep free from sin! + How hard that freedom to recall! + For dreadful truth it is that men + Forget the heavens from which they fall. + + Lest sacred love your soul ensnare, + With pious fancy still infer + ‘How loving and how lovely fair + Must He be who has fashion’d her!’ + + Become whatever good you see, + Nor sigh if, forthwith, fades from view + The grace of which you may not be + The subject and spectator too. + + Love’s perfect blossom only blows + Where noble manners veil defect + Angels maybe familiar; those + Who err each other must respect. + + Love blabb’d of is a great decline; + A careless word unsanctions sense; + But he who casts Heaven’s truth to swine + Consummates all incontinence. + + Not to unveil before the gaze + Of an imperfect sympathy + In aught we are, is the sweet praise + And the main sum of modesty. + + +THE DANCE. + +1 + + + ‘My memory of Heaven awakes! + She’s not of the earth, although her light, + As lantern’d by her body, makes + A piece of it past bearing bright. + So innocently proud and fair + She is, that Wisdom sings for glee + And Folly dies, breathing one air + With such a bright-cheek’d chastity; + And though her charms are a strong law + Compelling all men to admire, + They go so clad with lovely awe + None but the noble dares desire. + He who would seek to make her his + Will comprehend that souls of grace + Own sweet repulsion, and that ’tis + The quality of their embrace + To be like the majestic reach + Of coupled suns, that, from afar, + Mingle their mutual spheres, while each + Circles the twin obsequious star; + And, in the warmth of hand to hand, + Of heart to heart, he’ll vow to note + And reverently understand + How the two spirits shine remote; + And ne’er to numb fine honour’s nerve, + Nor let sweet awe in passion melt, + Nor fail by courtesies to observe + The space which makes attraction felt; + Nor cease to guard like life the sense + Which tells him that the embrace of love + Is o’er a gulf of difference + Love cannot sound, nor death remove.’ + + +2 + + + This learn’d I, watching where she danced, + Native to melody and light, + And now and then toward me glanced, + Pleased, as I hoped, to please my sight. + + +3 + + + Ah, love to speak was impotent, + Till music did a tongue confer, + And I ne’er knew what music meant, + Until I danced to it with her. + Too proud of the sustaining power + Of my, till then, unblemish’d joy. + My passion, for reproof, that hour + Tasted mortality’s alloy, + And bore me down an eddying gulf; + I wish’d the world might run to wreck, + So I but once might fling myself + Obliviously about her neck. + I press’d her hand, by will or chance + I know not, but I saw the rays + Withdrawn, which did till then enhance + Her fairness with its thanks for praise. + I knew my spirit’s vague offence + Was patent to the dreaming eye + And heavenly tact of innocence, + And did for fear my fear defy, + And ask’d her for the next dance. ‘Yes.’ + ‘No,’ had not fall’n with half the force. + She was fulfill’d with gentleness, + And I with measureless remorse; + And, ere I slept, on bended knee + I own’d myself, with many a tear, + Unseasonable, disorderly, + And a deranger of love’s sphere; + Gave thanks that, when we stumble and fall, + We hurt ourselves, and not the truth; + And, rising, found its brightness all + The brighter through the tears of ruth. + + +4 + + + Nor was my hope that night made less, + Though order’d, humbled, and reproved; + Her farewell did her heart express + As much, but not with anger, moved. + My trouble had my soul betray’d; + And, in the night of my despair, + My love, a flower of noon afraid, + Divulged its fulness unaware. + I saw she saw; and, O sweet Heaven, + Could my glad mind have credited + That influence had to me been given + To affect her so, I should have said + That, though she from herself conceal’d + Love’s felt delight and fancied harm, + They made her face the jousting field + Of joy and beautiful alarm. + + + +CANTO XII. +The Abdication. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_The Chace_. + + + SHE wearies with an ill unknown; + In sleep she sobs and seems to float, + A water-lily, all alone + Within a lonely castle-moat; + And as the full-moon, spectral, lies + Within the crescent’s gleaming arms, + The present shows her heedless eyes + A future dim with vague alarms. + She sees, and yet she scarcely sees, + For, life-in-life not yet begun, + Too many are its mysteries + For thought to fix on any one. + She’s told that maidens are by youths + Extremely honour’d and desired; + And sighs, ‘If those sweet tales be truths, + What bliss to be so much admired!’ + The suitors come; she sees them grieve; + Her coldness fills them with despair; + She’d pity if she could believe; + She’s sorry that she cannot care. + But who now meets her on her way? + Comes he as enemy or friend, + Or both? Her bosom seems to say, + He cannot pass, and there an end. + Whom does he love? Does he confer + His heart on worth that answers his? + Or is he come to worship her? + She fears, she hopes, she thinks he is! + Advancing stepless, quick, and still, + As in the grass a serpent glides, + He fascinates her fluttering will, + Then terrifies with dreadful strides. + At first, there’s nothing to resist; + He fights with all the forms of peace; + He comes about her like a mist, + With subtle, swift, unseen increase; + And then, unlook’d for, strikes amain + Some stroke that frightens her to death, + And grows all harmlessness again, + Ere she can cry, or get her breath. + At times she stops, and stands at bay; + But he, in all more strong than she, + Subdues her with his pale dismay, + Or more admired audacity. + She plans some final, fatal blow, + But when she means with frowns to kill, + He looks as if he loved her so, + She smiles to him against her will. + How sweetly he implies her praise! + His tender talk, his gentle tone, + The manly worship in his gaze, + They nearly make her heart his own. + With what an air he speaks her name; + His manner always recollects + Her sex, and still the woman’s claim + Is taught its scope by his respects. + Her charms, perceived to prosper first + In his beloved advertencies, + When in her glass they are rehearsed, + Prove his most powerful allies. + Ah, whither shall a maiden flee, + When a bold youth so swift pursues, + And siege of tenderest courtesy, + With hope perseverant, still renews! + Why fly so fast? Her flatter’d breast + Thanks him who finds her fair and good; + She loves her fears; veil’d joys arrest + The foolish terrors of her blood; + By secret, sweet degrees, her heart, + Vanquish’d, takes warmth from his desire; + She makes it more, with hidden art, + And fuels love’s late dreaded fire. + The generous credit he accords + To all the signs of good in her + Redeems itself; his praiseful words + The virtues they impute confer. + Her heart is thrice as rich in bliss, + She’s three times gentler than before; + He gains a right to call her his, + Now she through him is so much more; + ’Tis heaven where’er she turns her head; + ’Tis music when she talks; ’tis air + On which, elate, she seems to tread, + The convert of a gladder sphere! + Ah, might he, when by doubts aggrieved, + Behold his tokens next her breast, + At all his words and sighs perceived + Against its blythe upheaval press’d! + But still she flies. Should she be won, + It must not be believed or thought + She yields; she’s chased to death, undone, + Surprised, and violently caught. + + +II. +_Denied_. + + + The storm-cloud, whose portentous shade + Fumes from a core of smother’d fire, + His livery is whose worshipp’d maid + Denies herself to his desire. + Ah, grief that almost crushes life, + To lie upon his lonely bed, + And fancy her another’s wife! + His brain is flame, his heart is lead. + Sinking at last, by nature’s course, + Cloak’d round with sleep from his despair, + He does but sleep to gather force + That goes to his exhausted care. + He wakes renew’d for all the smart. + His only Love, and she is wed! + His fondness comes about his heart, + As milk comes, when the babe is dead. + The wretch, whom she found fit for scorn, + His own allegiant thoughts despise; + And far into the shining morn + Lazy with misery he lies. + + +III. +_The Churl_. + + + This marks the Churl: when spousals crown + His selfish hope, he finds the grace, + Which sweet love has for ev’n the clown, + Was not in the woman, but the chace. + + +THE ABDICATION. + +1 + + + From little signs, like little stars, + Whose faint impression on the sense + The very looking straight at mars, + Or only seen by confluence; + From instinct of a mutual thought, + Whence sanctity of manners flow’d; + From chance unconscious, and from what + Concealment, overconscious, show’d; + Her hand’s less weight upon my arm, + Her lowlier mien; that match’d with this; + I found, and felt with strange alarm + I stood committed to my bliss. + + +2 + + + I grew assured, before I ask’d, + That she’d be mine without reserve, + And in her unclaim’d graces bask’d, + At leisure, till the time should serve, + With just enough of dread to thrill + The hope, and make it trebly dear; + Thus loth to speak the word to kill + Either the hope or happy fear. + + +3 + + + Till once, through lanes returning late, + Her laughing sisters lagg’d behind; + And, ere we reach’d her father’s gate, + We paused with one presentient mind; + And, in the dim and perfumed mist, + Their coming stay’d, who, friends to me, + And very women, loved to assist + Love’s timid opportunity. + + +4 + + + Twice rose, twice died my trembling word; + The faint and frail Cathedral chimes + Spake time in music, and we heard + The chafers rustling in the limes. + Her dress, that touch’d me where I stood, + The warmth of her confided arm, + Her bosom’s gentle neighbourhood, + Her pleasure in her power to charm; + Her look, her love, her form, her touch, + The least seem’d most by blissful turn, + Blissful but that it pleased too much, + And taught the wayward soul to yearn. + It was as if a harp with wires + Was traversed by the breath I drew; + And, oh, sweet meeting of desires, + She, answering, own’d that she loved too. + + +5 + + + Honoria was to be my bride! + The hopeless heights of hope were scaled + The summit won, I paused and sigh’d, + As if success itself had fail’d. + It seem’d as if my lips approach’d + To touch at Tantalus’ reward, + And rashly on Eden life encroach’d, + Half-blinded by the flaming sword. + The whole world’s wealthiest and its best, + So fiercely sought, appear’d when found, + Poor in its need to be possess’d, + Poor from its very want of bound. + My queen was crouching at my side, + By love unsceptred and brought low, + Her awful garb of maiden pride + All melted into tears like snow; + The mistress of my reverent thought, + Whose praise was all I ask’d of fame, + In my close-watch’d approval sought + Protection as from danger and blame; + Her soul, which late I loved to invest + With pity for my poor desert, + Buried its face within my breast, + Like a pet fawn by hunters hurt. + + + + +Book II. + + +THE PROLOGUE. + + +1 + + + HER sons pursue the butterflies, + Her baby daughter mocks the doves + With throbbing coo; in his fond eyes + She’s Venus with her little Loves; + Her footfall dignifies the earth, + Her form’s the native-land of grace, + And, lo, his coming lights with mirth + Its court and capital her face! + Full proud her favour makes her lord, + And that her flatter’d bosom knows. + She takes his arm without a word, + In lanes of laurel and of rose. + Ten years to-day has she been his. + He but begins to understand, + He says, the dignity and bliss + She gave him when she gave her hand. + She, answering, says, he disenchants + The past, though that was perfect; he + Rejoins, the present nothing wants + But briefness to be ecstasy. + He lands her charms; her beauty’s glow + Wins from the spoiler Time new rays; + Bright looks reply, approving so + Beauty’s elixir vitæ, praise. + Upon a beech he bids her mark + Where, ten years since, he carved her name; + It grows there with the growing bark, + And in his heart it grows the same. + For that her soft arm presses his + Close to her fond, maternal breast; + He tells her, each new kindness is + The effectual sum of all the rest! + And, whilst the cushat, mocking, coo’d, + They blest the days they had been wed, + At cost of those in which he woo’d, + Till everything was three times said; + And words were growing vain, when Briggs, + Factotum, Footman, Butler, Groom, + Who press’d the cyder, fed the pigs, + Preserv’d the rabbits, drove the brougham, + And help’d, at need, to mow the lawns, + And sweep the paths and thatch the hay, + Here brought the Post down, Mrs. Vaughan’s + Sole rival, but, for once, to-day, + Scarce look’d at; for the ‘Second Book,’ + Till this tenth festival kept close, + Was thus commenced, while o’er them shook + The laurel married with the rose. + + +2 + + + ‘The pulse of War, whose bloody heats + Sane purposes insanely work, + Now with fraternal frenzy beats, + And binds the Christian to the Turk, + And shrieking fifes’— + + +3 + + + But, with a roar, + In rush’d the Loves; the tallest roll’d + A hedgehog from his pinafore, + Which saved his fingers; Baby, bold, + Touch’d it, and stared, and scream’d for life, + And stretch’d her hand for Vaughan to kiss, + Who hugg’d his Pet, and ask’d his wife, + ‘Is this for love, or love for this?’ + But she turn’d pale, for, lo, the beast, + Found stock-still in the rabbit-trap, + And feigning so to be deceased, + And laid by Frank upon her lap, + Unglobed himself, and show’d his snout, + And fell, scatt’ring the Loves amain, + With shriek, with laughter, and with shout; + And, peace at last restored again, + The bard, who this untimely hitch + Bore with a calm magnanimous, + (The hedgehog rolled into a ditch, + And Venus sooth’d), proceeded thus: + + + +CANTO I. +Accepted. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_The Song of Songs_. + + + THE pulse of War, whose bloody heats + Sane purposes insanely work, + Now with fraternal frenzy beats, + And binds the Christian to the Turk, + And shrieking fifes and braggart flags, + Through quiet England, teach our breath + The courage corporate that drags + The coward to heroic death. + Too late for song! Who henceforth sings, + Must fledge his heavenly flight with more + Song-worthy and heroic things + Than hasty, home-destroying war. + While might and right are not agreed, + And battle thus is yet to wage, + So long let laurels be the meed + Of soldier as of poet sage; + But men expect the Tale of Love, + And weary of the Tale of Hate; + Lift me, O Muse, myself above, + And let the world no longer wait! + + +II. +_The Kites_. + + + I saw three Cupids (so I dream’d), + Who made three kites, on which were drawn, + In letters that like roses gleam’d, + ‘Plato,’ ‘Anacreon,’ and ‘Vaughan.’ + The boy who held by Plato tried + His airy venture first; all sail, + It heav’nward rush’d till scarce descried, + Then pitch’d and dropp’d for want of tail. + Anacreon’s Love, with shouts of mirth + That pride of spirit thus should fall, + To his kite link’d a lump of earth, + And, lo, it would not soar at all. + Last, my disciple freighted his + With a long streamer made of flowers, + The children of the sod, and this + Rose in the sun, and flew for hours. + + +III. +_Orpheus_. + + + The music of the Sirens found + Ulysses weak, though cords were strong; + But happier Orpheus stood unbound, + And shamed it with a sweeter song. + His mode be mine. Of Heav’n I ask, + May I, with heart-persuading might, + Pursue the Poet’s sacred task + Of superseding faith by sight, + Till ev’n the witless Gadarene, + Preferring Christ to swine, shall know + That life is sweetest when it’s clean. + To prouder folly let me show + Earth by divine light made divine; + And let the saints, who hear my word, + Say, ‘Lo, the clouds begin to shine + About the coming of the Lord!’ + + +IV. +_Nearest the Dearest_. + + + Till Eve was brought to Adam, he + A solitary desert trod, + Though in the great society + Of nature, angels, and of God. + If one slight column counterweighs + The ocean, ’tis the Maker’s law, + Who deems obedience better praise + Than sacrifice of erring awe. + + +V. +_Perspective_. + + + What seems to us for us is true. + The planet has no proper light, + And yet, when Venus is in view, + No primal star is half so bright. + + +ACCEPTED. + +1 + + + What fortune did my heart foretell? + What shook my spirit, as I woke, + Like the vibration of a bell + Of which I had not heard the stroke? + Was it some happy vision shut + From memory by the sun’s fresh ray? + Was it that linnet’s song; or but + A natural gratitude for day? + Or the mere joy the senses weave, + A wayward ecstasy of life? + Then I remember’d, yester-eve + I won Honoria for my Wife. + + +2 + + + Forth riding, while as yet the day + Was dewy, watching Sarum Spire, + Still beckoning me along my way, + And growing every minute higher, + I reach’d the Dean’s. One blind was down, + Though nine then struck. My bride to be! + And had she rested ill, my own, + With thinking (oh, my heart!) of me? + I paced the streets; a pistol chose, + To guard my now important life + When riding late from Sarum Close; + At noon return’d. Good Mrs. Fife, + To my, ‘The Dean, is he at home?’ + Said, ‘No, sir; but Miss Honor is;’ + And straight, not asking if I’d come, + Announced me, ‘Mr. Felix, Miss,’ + To Mildred, in the Study. There + We talk’d, she working. We agreed + The day was fine; the Fancy-Fair + Successful; ‘Did I ever read + De Genlis?’ ‘Never.’ ‘Do! She heard + I was engaged.’ ‘To whom?’ ‘Miss Fry + Was it the fact?’ ‘No!’ ‘On my word?’ + ‘What scandal people talk’d!’ ‘Would I + Hold out this skein of silk.’ So pass’d + I knew not how much time away. + ‘How were her sisters?’ ‘Well.’ At last + I summon’d heart enough to say, + ‘I hoped to have seen Miss Churchill too.’ + ‘Miss Churchill, Felix! What is this? + I said, and now I find ’tis true, + Last night you quarrell’d! Here she is.’ + + +3 + + + She came, and seem’d a morning rose + When ruffling rain has paled its blush; + Her crown once more was on her brows; + And, with a faint, indignant flush, + And fainter smile, she gave her hand, + But not her eyes, then sate apart, + As if to make me understand + The honour of her vanquish’d heart. + But I drew humbly to her side; + And she, well pleased, perceiving me + Liege ever to the noble pride + Of her unconquer’d majesty, + Once and for all put it away; + The faint flush pass’d; and, thereupon, + Her loveliness, which rather lay + In light than colour, smiled and shone, + Till sick was all my soul with bliss; + Or was it with remorse and ire + Of such a sanctity as this + Subdued by love to my desire? + + + +CANTO II. +The Course of True Love. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_The Changed Allegiance_. + + + WATCH how a bird, that captived sings, + The cage set open, first looks out, + Yet fears the freedom of his wings, + And now withdraws, and flits about, + And now looks forth again; until, + Grown bold, he hops on stool and chair, + And now attains the window-sill, + And now confides himself to air. + The maiden so, from love’s free sky + In chaste and prudent counsels caged, + But longing to be loosen’d by + Her suitor’s faith declared and gaged, + When blest with that release desired, + First doubts if truly she is free, + Then pauses, restlessly retired, + Alarm’d at too much liberty; + But soon, remembering all her debt + To plighted passion, gets by rote + Her duty; says, ‘I love him!’ yet + The thought half chokes her in her throat; + And, like that fatal ‘I am thine,’ + Comes with alternate gush and check + And joltings of the heart, as wine + Pour’d from a flask of narrow neck. + Is he indeed her choice? She fears + Her Yes was rashly said, and shame, + Remorse and ineffectual tears + Revolt from has conceded claim. + Oh, treason! So, with desperate nerve, + She cries, ‘I am in love, am his;’ + Lets run the cables of reserve, + And floats into a sea of bliss, + And laughs to think of her alarm, + Avows she was in love before, + Though has avowal was the charm + Which open’d to her own the door. + She loves him for his mastering air, + Whence, Parthian-like, she slaying flies; + His flattering look, which seems to wear + Her loveliness in manly eyes; + His smile, which, by reverse, portends + An awful wrath, should reason stir; + (How fortunate it is they’re friends, + And he will ne’er be wroth with her!) + His power to do or guard from harm; + If he but chose to use it half, + And catch her up in one strong arm, + What could she do but weep, or laugh! + His words, which still instruct, but so + That this applause seems still implied, + ‘How wise in all she ought to know, + How ignorant of all beside!’ + His skilful suit, which leaves her free, + Gives nothing for the world to name, + And keeps her conscience safe, while he, + With half the bliss, takes all the blame; + His clear repute with great and small; + The jealousy his choice will stir; + But ten times more than ten times all, + She loves him for his love of her. + How happy ’tis he seems to see + In her that utter loveliness + Which she, for his sake, longs to be! + At times, she cannot but confess + Her other friends are somewhat blind; + Her parents’ years excuse neglect, + But all the rest are scarcely kind, + And brothers grossly want respect; + And oft she views what he admires + Within her glass, and sight of this + Makes all the sum of her desires + To be devotion unto his. + But still, at first, whatever’s done, + A touch, her hand press’d lightly, she + Stands dizzied, shock’d, and flush’d, like one + Set sudden neck-deep in the sea; + And, though her bond for endless time + To his good pleasure gives her o’er, + The slightest favour seems a crime, + Because it makes her love him more. + But that she ne’er will let him know; + For what were love should reverence cease? + A thought which makes her reason so + Inscrutable, it seems caprice. + With her, as with a desperate town, + Too weak to stand, too proud to treat, + The conqueror, though the walls are down, + Has still to capture street by street; + But, after that, habitual faith, + Divorced from self, where late ’twas due, + Walks nobly in its novel path, + And she’s to changed allegiance true; + And prizing what she can’t prevent, + (Right wisdom, often misdeem’d whim), + Her will’s indomitably bent + On mere submissiveness to him; + To him she’ll cleave, for him forsake + Father’s and mother’s fond command! + He is her lord, for he can take + Hold of her faint heart with his hand. + + +II. +_Beauty_. + + + ‘Beauty deludes.’ O shaft well shot, + To strike the mark’s true opposite! + That ugly good is scorn’d proves not + ’Tis beauty lies, but lack of it. + By Heaven’s law the Jew might take + A slave to wife, if she was fair; + So strong a plea does beauty make + That, where ’tis seen, discretion’s there. + If, by a monstrous chance, we learn + That this illustrious vaunt’s a lie, + Our minds, by which the eyes discern, + See hideous contrariety. + And laugh at Nature’s wanton mood, + Which, thus a swinish thing to flout, + Though haply in its gross way good, + Hangs such a jewel in its snout. + + +III. +_Lais and Lucretia_. + + + Did first his beauty wake her sighs? + That’s Lais! Thus Lucretia’s known: + The beauty in her Lover’s eyes + Was admiration of her own. + + +THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. + +1 + + + Oh, beating heart of sweet alarm, + Which stays the lover’s step, when near + His mistress and her awful charm + Of grace and innocence sincere! + I held the half-shut door, and heard + The voice of my betrothed wife, + Who sang my verses, every word + By music taught its latent life; + With interludes of well-touch’d notes, + That flash’d, surprising and serene, + As meteor after meteor floats + The soft, autumnal stars between. + There was a passion in her tone, + A tremor when she touch’d the keys, + Which told me she was there alone, + And uttering all her soul at ease. + I enter’d; for I did not choose + To learn how in her heart I throve, + By chance or stealth; beyond her use, + Her greeting flatter’d me with love. + + +2 + + + With true love’s treacherous confidence, + And ire, at last to laughter won, + She spoke this speech, and mark’d its sense, + By action, as her Aunt had done. + + +3 + + + ‘“You, with your looks and catching air, + To think of Vaughan! You fool! You know, + You might, with ordinary care, + Ev’n yet be Lady Clitheroe. + You’re sure he’ll do great things some day! + Nonsense, he won’t; he’s dress’d too well. + Dines with the Sterling Club, they say; + Not commonly respectable! + Half Puritan, half Cavalier! + His curly hair I think’s a wig; + And, for his fortune, why my Dear, + ’Tis not enough to keep a gig. + Rich Aunts and Uncles never die; + And what you bring won’t do for dress: + And so you’ll live on By-and-by, + Within oaten-cake and water-cress!” + + +4 + + + ‘I cried, but did not let her see. + At last she soften’d her dispraise, + On learning you had bought for me + A carriage and a pair of bays. + But here she comes! You take her in + To dinner. I impose this task + Make her approve my love; and win + What thanks from me you choose to ask!’ + + +5 + + + ‘My niece has told you every word + I said of you! What may I mean? + Of course she has; but you’ve not heard + How I abused you to the Dean;— + Yes, I’ll take wine; he’s mad, like her; + And she _will_ have you: there it ends! + And, now I’ve done my duty, Sir, + And you’ve shown common-sense, we’re friends!’ + + +6 + + + ‘Go, child, and see him out yourself,’ + Aunt Maude said, after tea, ‘and show + The place, upon that upper shelf, + Where Petrarch stands, lent long ago.’ + + +7 + + + ‘These rose-leaves to my heart be press’d, + Honoria, while it aches for you!’ + (The rose in ruin, from her breast, + Fell, as I took a fond adieu.) + ‘You must go now, Love!’ ‘See, the air + Is thick with starlight!’ ‘Let me tie + This scarf on. Oh, your Petrarch! There! + I’m coming, Aunt!’ ‘Sweet, Sweet!’ ‘Good-bye!’ + ‘Ah, Love, to me ’tis death to part, + Yet you, my sever’d life, smile on!’ + These “Good-nights,” Felix, break my heart; + I’m only gay till you are gone!’ + With love’s bright arrows from her eyes, + And balm on her permissive lips, + She pass’d, and night was a surprise, + As when the sun at Quito dips. + Her beauties were like sunlit snows, + Flush’d but not warm’d with my desire. + Oh, how I loved her! Fiercely glows + In the pure air of frost the fire. + Who for a year is sure of fate! + I thought, dishearten’d as I went, + Wroth with the Dean, who bade me wait, + And vex’d with her, who seem’d content. + Nay, could eternal life afford + That tyranny should thus deduct + From this fair land, which call’d me lord, + A year of the sweet usufruct? + It might not and it should not be! + I’d go back now, and he must own, + At once, my love’s compulsive plea. + I turn’d, I found the Dean alone. + ‘Nonsense, my friend; go back to bed! + It’s half-past twelve!’ ‘July, then, Sir!’ + ‘Well, come to-morrow,’ at last he said, + ‘And you may talk of it with her.’ + A light gleam’d as I pass’d the stair. + A pausing foot, a flash of dress, + And a sweet voice. ‘Is Felix there?’ + ‘July, Love!’ ‘Says Papa so?’ ‘Yes!’ + + + +CANTO III. +The Country Ball. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_Love Ceremonious_. + + + KEEP your undrest, familiar style + For strangers, but respect your friend, + Her most, whose matrimonial smile + Is and asks honour without end. + ’Tis found, and needs it must so be, + That life from love’s allegiance flags, + When love forgets his majesty + In sloth’s unceremonious rags. + Let love make home a gracious Court; + There let the world’s rude, hasty ways + Be fashion’d to a loftier port, + And learn to bow and stand at gaze; + And let the sweet respective sphere + Of personal worship there obtain + Circumference for moving clear, + None treading on another’s train. + This makes that pleasures do not cloy, + And dignifies our mortal strife + With calmness and considerate joy, + Befitting our immortal life. + + +II. +_The Rainbow_. + + + A stately rainbow came and stood, + When I was young, in High-Hurst Park; + Its bright feet lit the hill and wood + Beyond, and cloud and sward were dark; + And I, who thought the splendour ours + Because the place was, t’wards it flew, + And there, amidst the glittering showers, + Gazed vainly for the glorious view. + With whatsoever’s lovely, know + It is not ours; stand off to see, + Or beauty’s apparition so + Puts on invisibility. + + +III. +_A Paradox_. + + + To tryst Love blindfold goes, for fear + He should not see, and eyeless night + He chooses still for breathing near + Beauty, that lives but in the sight. + + +THE COUNTY BALL. + +1 + + + Well, Heaven be thank’d my first-love fail’d, + As, Heaven be thank’d, our first-loves do! + Thought I, when Fanny past me sail’d, + Loved once, for what I never knew, + Unless for colouring in her talk, + When cheeks and merry mouth would show + Three roses on a single stalk, + The middle wanting room to blow, + And forward ways, that charm’d the boy + Whose love-sick mind, misreading fate, + Scarce hoped that any Queen of Joy + Could ever stoop to be his mate. + + +2 + + + But there danced she, who from the leaven + Of ill preserv’d my heart and wit + All unawares, for she was heaven, + Others at best but fit for it. + One of those lovely things she was + In whose least action there can be + Nothing so transient but it has + An air of immortality. + I mark’d her step, with peace elate, + Her brow more beautiful than morn, + Her sometime look of girlish state + Which sweetly waived its right to scorn; + The giddy crowd, she grave the while, + Although, as ’twere beyond her will, + Around her mouth the baby smile + That she was born with linger’d still. + Her ball-dress seem’d a breathing mist, + From the fair form exhaled and shed, + Raised in the dance with arm and wrist + All warmth and light, unbraceleted. + Her motion, feeling ’twas beloved, + The pensive soul of tune express’d, + And, oh, what perfume, as she moved, + Came from the flowers in her breast! + How sweet a tongue the music had! + ‘Beautiful Girl,’ it seem’d to say, + ‘Though all the world were vile and sad, + Dance on; let innocence be gay.’ + Ah, none but I discern’d her looks, + When in the throng she pass’d me by, + For love is like a ghost, and brooks + Only the chosen seer’s eye; + And who but she could e’er divine + The halo and the happy trance, + When her bright arm reposed on mine, + In all the pauses of the dance! + + +3 + + + Whilst so her beauty fed my sight, + And whilst I lived in what she said, + Accordant airs, like all delight + Most sweet when noted least, were play’d; + And was it like the Pharisee + If I in secret bow’d my face + With joyful thanks that I should be, + Not as were many, but with grace + And fortune of well-nurtured youth, + And days no sordid pains defile, + And thoughts accustom’d to the truth, + Made capable of her fair smile? + + +4 + + + Charles Barton follow’d down the stair, + To talk with me about the Ball, + And carp at all the people there. + The Churchills chiefly stirr’d his gall: + ‘Such were the Kriemhilds and Isondes + You storm’d about at Trinity! + Nothing at heart but handsome Blondes! + ‘Folk say that you and Fanny Fry—’ + ‘They err! Good-night! Here lies my course, + Through Wilton.’ Silence blest my ears, + And, weak at heart with vague remorse, + A passing poignancy of tears + Attack’d mine eyes. By pale and park + I rode, and ever seem’d to see, + In the transparent starry dark, + That splendid brow of chastity, + That soft and yet subduing light, + At which, as at the sudden moon, + I held my breath, and thought ‘how bright!’ + That guileless beauty in its noon, + Compelling tribute of desires + Ardent as day when Sirius reigns, + Pure as the permeating fires + That smoulder in the opal’s veins. + + + +CANTO IV. +Love in Idleness. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_Honour and Desert_. + + + O QUEEN, awake to thy renown, + Require what ’tis our wealth to give, + And comprehend and wear the crown + Of thy despised prerogative! + I, who in manhood’s name at length + With glad songs come to abdicate + The gross regality of strength, + Must yet in this thy praise abate, + That, through thine erring humbleness + And disregard of thy degree, + Mainly, has man been so much less + Than fits his fellowship with thee. + High thoughts had shaped the foolish brow, + The coward had grasp’d the hero’s sword, + The vilest had been great, hadst thou, + Just to thyself, been worth’s reward. + But lofty honours undersold + Seller and buyer both disgrace; + And favours that make folly bold + Banish the light from virtue’s face. + + +II. +_Love and Honour_. + + + What man with baseness so content, + Or sick with false conceit of right, + As not to know that the element + And inmost warmth of love’s delight + Is honour? Who’d not rather kiss + A duchess than a milkmaid, prank + The two in equal grace, which is + Precedent Nature’s obvious rank? + Much rather, then, a woman deck’d + With saintly honours, chaste and good, + Whose thoughts celestial things affect, + Whose eyes express her heavenly mood! + Those lesser vaunts are dimm’d or lost + Which plume her name or paint her lip, + Extinct in the deep-glowing boast + Of her angelic fellowship. + + +III. +_Valour Misdirected_. + + + I’ll hunt for dangers North and South, + To prove my love, which sloth maligns!’ + What seems to say her rosy mouth? + ‘I’m not convinced by proofs but signs.’ + + +LOVE IN IDLENESS. + +1 + + + What should I do? In such a wife + Fortune had lavish’d all her store, + And nothing now seem’d left for life + But to deserve her more and more. + To this I vow’d my life’s whole scope; + And Love said, ‘I forewarn you now, + The Maiden will fulfill your hope + Only as you fulfil your vow.’ + + +2 + + + A promised service, (task for days), + Was done this morning while she slept, + With that full heart which thinks no praise + Of vows which are not more than kept; + But loftier work did love impose. + And studious hours. Alas, for these, + While she from all my thoughts arose + Like Venus from the restless seas! + + +3 + + + I conn’d a scheme, within mind elate: + My Uncle’s land would fall to me, + My skill was much in school debate, + My friends were strong in Salisbury; + A place in Parliament once gain’d, + Thro’ saps first labour’d out of sight, + Far loftier peaks were then attain’d + With easy leaps from height to height; + And that o’erwhelming honour paid, + Or recognised, at least, in life, + Which this most sweet and noble Maid + Should yield to him who call’d her Wife. + + +4 + + + I fix’d this rule: in Sarum Close + To make two visits every week, + The first, to-day; and, save on those, + I nought would do, think, read, or speak, + Which did not help my settled will + To earn the Statesman’s proud applause. + And now, forthwith, to mend my skill + In ethics, politics, and laws, + The Statesman’s learning! Flush’d with power + And pride of freshly-form’d resolve, + I read Helvetius half-an-hour; + But, halting in attempts to solve + Why, more than all things else that be, + A lady’s grace hath force to move + That sensitive appetency + Of intellectual good, call’d love, + Took Blackstone down, only to draw + My swift-deriving thoughts ere long + To love, which is the source of law, + And, like a king, can do no wrong; + Then open’d Hyde, where loyal hearts, + With faith unpropp’d by precedent, + Began to play rebellious parts. + O, mighty stir that little meant! + How dull the crude, plough’d fields of fact + To me who trod the Elysian grove! + How idle all heroic act + By the least suffering of love! + I could not read; so took my pen, + And thus commenced, in form of notes, + A Lecture for the Salisbury men, + With due regard to Tory votes: + ‘A road’s a road, though worn to ruts; + They speed who travel straight therein; + But he who tacks and tries short cuts + Gets fools’ praise and a broken shin—’ + And here I stopp’d in sheer despair; + But, what to-day was thus begun, + I vow’d, up starting from my chair, + To-morrow should indeed be done; + So loosed my chafing thoughts from school, + To play with fancy as they chose, + And then, according to my rule, + I dress’d, and came to Sarum Close. + + +5 + + + Ah, that sweet laugh! Diviner sense + Did Nature, forming her, inspire + To omit the grosser elements, + And make her all of air and fire! + + +6 + + + To-morrow, Cowes’ Regatta fell: + The Dean would like his girls to go, + If I went too. ‘Most gladly.’ Well, + I did but break a foolish vow! + Unless Love’s toil has love for prize, + (And then he’s Hercules), above + All other contrarieties + Is labour contrary to love. + No fault of Love’s, but nature’s laws! + And Love, in idleness, lies quick; + For as the worm whose powers make pause, + And swoon, through alteration sick, + The soul, its wingless state dissolved, + Awaits its nuptial life complete, + All indolently self-convolved, + Cocoon’d in silken fancies sweet. + + + +CANTO V. +The Queen’s Room. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_Rejected_. + + + ‘PERHAPS she’s dancing somewhere now!’ + The thoughts of light and music wake + Sharp jealousies, that grow and grow + Till silence and the darkness ache. + He sees her step, so proud and gay, + Which, ere he spake, foretold despair: + Thus did she look, on such a day, + And such the fashion of her hair; + And thus she stood, when, kneeling low, + He took the bramble from her dress, + And thus she laugh’d and talk’d, whose ‘No’ + Was sweeter than another’s ‘Yes.’ + He feeds on thoughts that most deject; + He impudently feigns her charms, + So reverenced in his own respect, + Dreadfully clasp’d by other arms; + And turns, and puts his brows, that ache, + Against the pillow where ’tis cold. + If, only now his heart would break! + But, oh, how much a heart can hold. + + +II. +_Rachel_. + + + You loved her, and would lie all night + Thinking how beautiful she was, + And what to do for her delight. + Now both are bound with alien laws! + Be patient; put your heart to school; + Weep if you will, but not despair; + The trust that nought goes wrong by rule + Should ease this load the many bear. + Love, if there’s heav’n, shall meet his dues, + Though here unmatch’d, or match’d amiss; + Meanwhile, the gentle cannot choose + But learn to love the lips they kiss. + Ne’er hurt the homely sister’s ears + With Rachel’s beauties; secret be + The lofty mind whose lonely tears + Protest against mortality. + + +III. +_The Heart’s Prophecies_. + + + Be not amazed at life; ’tis still + The mode of God with his elect + Their hopes exactly to fulfil, + In times and ways they least expect. + + +THE QUEEN’S ROOM. + +1 + + + There’s nothing happier than the days + In which young Love makes every thought + Pure as a bride’s blush, when she says + ‘I will’ unto she knows not what; + And lovers, on the love-lit globe, + For love’s sweet sake, walk yet aloof, + And hear Time weave the marriage-robe, + Attraction warp and reverence woof. + + +2 + + + My Housekeeper, my Nurse of yore, + Cried, as the latest carriage went, + ‘Well, Mr, Felix, Sir, I’m sure + The morning’s gone off excellent! + I never saw the show to pass + The ladies, in their fine fresh gowns, + So sweetly dancing on the grass, + To music with its ups and downs. + We’d such work, Sir, to clean the plate; + ’Twas just the busy times of old. + The Queen’s Room, Sir, look’d quite like state. + Miss Smythe, when she went up, made bold + To peep into the Rose Boudoir, + And cried, “How charming! all quite new;” + And wonder’d who it could be for. + All but Miss Honor look’d in too. + But she’s too proud to peep and pry. + None’s like that sweet Miss Honor, Sir! + Excuse my humbleness, but I + Pray Heav’n you’ll get a wife like her! + The Poor love dear Miss Honor’s ways + Better than money. Mrs. Rouse, + Who ought to know a lady, says + No finer goes to Wilton House. + Miss Bagshaw thought that dreary room + Had kill’d old Mrs. Vaughan with fright; + She would not sleep in such a tomb + For all her host was worth a night! + Miss Fry, Sir, laugh’d; they talk’d the rest + In French; and French Sir’s Greek to me; + But, though they smiled, and seem’d to jest, + No love was lost, for I could see + How serious-like Miss Honor was—’ + ‘Well, Nurse, this is not my affair. + The ladies talk’d in French with cause. + Good-day; and thank you for your prayer.’ + + +3 + + + I loiter’d through the vacant house, + Soon to be her’s; in one room stay’d, + Of old my mother’s. Here my vows + Of endless thanks were oftenest paid. + This room its first condition kept; + For, on her road to Sarum Town, + Therein an English Queen had slept, + Before the Hurst was half pull’d down. + The pictured walls the place became: + Here ran the Brook Anaurus, where + Stout Jason bore the wrinkled dame + Whom serving changed to Juno; there, + Ixion’s selfish hope, instead + Of the nuptial goddess, clasp’d a cloud; + And, here, translated Psyche fed + Her gaze on Love, not disallow’d. + + +4 + + + And in this chamber had she been, + And into that she would not look, + My Joy, my Vanity, my Queen, + At whose dear name my pulses shook! + To others how express at all + My worship in that joyful shrine? + I scarcely can myself recall + What peace and ardour then were mine; + And how more sweet than aught below, + The daylight and its duties done, + It felt to fold the hands, and so + Relinquish all regards but one; + To see her features in the dark, + To lie and meditate once more + The grace I did not fully mark, + The tone I had not heard before; + And from my pillow then to take + Her notes, her picture, and her glove, + Put there for joy when I should wake, + And press them to the heart of love; + And then to whisper ‘Wife!’ and pray + To live so long as not to miss + That unimaginable day + Which farther seems the nearer ’tis; + And still from joy’s unfathom’d well + To drink, in dreams, while on her brows + Of innocence ineffable + Blossom’d the laughing bridal rose. + + + +CANTO VI. +The Love-Letters. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_Love’s Perversity_. + + + HOW strange a thing a lover seems + To animals that do not love! + Lo, where he walks and talks in dreams, + And flouts us with his Lady’s glove; + How foreign is the garb he wears; + And how his great devotion mocks + Our poor propriety, and scares + The undevout with paradox! + His soul, through scorn of worldly care, + And great extremes of sweet and gall, + And musing much on all that’s fair, + Grows witty and fantastical; + He sobs his joy and sings his grief, + And evermore finds such delight + In simply picturing his relief, + That ’plaining seems to cure his plight; + He makes his sorrow, when there’s none; + His fancy blows both cold and hot; + Next to the wish that she’ll be won, + His first hope is that she may not; + He sues, yet deprecates consent; + Would she be captured she must fly; + She looks too happy and content, + For whose least pleasure he would die; + Oh, cruelty, she cannot care + For one to whom she’s always kind! + He says he’s nought, but, oh, despair, + If he’s not Jove to her fond mind! + He’s jealous if she pets a dove, + She must be his with all her soul; + Yet ’tis a postulate in love + That part is greater than the whole; + And all his apprehension’s stress, + When he’s with her, regards her hair, + Her hand, a ribbon of her dress, + As if his life were only there; + Because she’s constant, he will change, + And kindest glances coldly meet, + And, all the time he seems so strange, + His soul is fawning at her feet; + Of smiles and simple heaven grown tired, + He wickedly provokes her tears, + And when she weeps, as he desired, + Falls slain with ecstasies of fears; + He blames her, though she has no fault, + Except the folly to be his; + He worships her, the more to exalt + The profanation of a kiss; + Health’s his disease, he’s never well + But when his paleness shames her rose; + His faith’s a rock-built citadel, + Its sign a flag that each way blows; + His o’erfed fancy frets and fumes; + And Love, in him, is fierce, like Hate, + And ruffles his ambrosial plumes + Against the bars of time and fate. + + +II. +_The Power of Love_. + + + Samson the Mighty, Solomon + The Wise, and Holy David all + Must doff their crowns to Love, for none + But fell as Love would scorn to fall! + And what may fallen spirits win, + When stripes and precepts cannot move? + Only the sadness of all sin, + When look’d at in the light of Love. + + +THE LOVE-LETTERS. + +1 + + + ‘You ask, Will admiration halt, + Should spots appear within my Sun? + Oh, how I wish I knew your fault, + For Love’s tired gaze to rest upon! + Your graces, which have made me great, + Will I so loftily admire, + Yourself yourself shall emulate, + And be yourself your own desire. + I’ll nobly mirror you too fair, + And, when you’re false to me your glass, + What’s wanting you’ll by that repair, + So bring yourself through me to pass. + O dearest, tell me how to prove + Goodwill which cannot be express’d; + The beneficial heart of love + Is labour in an idle breast. + Name in the world your chosen part, + And here I vow, with all the bent + And application of my heart + To give myself to your content. + Would you live on, home-worshipp’d, thus, + Not proudly high nor poorly low? + Indeed the lines are fall’n to us + In pleasant places! Be it so. + But would you others heav’nward move, + By sight not faith, while you they admire? + I’ll help with zeal as I approve + That just and merciful desire. + High as the lonely moon to view + I’ll lift your light; do you decree + Your place, I’ll win it; for from you + Command inspires capacity. + Or, unseen, would you sway the world + More surely? Then in gracious rhyme + I’ll raise your emblem, fair unfurl’d + With blessing in the breeze of time. + Faith removes mountains, much more love; + Let your contempt abolish me + If ought of your devisal prove + Too hard or high to do or be.’ + + +2 + + + I ended. ‘From your Sweet-Heart, Sir,’ + Said Nurse, ‘The Dean’s man brings it down.’ + I could have kiss’d both him and her! + ‘Nurse, give him that, with half-a-crown.’ + How beat my heart, how paused my breath, + When, with perversely fond delay, + I broke the seal, that bore a wreath + Of roses link’d with one of bay. + + +3 + + + ‘I found your note. How very kind + To leave it there! I cannot tell + How pleased I was, or how you find + Words to express your thoughts so well. + The Girls are going to the Ball + At Wilton. If you can, _do_ come; + And any day this week you call + Papa and I shall be at home. + You said to Mary once—I hope + In jest—that women _should_ be vain: + On Saturday your friend (her Pope), + The Bishop dined with us again. + She put the question, if they ought? + He turn’d it cleverly away + (For giddy Mildred cried, she thought + We _must_), with “What we must we may.” + ‘Dear papa laugh’d, and said ’twas sad + To think how vain his girls would be, + Above all Mary, now she had + Episcopal authority. + But I was very dull, dear friend, + And went upstairs at last, and cried. + Be sure to come to-day, or send + A rose-leaf kiss’d on either side. + Adieu! I am not well. Last night + My dreams were wild: I often woke, + The summer-lightning was so bright; + And when it flash’d I thought you spoke.’ + + + +CANTO VII. +The Revulsion. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_Joy and Use_. + + + CAN ought compared with wedlock be + For use? But He who made the heart + To use proportions joy. What He + Has join’d let no man put apart. + Sweet Order has its draught of bliss + Graced with the pearl of God’s consent, + Ten times delightful in that ’tis + Considerate and innocent. + In vain Disorder grasps the cup; + The pleasure’s not enjoy’d but spilt, + And, if he stoops to lick it up, + It only tastes of earth and guilt. + His sorry raptures rest destroys; + To live, like comets, they must roam; + On settled poles turn solid joys, + And sunlike pleasures shine at home. + + +II. +‘_She was Mine_.’ + + + ‘Thy tears o’erprize thy loss! Thy wife, + In what was she particular? + Others of comely face and life, + Others as chaste and warm there are, + And when they speak they seem to sing; + Beyond her sex she was not wise; + And there is no more common thing + Than kindness in a woman’s eyes. + Then wherefore weep so long and fast, + Why so exceedingly repine! + Say, how has thy Beloved surpass’d + So much all others?’ ‘She was mine.’ + + +THE REVULSION. + +1 + + + ’Twas when the spousal time of May + Hangs all the hedge with bridal wreaths, + And air’s so sweet the bosom gay + Give thanks for every breath it breathes, + When like to like is gladly moved, + And each thing joins in Spring’s refrain, + ‘Let those love now who never loved; + Let those who have loved love again;’ + That I, in whom the sweet time wrought, + Lay stretch’d within a lonely glade, + Abandon’d to delicious thought + Beneath the softly twinkling shade. + The leaves, all stirring, mimick’d well + A neighbouring rush of rivers cold, + And, as the sun or shadow fell, + So these were green and those were gold; + In dim recesses hyacinths droop’d, + And breadths of primrose lit the air, + Which, wandering through the woodland, stoop’d + And gather’d perfumes here and there; + Upon the spray the squirrel swung, + And careless songsters, six or seven. + Sang lofty songs the leaves among, + Fit for their only listener, Heaven. + I sigh’d, ‘Immeasurable bliss + Gains nothing by becoming more! + Millions have meaning; after this + Cyphers forget the integer.’ + + +2 + + + And so I mused, till musing brought + A dream that shook my house of clay, + And, in my humbled heart, I thought, + To me there yet may come a day + With this the single vestige seen + Of comfort, earthly or divine, + My sorrow some time must have been + Her portion, had it not been mine. + Then I, who knew, from watching life, + That blows foreseen are slow to fall, + Rehearsed the losing of a wife, + And faced its terrors each and all. + The self-chastising fancy show’d + The coffin with its ghastly breath; + The innocent sweet face that owed + None of its innocence to death; + The lips that used to laugh; the knell + That bade the world beware of mirth; + The heartless and intolerable + Indignity of ‘earth to earth;’ + At morn remembering by degrees + That she I dream’d about was dead; + Love’s still recurrent jubilees, + The days that she was born, won, wed; + The duties of my life the same, + Their meaning for the feelings gone; + Friendship impertinent, and fame + Disgusting; and, more harrowing none, + Small household troubles fall’n to me, + As, ‘What time would I dine to-day?’ + And, oh, how could I bear to see + The noisy children at their play. + Besides, where all things limp and halt, + Could I go straight, should I alone + Have kept my love without default, + Pitch’d at the true and heavenly tone? + The festal-day might come to mind + That miss’d the gift which more endears; + The hour which might have been more kind, + And now less fertile in vain tears; + The good of common intercourse, + For daintier pleasures, then despised, + Now with what passionate remorse, + What poignancy of hunger prized! + The little wrong, now greatly rued, + Which no repentance now could right; + And love, in disbelieving mood, + Deserting his celestial height. + Withal to know, God’s love sent grief + To make me less the world’s, and more + Meek-hearted: ah, the sick relief! + Why bow’d I not my heart before? + + +3 + + + ‘What,’ I exclaimed, with chill alarm, + ‘If this fantastic horror shows + The feature of an actual harm!’ + And, coming straight to Sarum Close, + As one who dreams his wife is dead, + And cannot in his slumber weep, + And moans upon his wretched bed, + And wakes, and finds her there asleep, + And laughs and sighs, so I, not less + Relieved, beheld, with blissful start, + The light and happy loveliness + Which lay so heavy on my heart. + + + +CANTO VIII. +The Koh-i-noor. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_In Love_. + + + IF he’s capricious she’ll be so, + But, if his duties constant are, + She lets her loving favour glow + As steady as a tropic star; + Appears there nought for which to weep, + She’ll weep for nought, for his dear sake; + She clasps her sister in her sleep; + Her love in dreams is most awake. + Her soul, that once with pleasure shook, + Did any eyes her beauty own, + Now wonders how they dare to look + On what belongs to him alone; + The indignity of taking gifts + Exhilarates her loving breast; + A rapture of submission lifts + Her life into celestial rest; + There’s nothing left of what she was; + Back to the babe the woman dies, + And all the wisdom that she has + Is to love him for being wise. + She’s confident because she fears; + And, though discreet when he’s away, + If none but her dear despot hears, + She prattles like a child at play. + Perchance, when all her praise is said, + He tells the news, a battle won, + On either side ten thousand dead. + ‘Alas!’ she says; but, if ’twere known, + She thinks, ‘He’s looking on my face! + I am his joy; whate’er I do, + He sees such time-contenting grace + In that, he’d have me always so!’ + And, evermore, for either’s sake, + To the sweet folly of the dove, + She joins the cunning of the snake, + To rivet and exalt his love; + Her mode of candour is deceit; + And what she thinks from what she’ll say + (Although I’ll never call her cheat), + Lies far as Scotland from Cathay. + Without his knowledge he was won; + Against his nature kept devout; + She’ll never tell him how ’twas done, + And he will never find it out. + If, sudden, he suspects her wiles, + And hears her forging chain and trap, + And looks, she sits in simple smiles, + Her two hands lying in her lap. + Her secret (privilege of the Bard, + Whose fancy is of either sex), + Is mine; but let the darkness guard + Myst’ries that light would more perplex! + + +II. +_Love Thinking_. + + + What lifts her in my thought so far + Beyond all else? Let Love not err! + ’Tis that which all right women are, + But which I’ll know in none but her. + She is to me the only Ark + Of that high mystery which locks + The lips of joy, or speaks in dark + Enigmas and in paradox; + That potent charm, which none can fly, + Nor would, which makes me bond and free, + Nor can I tell if first ’twas I + Chose it, or it elected me; + Which, when I look intentest, lo, + Cheats most mine eyes, albeit my heart, + Content to feel and not to know, + Perceives it all in every part; + I kiss its cheek; its life divine + Exhales from its resplendent shroud; + Ixion’s fate reversed is mine, + Authentic Juno seems a cloud; + I feel a blessed warmth, I see + A bright circumference of rays, + But darkness, where the sun should be, + Fills admiration with amaze; + And when, for joy’s relief, I think + To fathom with the line of thought + The well from which I, blissful, drink, + The spring’s so deep I come to nought. + + +III. +_The Kiss_. + + + ‘I saw you take his kiss!’ ‘’Tis true.’ + ‘O, modesty!’ ‘’Twas strictly kept: + He thought me asleep; at least, I knew + He thought I thought he thought I slept.’ + + +THE KOH-I-NOOR. + +1 + + + ‘Be man’s hard virtues highly wrought, + But let my gentle Mistress be, + In every look, word, deed, and thought, + Nothing but sweet and womanly! + Her virtues please my virtuous mood, + But what at all times I admire + Is, not that she is wise or good, + But just the thing which I desire. + With versatility to sing + The theme of love to any strain, + If oft’nest she is anything, + Be it careless, talkative, and vain. + That seems in her supremest grace + Which, virtue or not, apprises me + That my familiar thoughts embrace + Unfathomable mystery.’ + + +2 + + + I answer’d thus; for she desired + To know what mind I most approved; + Partly to learn what she inquired, + Partly to get the praise she loved. + + +3 + + + I praised her, but no praise could fill + The depths of her desire to please, + Though dull to others as a Will + To them that have no legacies. + The more I praised the more she shone, + Her eyes incredulously bright, + And all her happy beauty blown + Beneath the beams of my delight. + Sweet rivalry was thus begot; + By turns, my speech, in passion’s style, + With flatteries the truth o’ershot, + And she surpass’d them with her smile. + + +4 + + + ‘You have my heart so sweetly seiz’d, + And I confess, nay, ’tis my pride + That I’m with you so solely pleased, + That, if I’m pleased with aught beside, + As music, or the month of June, + My friend’s devotion, or his wit, + A rose, a rainbow, or the moon, + It is that you illustrate it. + All these are parts, you are the whole; + You fit the taste for Paradise, + To which your charms draw up the soul + As turning spirals draw the eyes. + Nature to you was more than kind; + ’Twas fond perversity to dress + So much simplicity of mind + In such a pomp of loveliness! + But, praising you, the fancy deft + Flies wide, and lets the quarry stray, + And, when all’s said, there’s something left, + And that’s the thing I meant to say.’ + ‘Dear Felix!’ ‘Sweet, my Love!’ But there + Was Aunt Maude’s noisy ring and knock! + ‘Stay, Felix; you have caught my hair. + Stoop! Thank you!’ ‘May I have that lock?’ + ‘Not now. Good morning, Aunt!’ ‘Why, Puss, + You look magnificent to-day.’ + ‘Here’s Felix, Aunt.’ ‘Fox and green goose! + Who handsome gets should handsome pay! + Aunt, you are friends!’ ‘Ah, to be sure! + Good morning! Go on flattering, sir; + A woman, like the Koh-i-noor, + Mounts to the price that’s put on her.’ + + + +CANTO IX. +The Friends. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_The Nursling of Civility_. + + + LO, how the woman once was woo’d; + Forth leapt the savage from his lair, + And fell’d her, and to nuptials rude + He dragg’d her, bleeding, by the hair. + From that to Chloe’s dainty wiles + And Portia’s dignified consent, + What distance! Bat these Pagan styles + How far below Time’s fair intent! + Siegfried sued Kriemhild. Sweeter life + Could Love’s self covet? Yet ’tis snug + In what rough sort he chid his wife + For want of curb upon her tongue! + Shall Love, where last I leave him, halt? + Nay; none can fancy or forsee + To how strange bliss may time exalt + This nursling of civility. + + +II. +_The Foreign Land_. + + + A woman is a foreign land, + Of which, though there he settle young, + A man will ne’er quite understand + The customs, politics, and tongue. + The foolish hie them post-haste through, + See fashions odd, and prospects fair, + Learn of the language, ‘How d’ye do,’ + And go and brag they have been there. + The most for leave to trade apply, + For once, at Empire’s seat, her heart, + Then get what knowledge ear and eye + Glean chancewise in the life-long mart. + And certain others, few and fit, + Attach them to the Court, and see + The Country’s best, its accent hit, + And partly sound its polity. + + +III. +_Disappointment_. + + + ‘The bliss which woman’s charms bespeak, + I’ve sought in many, found in none!’ + ‘In many ’tis in vain you seek + What only can be found in one.’ + + +THE FRIENDS. + +1 + + + Frank’s long, dull letter, lying by + The gay sash from Honoria’s waist, + Reproach’d me; passion spared a sigh + For friendship without fault disgraced. + How should I greet him? how pretend + I felt the love he once inspired? + Time was when either, in his friend, + His own deserts with joy admired; + We took one side in school-debate, + Like hopes pursued with equal thirst, + Were even-bracketed by Fate, + Twin-Wranglers, seventh from the First; + And either loved a lady’s laugh + More than all music; he and I + Were perfect in the pleasant half + Of universal charity. + + +2 + + + From pride of likeness thus I loved + Him, and he me, till love begot + The lowliness which now approved + Nothing but that which I was not, + Blest was the pride of feeling so + Subjected to a girl’s soft reign. + She was my vanity, and, oh, + All other vanities how vain! + + +3 + + + Frank follow’d in his letter’s track, + And set my guilty heart at ease + By echoing my excuses back + With just the same apologies. + So he had slighted me as well! + Nor was my mind disburthen’d less + When what I sought excuse to tell + He of himself did first confess. + + +4 + + + Each, rapturous, praised his lady’s worth; + He eloquently thus: ‘Her face + Is the summ’d sweetness of the earth, + Her soul the glass of heaven’s grace, + To which she leads me by the hand; + Or, briefly all the truth to say + To you, who briefly understand, + She is both heaven and the way. + Displeasures and resentments pass + Athwart her charitable eyes + More fleetingly than breath from glass, + Or truth from foolish memories; + Her heart’s so touch’d with others’ woes + She has no need of chastisement; + Her gentle life’s conditions close, + Like God’s commandments, with content, + And make an aspect calm and gay, + Where sweet affections come and go, + Till all who see her, smile and say, + How fair, and happy that she’s so! + She is so lovely, true, and pure, + Her virtue virtue so endears, + That often, when I think of her, + Life’s meanness fills mine eyes with tears—’ + ‘You paint Miss Churchill! Pray go on—’ + ‘She’s perfect, and, if joy was much + To think her nature’s paragon, + ’Tis more that there’s another such!’ + + +5 + + + Praising and paying back their praise + With rapturous hearts, t’ward Sarum Spire + We walk’d, in evening’s golden haze, + Friendship from passion stealing fire. + In joy’s crown danced the feather jest, + And, parting by the Deanery door, + Clasp’d hands, less shy than words, confess’d + We had not been true friends before. + + + +CANTO X. +The Epitaph. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_Frost in Harvest_. + + + THE lover who, across a gulf + Of ceremony, views his Love, + And dares not yet address herself, + Pays worship to her stolen glove. + The gulf o’erleapt, the lover wed, + It happens oft, (let truth be told), + The halo leaves the sacred head, + Respect grows lax, and worship cold, + And all love’s May-day promising, + Like song of birds before they pair, + Or flush of flowers in boastful Spring, + Dies out, and leaves the Summer bare. + Yet should a man, it seems to me, + Honour what honourable is, + For some more honourable plea + Than only that it is not his. + The gentle wife, who decks his board + And makes his day to have no night, + Whose wishes wait upon her lord, + Who finds her own in his delight, + Is she another now than she + Who, mistress of her maiden charms, + At his wild prayer, incredibly + Committed them to his proud arms? + Unless her choice of him’s a slur + Which makes her proper credit dim, + He never enough can honour her + Who past all speech has honour’d him. + + +II. +_Felicity_. + + + To marry her and take her home! + The poet, painting pureness, tells + Of lilies; figures power by Rome; + And each thing shows by something else. + But through the songs of poets look, + And who so lucky to have found + In universal nature’s book + A likeness for a life so crown’d! + Here they speak best who best express + Their inability to speak, + And none are strong, but who confess + With happy skill that they are weak. + + +III. +_Marriage Indissoluble_. + + + ‘In heaven none marry.’ Grant the most + Which may by this dark word be meant, + Who shall forbid the eternal boast + ‘I kiss’d, and kiss’d with her consent!’ + If here, to Love, past favour is + A present boast, delight, and chain, + What lacks of honour, bond, and bliss, + Where Now and Then are no more twain! + + +THE EPITAPH. + +1 + + + ‘At Church, in twelve hours more, we meet! + This, Dearest, is our last farewell.’ + ‘Oh, Felix, do you love me?’ ‘Sweet, + Why do you ask?’ ‘I cannot tell.’ + + +2 + + + And was it no vain fantasy + That raised me from the earth with pride? + Should I to-morrow verily + Be Bridegroom, and Honoria Bride? + Should I, in simple fact, henceforth + Live unconditionally lord + Of her whose smile for brightest worth + Seem’d all too bountiful reward? + Incredible life’s promise seem’d, + Or, credible, for life too great; + Love his own deity blasphemed, + And doff’d at last his heavenly state. + What law, if man could mount so high, + To further insolence set bars, + And kept the chaste moon in the sky, + And bade him not tread out the stars! + + +3 + + + Patience and hope had parted truce, + And, sun-like, Love obscured his ray + With dazzling mists, driven up profuse + Before his own triumphant way. + I thought with prayer how Jacob paid + The patient price of Rachel; them, + Of that calm grace Tobias said, + And Sarah’s innocent ‘Amen.’ + Without avail! O’erwhelming wealth, + The wondrous gift of God so near, + Which should have been delight and health + Made heart and spirit sick and sere. + Until at last the soul of love, + That recks not of its own delight, + Awoke and bade the mists remove, + And then once more I breathed aright; + And I rehears’d my marriage vow, + And swore her welfare to prefer + To all things, and for aye as now + To live, not for myself, but her. + Forth, from the glittering spirit’s peace + And gaiety ineffable, + Stream’d to the heart delight and ease, + As from an overflowing well; + And, orderly deriving thence + Its pleasure perfect and allow’d, + Bright with the spirit shone the sense, + As with the sun a fleecy cloud. + If now to part with her could make + Her pleasure greater, sorrow less, + I for my epitaph would take + ‘To serve seem’d more than to possess.’ + And I perceiv’d, (the vision sweet + Dimming with happy dew mine eyes), + That love and joy are torches lit + From altar-fires of sacrifice. + + +4 + + + Across the sky the daylight crept, + And birds grew garrulous in the grove, + And on my marriage-morn I slept + A soft sleep, undisturb’d by love. + + + +CANTO XI. +The Wedding. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_Platonic Love_. + + + RIGHT art thou who wouldst rather be + A doorkeeper in Love’s fair house, + Than lead the wretched revelry + Where fools at swinish troughs carouse. + But do not boast of being least; + And if to kiss thy Mistress’ skirt + Amaze thy brain, scorn not the Priest + Whom greater honours do not hurt. + Stand off and gaze, if more than this + Be more than thou canst understand, + Revering him whose power of bliss, + Angelic, dares to seize her hand, + Or whose seraphic love makes flight + To the apprehension of her lips; + And think, the sun of such delight + From thine own darkness takes eclipse. + And, wouldst thou to the same aspire, + This is the art thou must employ, + Live greatly; so shalt thou acquire + Unknown capacities of joy. + + +II. +_A Demonstration_. + + + Nature, with endless being rife, + Parts each thing into ‘him’ and ‘her,’ + And, in the arithmetic of life, + The smallest unit is a pair; + And thus, oh, strange, sweet half of me, + If I confess a loftier flame, + If more I love high Heaven than thee, + I more than love thee, thine I am; + And, if the world’s not built of lies, + Nor all a cheat the Gospel tells, + If that which from the dead shall rise + Be I indeed, not something else, + There’s no position more secure + In reason or in faith than this, + That those conditions must endure, + Which, wanting, I myself should miss. + + +III. +_The Symbol_. + + + As if I chafed the sparks from glass, + And said, ‘It lightens,’ hitherto + The songs I’ve made of love may pass + For all but for proportion true; + But likeness and proportion both + Now fail, as if a child in glee, + Catching the flakes of the salt froth, + Cried, ‘Look, my mother, here’s the sea. + Yet, by the help of what’s so weak, + But not diverse, to those who know, + And only unto those I speak, + May far-inferring fancy show + Love’s living sea by coasts uncurb’d, + Its depth, its mystery, and its might, + Its indignation if disturb’d, + The glittering peace of its delight. + + +IV. +_Constancy Rewarded_. + + + I vow’d unvarying faith, and she, + To whom in full I pay that vow, + Rewards me with variety + Which men who change can never know. + + +THE WEDDING. + +1 + + + Life smitten with a feverish chill, + The brain too tired to understand, + In apathy of heart and will, + I took the woman from the hand + Of him who stood for God, and heard + Of Christ, and of the Church his Bride; + The Feast, by presence of the Lord + And his first Wonder, beautified; + The mystic sense to Christian men; + The bonds in innocency made, + And gravely to be enter’d then, + For children, godliness, and, aid, + And honour’d, and kept free from smirch; + And how a man must love his wife + No less than Christ did love his Church, + If need be, giving her his life; + And, vowing then the mutual vow, + The tongue spoke, but intention slept. + ’Tis well for us Heaven asks not how + We take this oath, but how ’tis kept. + + +2 + + + O, bold seal of a bashful bound, + Which makes the marriage-day to be, + To those before it and beyond, + An iceberg in an Indian sea! + + +3 + + + ‘Now, while she’s changing,’ said the Dean, + ‘Her bridal for her travelling dress, + I’ll preach allegiance to your queen! + Preaching’s the thing which I profess; + And one more minute’s mine! You know + I’ve paid my girl a father’s debt, + And this last charge is all I owe. + She’s yours; but I love more than yet + You can; such fondness only wakes + When time has raised the heart above + The prejudice of youth, which makes + Beauty conditional to love. + Prepare to meet the weak alarms + Of novel nearness; recollect + The eye which magnified her charms + Is microscopic for defect. + Fear comes at first; but soon, rejoiced, + You’ll find your strong and tender loves, + Like holy rocks by Druids poised, + The least force shakes, but none removes. + Her strength is your esteem; beware + Of finding fault; her will’s unnerv’d + By blame; from you ’twould be despair; + But praise that is not quite deserv’d + Will all her noble nature move + To make your utmost wishes tree. + Yet think, while mending thus your Love, + Of snatching her ideal too. + The death of nuptial joy is sloth: + To keep your mistress in your wife, + Keep to the very height your oath, + And honour her with arduous life. + Lastly, no personal reverence doff. + Life’s all externals unto those + Who pluck the blushing petals off, + To find the secret of the rose.— + How long she’s tarrying! Green’s Hotel + I’m sure you’ll like. The charge is fair, + The wines good. I remember well + I stay’d once, with her Mother, there. + A tender conscience of her vow + That Mother had! She’s so like her!’ + But Mrs. Fife, much flurried, now + Whisper’d, ‘Miss Honor’s ready, Sir.’ + + +4 + + + Whirl’d off at last, for speech I sought, + To keep shy Love in countenance, + But, whilst I vainly tax’d my thought, + Her voice deliver’d mime from trance: + ‘Look, is not this a pretty shawl, + Aunt’s parting gift.’ ‘She’s always kind.’ + ‘The new wing spoils Sir John’s old Hall: + You’ll see it, if you pull the blind.’ + + +5 + + + I drew the silk: in heaven the night + Was dawning; lovely Venus shone, + In languishment of tearful light, + Swathed by the red breath of the sun. + + + +CANTO XII. +Husband and Wife. + + +PRELUDES. + +I. +_The Married Lover_. + + + WHY, having won her, do I woo? + Because her spirit’s vestal grace + Provokes me always to pursue, + But, spirit-like, eludes embrace; + Because her womanhood is such + That, as on court-days subjects kiss + The Queen’s hand, yet so near a touch + Affirms no mean familiarness, + Nay, rather marks more fair the height + Which can with safety so neglect + To dread, as lower ladies might, + That grace could meet with disrespect, + Thus she with happy favour feeds + Allegiance from a love so high + That thence no false conceit proceeds + Of difference bridged, or state put by; + Because, although in act and word + As lowly as a wife can be, + Her manners, when they call me lord, + Remind me ’tis by courtesy; + Not with her least consent of will, + Which would my proud affection hurt, + But by the noble style that still + Imputes an unattain’d desert; + Because her gay and lofty brows, + When all is won which hope can ask, + Reflect a light of hopeless snows + That bright in virgin ether bask; + Because, though free of the outer court + I am, this Temple keeps its shrine + Sacred to Heaven; because, in short, + She’s not and never can be mine. + + +II. +_The Amaranth_. + + + Feasts satiate; stars distress with height; + Friendship means well, but misses reach, + And wearies in its best delight, + Vex’d with the vanities of speech; + Too long regarded, roses even + Afflict the mind with fond unrest; + And to converse direct within Heaven + Is oft a labour in the breast; + Whate’er the up-looking soul admires, + Whate’er the senses’ banquet be, + Fatigues at last with vain desires, + Or sickens by satiety; + But truly my delight was more + In her to whom I’m bound for aye + Yesterday than the day before + And more to-day than yesterday. + + +HUSBAND AND WIFE. + +1 + + + I, while the shop-girl fitted on + The sand-shoes, look’d where, down the bay, + The sea glow’d with a shrouded sun. + ‘I’m ready, Felix; will you pay?’ + That was my first expense for this + Sweet Stranger, now my three days’ Wife. + How light the touches are that kiss + The music from the chords of life! + + +2 + + + Her feet, by half-a-mile of sea, + In spotless sand left shapely prints; + With agates, then, she loaded me; + (The lapidary call’d them flints); + Then, at her wish, I hail’d a boat, + To take her to the ships-of-war, + At anchor, each a lazy mote + Black in the brilliance, miles from shore. + + +3 + + + The morning breeze the canvas fill’d, + Lifting us o’er the bright-ridged gulf, + And every lurch my darling thrill’d + With light fear smiling at itself; + And, dashing past the Arrogant, + Asleep upon the restless wave + After its cruise in the Levant, + We reach’d the Wolf, and signal gave + For help to board; within caution meet, + My bride was placed within the chair, + The red flag wrapp’d about her feet, + And so swung laughing through the air. + + +4 + + + ‘Look, Love,’ she said, ‘there’s Frederick Graham, + My cousin, whom you met, you know,’ + And seeing us, the brave man came, + And made his frank and courteous bow, + And gave my hand a sailor’s shake, + And said, ‘You ask’d me to the Hurst: + I never thought my luck would make + Your wife and you my guests the first.’ + And Honor, cruel, ‘Nor did we: + Have you not lately changed your ship?’ + ‘Yes: I’m Commander, now,’ said he, + With a slight quiver of the lip. + We saw the vessel, shown with pride; + Took luncheon; I must eat his salt! + Parting he said, (I fear my bride + Found him unselfish to a fault), + His wish, he saw, had come to pass, + (And so, indeed, her face express’d), + That that should be, whatever ’twas, + Which made his Cousin happiest. + We left him looking from above; + Rich bankrupt! for he could afford + To say most proudly that his love + Was virtue and its own reward. + But others loved as well as he, + (Thought I, half-anger’d), and if fate, + Unfair, had only fashion’d me + As hapless, I had been as great. + + +5 + + + As souls, ambitious, but low-born, + If raised past hope by luck or wit, + All pride of place will proudly scorn, + And live as they’d been used to it, + So we two wore our strange estate: + Familiar, unaffected, free, + We talk’d, until the dusk grew late, + Of this and that; but, after tea, + As doubtful if a lot so sweet + As ours was ours in very sooth, + Like children, to promote conceit, + We feign’d that it was not the truth; + And she assumed the maiden coy, + And I adored remorseless charms, + And then we clapp’d our hands for joy, + And ran into each others arms. + + +THE EPILOGUE. + +I + + + ‘AH, dearest Wife, a fresh-lit fire + Sends forth to heaven great shows of fume, + And watchers, far away, admire; + But when the flames their power assume, + The more they burn the less they show, + The clouds no longer smirch the sky, + And then the flames intensest glow + When far-off watchers think they die. + The fumes of early love my verse + Has figured—’ ‘You must paint the flame!’ + ’Twould merit the Promethean curse! + But now, Sweet, for your praise and blame.’ + ‘You speak too boldly; veils are due + To women’s feelings.’ ‘Fear not this! + Women will vow I say not true, + And men believe thine lips they kiss.’ + I did not call you “Dear” or “Love,” + ‘I think, till after Frank was born.’ + ‘That fault I cannot well remove; + The rhymes’—but Frank now blew his horn, + And Walter bark’d, on hands and knees, + At Baby in the mignonette, + And all made, full-cry, for the trees + Where Felix and his Wife were set. + Again disturb’d, (crickets have cares!) + True to their annual use they rose, + To offer thanks at Evening Prayers + In three times sacred Sarum Close. + + +2 + + + Passing, they left a gift of wine + At Widow Neale’s. Her daughter said: + ‘O, Ma’am, she’s sinking! For a sign, + She cried just now, of him that’s dead, + “Mary, he’s somewhere close above, + Weeping and wailing his dead wife, + With forceful prayers and fatal love + Conjuring me to come to life. + A spirit is terrible though dear! + It comes by night, and sucks my breath, + And draws me with desire and fear.” + Ah, Ma’am, she’ll soon be his in death!’ + + +3 + + + Vaughan, when his kind Wife’s eyes were dry, + Said, ‘This thought crosses me, my Dove; + If Heaven should proffer, when we die, + Some unconceiv’d, superior love, + How take the exchange without despair, + Without worse folly how refuse?’ + But she, who, wise as she was fair, + For subtle doubts had simple clues, + Said, ‘Custom sanctifies, and faith + Is more than joy: ah, how desire + In any heaven a different path, + Though, found at first, it had been higher? + Yet love makes death a dreadful thought! + Felix, at what a price we live!’ + But present pleasures soon forgot + The future’s dread alternative; + For, as became the festal time, + He cheer’d her heart with tender praise, + And speeches wanting only rhyme + To make them like his winged lays. + He discommended girlhood. ‘What + For sweetness like the ten-years’ wife, + Whose customary love is not + Her passion, or her play, but life? + With beauties so maturely fair, + Affecting, mild, and manifold, + May girlish charms mo more compare + Than apples green with apples gold. + Ah, still unpraised Honoria, Heaven, + When you into my arms it gave, + Left nought hereafter to be given + But grace to feel the good I have.’ + + +4 + + + Her own and manhood’s modesty + Made dumb her love, but, on their road, + His hand in hers felt soft reply, + And like rejoinder found bestow’d; + And, when the carriage set them down, + ‘How strange,’ said he, ‘’twould seem to meet, + When pacing, as we now this town, + A Florence or a Lisbon Street, + That Laura or that Catherine, who, + In the remote, romantic years, + From Petrarch or Camoens drew + Their songs and their immortal tears!’ + But here their converse had its end; + For, crossing the Cathedral Lawn, + There came an ancient college-friend, + Who, introduced to Mrs. Vaughan, + Lifted his hat, and bow’d and smiled. + And fill’d her kind large eyes with joy, + By patting on the cheek her child, + With, ‘Is he yours, this handsome boy?’ + + * * * * * + + * * * * * + + Printed by Cassell & Company, Limited, La Bella Sauvage, London, E.C. + 18–491 + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE*** + + +******* This file should be named 4099-0.txt or 4099-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/0/9/4099 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Angel in the House + + +Author: Coventry Patmore + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: August 10, 2014 [eBook #4099] +[This file was first posted on November 27, 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1891 Cassell & Company edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY</span></p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<h1><span class="GutSmall">THE</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Angel in the House</span>.</h1> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +COVENTRY PATMORE.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<blockquote><p>“Par la grace infinie, Dieu les mist au +monde ensemble.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Rousier des Dames</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" +src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">CASSELL & COMPANY, <span +class="smcap">Limited</span>:<br /> +<span class="GutSmall"><i>LONDON, PARIS & +MELBOURNE</i></span><span class="GutSmall">.</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">1891.</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pagev"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. v</span>THIS POEM<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">IS INSCRIBED</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">TO</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">THE MEMORY OF HER</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">BY WHOM AND FOR WHOM I BECAME A +POET.</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>INTRODUCTION.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> could be but one answer to +the suggestion of Mr. Coventry Patmore that his “Angel in +the House” might usefully have a place in this +“National Library.” The suggestion was made +with the belief that wide and cheap diffusion would not take from +the value of a copyright library edition, while the best use of +writing is fulfilled by the spreading of verse dedicated to the +sacred love of home. The two parts of the Poem appeared in +1854 and 1856, were afterwards elaborately revised, and have +since obtained a permanent place among the Home Books of the +English People. Our readers will join, surely, in thanks to +the author for the present he has made us.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">H. M.</p> +<h2><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +ix</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="4"><p style="text-align: center">BOOK I.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>THE PROLOGUE.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">CANTO</span></p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">I.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Impossibility</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Love’s Really</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Poet’s Confidence</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Cathedral Close</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">II.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>MARY AND MILDRED</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Paragon</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Love at Large</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Love and Duty</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">4.</p> +</td> +<td><p>A Distinction</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Mary and Mildred</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">III.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>HONORIA</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Lover</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Love a Virtue</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Attainment</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Honoria</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page35">35</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">IV.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE MORNING CALL</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Rose of the World</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Tribute</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page41">41</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Compensation</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Morning Call</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">V.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE VIOLETS</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page46">46</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Comparison</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page46">46</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Love in Tears</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page48">48</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Prospective Faith</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page48">48</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">4.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Venus Victrix</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Violets</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><a name="pagex"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. x</span>VI.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE DEAN</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Perfect Love rare</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Love Justified</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page54">54</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Love Serviceable</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">4.</p> +</td> +<td><p>A Riddle Solved</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Dean</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">VII.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>ÆTNA AND THE MOON</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page60">60</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Love’s Immortality</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page60">60</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Heaven and Earth</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page61">61</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Ætna and the Moon</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page62">62</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">VIII.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>SARUM PLAIN</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page66">66</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Life of Life</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page66">66</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Revelation</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Spirit’s Epochs</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">4.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Prototype</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">5.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Praise of Love</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Sarum Plain</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">IX.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>SAHARA</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Wife’s Tragedy</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Common Graces</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page75">75</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Zest of Life</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page76">76</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">4.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Fool and Wise</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page76">76</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Sahara</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page77">77</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">X.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>CHURCH TO CHURCH</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Joyful Wisdom</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Devices</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page84">84</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Going to Church</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page84">84</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XI.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE DANCE</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Daughter of Eve</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Aurea Dicta</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Dance</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page93">93</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XII.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE ABDICATION</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Chace</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Denied</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Churl</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Abdication</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page102">102</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="4"><p style="text-align: center"><a +name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xi</span>BOOK II.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE PROLOGUE</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page105">105</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">I.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>ACCEPTED</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page109">109</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Song of Songs</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page109">109</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Kites</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page110">110</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Orpheus</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">4.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Nearest the Dearest</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">5.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Perspective</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page112">112</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Accepted</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page112">112</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">II.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page116">116</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Changed Allegiance</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page116">116</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Beauty</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page120">120</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Lais and Lucretia</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page120">120</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Course of True Love</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">III.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE COUNTRY BALL</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page126">126</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Love Ceremonious</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page126">126</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Rainbow</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>A Paradox</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The County Ball</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page128">128</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">IV.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>LOVE IN IDLENESS</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Honour and Desert</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Love and Honour</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page133">133</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Valour Misdirected</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page134">134</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Love in Idleness</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page134">134</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">V.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE QUEEN’S ROOM</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page139">139</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Rejected</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page139">139</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Rachel</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page140">140</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Heart’s Prophecies</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page141">141</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Queen’s Room</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page141">141</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">VI.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE LOVE-LETTERS</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Love’s Perversity</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Power of Love</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Love-Letters</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page148">148</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">VII.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE REVULSION</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Joy and Use</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>‘She was Mine’</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Revulsion</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><a name="pagexii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xii</span>VIII.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE KOH-I-NOOR</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page158">158</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>In Love</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page158">158</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Love Thinking</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page160">160</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Kiss</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Koh-i-noor</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">IX.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE FRIENDS</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page165">165</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Nursling of Civility</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page165">165</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Foreign Land</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page166">166</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Disappointment</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page166">166</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Friends</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page167">167</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">X.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE EPITAPH</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Frost in Harvest</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Felicity</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page171">171</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Marriage Indissoluble</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Epitaph</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XI.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE WEDDING</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page176">176</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Platonic Love</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page176">176</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>A Demonstration</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">3.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Symbol</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page178">178</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">4.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Constancy Rewarded</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page178">178</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Wedding</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">XII.</p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>HUSBAND AND WIFE</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page183">183</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="3"><p>Preludes:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">1.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Married Lover</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page183">183</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">2.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Amaranth</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>Husband and Wife</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page185">185</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Epilogue</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page189">189</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>Book +I.</h2> +<h3>THE PROLOGUE.</h3> +<h4>1</h4> +<p class="poetry">‘<span class="smcap">Mine</span> is no +horse with wings, to gain<br /> + The region of the spheral chime;<br /> +He does but drag a rumbling wain,<br /> + Cheer’d by the coupled bells of rhyme;<br /> +And if at Fame’s bewitching note<br /> + My homely Pegasus pricks an ear,<br /> +The world’s cart-collar hugs his throat,<br /> + And he’s too wise to prance or +rear.’</p> +<h4>2</h4> +<p class="poetry">Thus ever answer’d Vaughan his Wife,<br +/> + Who, more than he, desired his fame;<br /> +But, in his heart, his thoughts were rife<br /> + How for her sake to earn a name.<br /> +<a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>With bays +poetic three times crown’d,<br /> + And other college honours won,<br /> +He, if he chose, might be renown’d,<br /> + He had but little doubt, she none;<br /> +And in a loftier phrase he talk’d<br /> + With her, upon their Wedding-Day,<br /> +(The eighth), while through the fields they walk’d,<br /> + Their children shouting by the way.</p> +<h4>3</h4> +<p class="poetry">‘Not careless of the gift of song,<br /> + Nor out of love with noble fame,<br /> +I, meditating much and long<br /> + What I should sing, how win a name,<br /> +Considering well what theme unsung,<br /> + What reason worth the cost of rhyme,<br /> +Remains to loose the poet’s tongue<br /> + In these last days, the dregs of time,<br /> +Learn that to me, though born so late,<br /> + There does, beyond desert, befall<br /> +(May my great fortune make me great!)<br /> + The first of themes, sung last of all.<br /> +In green and undiscover’d ground,<br /> + Yet near where many others sing,<br /> +I have the very well-head found<br /> + Whence gushes the Pierian Spring.’</p> +<h4><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>4</h4> +<p class="poetry">Then she: ‘What is it, Dear? The +Life<br /> + Of Arthur, or Jerusalem’s Fall?’<br /> +‘Neither: your gentle self, my Wife,<br /> + And love, that grows from one to all.<br /> +And if I faithfully proclaim<br /> + Of these the exceeding worthiness,<br /> +Surely the sweetest wreath of Fame<br /> + Shall, to your hope, my brows caress;<br /> +And if, by virtue of my choice<br /> + Of this, the most heart-touching theme<br /> +That ever tuned a poet’s voice,<br /> + I live, as I am bold to dream,<br /> +To be delight to many days,<br /> + And into silence only cease<br /> +When those are still, who shared their bays<br /> + With Laura and with Beatrice,<br /> +Imagine, Love, how learned men<br /> + Will deep-conceiv’d devices find,<br /> +Beyond my purpose and my ken,<br /> + An ancient bard of simple mind.<br /> +You, Sweet, his Mistress, Wife, and Muse,<br /> + Were you for mortal woman meant?<br /> +Your praises give a hundred clues<br /> + To mythological intent!<br /> +<a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>And, +severing thus the truth from trope,<br /> + In you the Commentators see<br /> +Outlines occult of abstract scope,<br /> + A future for philosophy!<br /> +Your arm’s on mine! these are the meads<br /> + In which we pass our living days;<br /> +There Avon runs, now hid with reeds,<br /> + Now brightly brimming pebbly bays;<br /> +Those are our children’s songs that come<br /> + With bells and bleatings of the sheep;<br /> +And there, in yonder English home,<br /> + We thrive on mortal food and sleep!’<br /> +She laugh’d. How proud she always was<br /> + To feel how proud he was of her!<br /> +But he had grown distraught, because<br /> + The Muse’s mood began to stir.</p> +<h4>5</h4> +<p class="poetry">His purpose with performance crown’d,<br +/> + He to his well-pleased Wife rehears’d,<br /> +When next their Wedding-Day came round,<br /> + His leisure’s labour, ‘Book the +First.’</p> +<h3><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>CANTO +I<br /> +The Cathedral Close.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>The Impossibility</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Lo, love’s obey’d by all. +’Tis right<br /> + That all should know what they obey,<br /> +Lest erring conscience damp delight,<br /> + And folly laugh our joys away.<br /> +Thou Primal Love, who grantest wings<br /> + And voices to the woodland birds,<br /> +Grant me the power of saying things<br /> + Too simple and too sweet for words!</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>Love’s Really</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">I walk, I trust, with open eyes;<br /> + I’ve travell’d half my worldly +course;<br /> +And in the way behind me lies<br /> + Much vanity and some remorse;<br /> +<a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>I’ve +lived to feel how pride may part<br /> + Spirits, tho’ match’d like hand and +glove;<br /> +I’ve blush’d for love’s abode, the heart;<br /> + But have not disbelieved in love;<br /> +Nor unto love, sole mortal thing<br /> + Of worth immortal, done the wrong<br /> +To count it, with the rest that sing,<br /> + Unworthy of a serious song;<br /> +And love is my reward; for now,<br /> + When most of dead’ning time complain,<br /> +The myrtle blooms upon my brow,<br /> + Its odour quickens all my brain.</p> +<h5>III.<br /> +<i>The Poet’s Confidence</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">The richest realm of all the earth<br /> + Is counted still a heathen land:<br /> +Lo, I, like Joshua, now go forth<br /> + To give it into Israel’s hand.<br /> +I will not hearken blame or praise;<br /> + For so should I dishonour do<br /> +To that sweet Power by which these Lays<br /> + Alone are lovely, good, and true;<br /> +Nor credence to the world’s cries give,<br /> + Which ever preach and still prevent<br /> +Pure passion’s high prerogative<br /> + To make, not follow, precedent.<br /> +<a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>From +love’s abysmal ether rare<br /> + If I to men have here made known<br /> +New truths, they, like new stars, were there<br /> + Before, though not yet written down.<br /> +Moving but as the feelings move,<br /> + I run, or loiter with delight,<br /> +Or pause to mark where gentle Love<br /> + Persuades the soul from height to height.<br /> +Yet, know ye, though my words are gay<br /> + As David’s dance, which Michal +scorn’d.<br /> +If kindly you receive the Lay,<br /> + You shall be sweetly help’d and +warn’d.</p> +<h4>THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">Once more I came to Sarum Close,<br /> + With joy half memory, half desire,<br /> +And breathed the sunny wind that rose<br /> + And blew the shadows o’er the Spire,<br /> +And toss’d the lilac’s scented plumes,<br /> + And sway’d the chestnut’s thousand +cones,<br /> +And fill’d my nostrils with perfumes,<br /> + And shaped the clouds in waifs and zones,<br /> +<a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>And wafted +down the serious strain<br /> + Of Sarum bells, when, true to time,<br /> +I reach’d the Dean’s, with heart and brain<br /> + That trembled to the trembling chime.</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">’Twas half my home, six years ago.<br /> + The six years had not alter’d it:<br /> +Red-brick and ashlar, long and low,<br /> + With dormers and with oriels lit.<br /> +Geranium, lychnis, rose array’d<br /> + The windows, all wide open thrown;<br /> +And some one in the Study play’d<br /> + The Wedding-March of Mendelssohn.<br /> +And there it was I last took leave:<br /> + ’Twas Christmas: I remember’d now<br /> +The cruel girls, who feign’d to grieve,<br /> + Took down the evergreens; and how<br /> +The holly into blazes woke<br /> + The fire, lighting the large, low room,<br /> +A dim, rich lustre of old oak<br /> + And crimson velvet’s glowing gloom.<br /> +No change had touch’d Dean Churchill: kind,<br /> + By widowhood more than winters bent,<br /> +And settled in a cheerful mind,<br /> + As still forecasting heaven’s content.<br /> +<a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>Well might +his thoughts be fix’d on high,<br /> + Now she was there! Within her face<br /> +Humility and dignity<br /> + Were met in a most sweet embrace.<br /> +She seem’d expressly sent below<br /> + To teach our erring minds to see<br /> +The rhythmic change of time’s swift flow<br /> + As part of still eternity.<br /> +Her life, all honour, observed, with awe<br /> + Which cross experience could not mar,<br /> +The fiction of the Christian law<br /> + That all men honourable are;<br /> +And so her smile at once conferr’d<br /> + High flattery and benign reproof;<br /> +And I, a rude boy, strangely stirr’d,<br /> + Grew courtly in my own behoof.<br /> +The years, so far from doing her wrong,<br /> + Anointed her with gracious balm,<br /> +And made her brows more and more young<br /> + With wreaths of amaranth and palm.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">Was this her eldest, Honor; prude,<br /> + Who would not let me pull the swing;<br /> +Who, kiss’d at Christmas, call’d me rude,<br /> + And, sobbing low, refused to sing?<br /> +<a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>How +changed! In shape no slender Grace,<br /> + But Venus; milder than the dove;<br /> +Her mother’s air; her Norman face;<br /> + Her large sweet eyes, clear lakes of love.<br /> +Mary I knew. In former time<br /> + Ailing and pale, she thought that bliss<br /> +Was only for a better clime,<br /> + And, heavenly overmuch, scorn’d this.<br /> +I, rash with theories of the right,<br /> + Which stretch’d the tether of my Creed,<br /> +But did not break it, held delight<br /> + Half discipline. We disagreed.<br /> +She told the Dean I wanted grace.<br /> + Now she was kindest of the three,<br /> +And soft wild roses deck’d her face.<br /> + And, what, was this my Mildred, she<br /> +To herself and all a sweet surprise?<br /> + My Pet, who romp’d and roll’d a hoop?<br +/> +I wonder’d where those daisy eyes<br /> + Had found their touching curve and droop.</p> +<h5>5</h5> +<p class="poetry">Unmannerly times! But now we sat<br /> + Stranger than strangers; till I caught<br /> +And answer’d Mildred’s smile; and that<br /> + Spread to the rest, and freedom brought.<br /> +<a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>The Dean +talk’d little, looking on,<br /> + Of three such daughters justly vain.<br /> +What letters they had had from Bonn,<br /> + Said Mildred, and what plums from Spain!<br /> +By Honor I was kindly task’d<br /> + To excuse my never coming down<br /> +From Cambridge; Mary smiled and ask’d<br /> + Were Kant and Goethe yet outgrown?<br /> +And, pleased, we talk’d the old days o’er;<br /> + And, parting, I for pleasure sigh’d.<br /> +To be there as a friend, (since more),<br /> + Seem’d then, seems still, excuse for pride;<br +/> +For something that abode endued<br /> + With temple-like repose, an air<br /> +Of life’s kind purposes pursued<br /> + With order’d freedom sweet and fair.<br /> +A tent pitch’d in a world not right<br /> + It seem’d, whose inmates, every one,<br /> +On tranquil faces bore the light<br /> + Of duties beautifully done,<br /> +And humbly, though they had few peers,<br /> + Kept their own laws, which seem’d to be<br /> +The fair sum of six thousand years’<br /> + Traditions of civility.</p> +<h3><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>CANTO +II.<br /> +Mary And Mildred.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>The Paragon</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> I behold the +skies aloft<br /> + Passing the pageantry of dreams,<br /> +The cloud whose bosom, cygnet-soft,<br /> + A couch for nuptial Juno seems,<br /> +The ocean broad, the mountains bright,<br /> + The shadowy vales with feeding herds,<br /> +I from my lyre the music smite,<br /> + Nor want for justly matching words.<br /> +All forces of the sea and air,<br /> + All interests of hill and plain,<br /> +I so can sing, in seasons fair,<br /> + That who hath felt may feel again.<br /> +Elated oft by such free songs,<br /> + I think with utterance free to raise<br /> +That hymn for which the whole world longs,<br /> + A worthy hymn in woman’s praise;<br /> +<a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>A hymn +bright-noted like a bird’s,<br /> + Arousing these song-sleepy times<br /> +With rhapsodies of perfect words,<br /> + Ruled by returning kiss of rhymes.<br /> +But when I look on her and hope<br /> + To tell with joy what I admire,<br /> +My thoughts lie cramp’d in narrow scope,<br /> + Or in the feeble birth expire;<br /> +No mystery of well-woven speech,<br /> + No simplest phrase of tenderest fall,<br /> +No liken’d excellence can reach<br /> + Her, thee most excellent of all,<br /> +The best half of creation’s best,<br /> + Its heart to feel, its eye to see,<br /> +The crown and complex of the rest,<br /> + Its aim and its epitome.<br /> +Nay, might I utter my conceit,<br /> + ’Twere after all a vulgar song,<br /> +For she’s so simply, subtly sweet,<br /> + My deepest rapture does her wrong.<br /> +Yet is it now my chosen task<br /> + To sing her worth as Maid and Wife;<br /> +Nor happier post than this I ask,<br /> + To live her laureate all my life.<br /> +On wings of love uplifted free,<br /> + And by her gentleness made great,<br /> +I’ll teach how noble man should be<br /> + To match with such a lovely mate;<br /> +<a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>And then +in her may move the more<br /> + The woman’s wish to be desired,<br /> +(By praise increased), till both shall soar,<br /> + With blissful emulations fired.<br /> +And, as geranium, pink, or rose<br /> + Is thrice itself through power of art,<br /> +So may my happy skill disclose<br /> + New fairness even in her fair heart;<br /> +Until that churl shall nowhere be<br /> + Who bends not, awed, before the throne<br /> +Of her affecting majesty,<br /> + So meek, so far unlike our own;<br /> +Until (for who may hope too much<br /> + From her who wields the powers of love?)<br /> +Our lifted lives at last shall touch<br /> + That happy goal to which they move;<br /> +Until we find, as darkness rolls<br /> + Away, and evil mists dissolve,<br /> +That nuptial contrasts are the poles<br /> + On which the heavenly spheres revolve.</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>Love at Large</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Whene’er I come where ladies are,<br /> + How sad soever I was before,<br /> +Though like a ship frost-bound and far<br /> + Withheld in ice from the ocean’s roar,<br /> +<a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>Third-winter’d in that dreadful dock,<br /> + With stiffen’d cordage, sails +decay’d,<br /> +And crew that care for calm and shock<br /> + Alike, too dull to be dismay’d,<br /> +Yet, if I come where ladies are,<br /> + How sad soever I was before,<br /> +Then is my sadness banish’d far,<br /> + And I am like that ship no more;<br /> +Or like that ship if the ice-field splits,<br /> + Burst by the sudden polar Spring,<br /> +And all thank God with their warming wits,<br /> + And kiss each other and dance and sing,<br /> +And hoist fresh sails, that make the breeze<br /> + Blow them along the liquid sea,<br /> +Out of the North, where life did freeze,<br /> + Into the haven where they would be.</p> +<h5>III.<br /> +<i>Love and Duty</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Anne lived so truly from above,<br /> + She was so gentle and so good,<br /> +That duty bade me fall in love,<br /> + And ‘but for that,’ thought I, ‘I +should!’<br /> +I worshipp’d Kate with all my will,<br /> + In idle moods you seem to see<br /> +A noble spirit in a hill,<br /> + A human touch about a tree.</p> +<h5><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>IV.<br +/> +<i>A Distinction</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">The lack of lovely pride, in her<br /> + Who strives to please, my pleasure numbs,<br /> +And still the maid I most prefer<br /> + Whose care to please with pleasing comes.</p> +<h4>MARY AND MILDRED.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">One morning, after Church, I walk’d<br /> + Alone with Mary on the lawn,<br /> +And felt myself, howe’er we talk’d,<br /> + To grave themes delicately drawn.<br /> +When she, delighted, found I knew<br /> + More of her peace than she supposed,<br /> +Our confidences heavenwards grew,<br /> + Like fox-glove buds, in pairs disclosed.<br /> +Our former faults did we confess,<br /> + Our ancient feud was more than heal’d,<br /> +And, with the woman’s eagerness<br /> + For amity full-sign’d and seal’d,<br /> +She, offering up for sacrifice<br /> + Her heart’s reserve, brought out to show<br /> +Some verses, made when she was ice<br /> + To all but Heaven, six years ago;<br /> +<a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>Since +happier grown! I took and read<br /> + The neat-writ lines. She, void of guile,<br /> +Too late repenting, blush’d, and said,<br /> + I must not think about the style.</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘Day after day, until to-day,<br /> + Imaged the others gone before,<br /> +The same dull task, the weary way,<br /> + The weakness pardon’d o’er and +o’er,</p> +<p class="poetry">‘The thwarted thirst, too faintly +felt,<br /> + For joy’s well-nigh forgotten life,<br /> +The restless heart, which, when I knelt,<br /> + Made of my worship barren strife.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Ah, whence to-day’s so sweet +release,<br /> + This clearance light of all my care,<br /> +This conscience free, this fertile peace,<br /> + These softly folded wings of prayer,</p> +<p class="poetry">‘This calm and more than conquering +love,<br /> + With which nought evil dares to cope,<br /> +This joy that lifts no glance above,<br /> + For faith too sure, too sweet for hope?</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O, happy time, too happy change,<br /> + It will not live, though fondly nurst!<br /> +Full soon the sun will seem as strange<br /> + As now the cloud which seems dispersed.’</p> +<h5><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">She from a rose-tree shook the blight;<br /> + And well she knew that I knew well<br /> +Her grace with silence to requite;<br /> + And, answering now the luncheon bell,<br /> +I laugh’d at Mildred’s laugh, which made<br /> + All melancholy wrong, its mood<br /> +Such sweet self-confidence display’d,<br /> + So glad a sense of present good.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">I laugh’d and sigh’d: for I +confess<br /> + I never went to Ball, or Fête,<br /> +Or Show, but in pursuit express<br /> + Of my predestinated mate;<br /> +And thus to me, who had in sight<br /> + The happy chance upon the cards,<br /> +Each beauty blossom’d in the light<br /> + Of tender personal regards;<br /> +And, in the records of my breast,<br /> + Red-letter’d, eminently fair,<br /> +Stood sixteen, who, beyond the rest,<br /> + By turns till then had been my care:<br /> +At Berlin three, one at St. Cloud,<br /> + At Chatteris, near Cambridge, one,<br /> +At Ely four, in London two,<br /> + Two at Bowness, in Paris none,<br /> +<a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>And, last +and best, in Sarum three;<br /> + But dearest of the whole fair troop,<br /> +In judgment of the moment, she<br /> + Whose daisy eyes had learn’d to droop.<br /> +Her very faults my fancy fired;<br /> + My loving will, so thwarted, grew;<br /> +And, bent on worship, I admired<br /> + Whate’er she was, with partial view.<br /> +And yet when, as to-day, her smile<br /> + Was prettiest, I could not but note<br /> +Honoria, less admired the while,<br /> + Was lovelier, though from love remote.</p> +<h3><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>CANTO +III.<br /> +Honoria</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>The Lover</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span> meets, by +heavenly chance express,<br /> + The destined maid; some hidden hand<br /> +Unveils to him that loveliness<br /> + Which others cannot understand.<br /> +His merits in her presence grow,<br /> + To match the promise in her eyes,<br /> +And round her happy footsteps blow<br /> + The authentic airs of Paradise.<br /> +For joy of her he cannot sleep;<br /> + Her beauty haunts him all the night;<br /> +It melts his heart, it makes him weep<br /> + For wonder, worship, and delight.<br /> +O, paradox of love, he longs,<br /> + Most humble when he most aspires,<br /> +To suffer scorn and cruel wrongs<br /> + From her he honours and desires.<br /> +<a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>Her graces +make him rich, and ask<br /> + No guerdon; this imperial style<br /> +Affronts him; he disdains to bask,<br /> + The pensioner of her priceless smile.<br /> +He prays for some hard thing to do,<br /> + Some work of fame and labour immense,<br /> +To stretch the languid bulk and thew<br /> + Of love’s fresh-born magnipotence.<br /> +No smallest boon were bought too dear,<br /> + Though barter’d for his love-sick life;<br /> +Yet trusts he, with undaunted cheer,<br /> + To vanquish heaven, and call her Wife<br /> +He notes how queens of sweetness still<br /> + Neglect their crowns, and stoop to mate;<br /> +How, self-consign’d with lavish will,<br /> + They ask but love proportionate;<br /> +How swift pursuit by small degrees,<br /> + Love’s tactic, works like miracle;<br /> +How valour, clothed in courtesies,<br /> + Brings down the haughtiest citadel;<br /> +And therefore, though he merits not<br /> + To kiss the braid upon her skirt,<br /> +His hope, discouraged ne’er a jot,<br /> + Out-soars all possible desert.</p> +<h5><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>II.<br +/> +<i>Love a Virtue</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Strong passions mean weak will, and he<br /> + Who truly knows the strength and bliss<br /> +Which are in love, will own with me<br /> + No passion but a virtue ’tis.<br /> +Few hear my word; it soars above<br /> + The subtlest senses of the swarm<br /> +Of wretched things which know not love,<br /> + Their Psyche still a wingless worm.<br /> +Ice-cold seems heaven’s noble glow<br /> + To spirits whose vital heat is hell;<br /> +And to corrupt hearts even so<br /> + The songs I sing, the tale I tell.<br /> +These cannot see the robes of white<br /> + In which I sing of love. Alack,<br /> +But darkness shows in heavenly light,<br /> + Though whiteness, in the dark, is black!</p> +<h5>III.<br /> +<i>The Attainment</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">You love? That’s high as you shall +go;<br /> + For ’tis as true as Gospel text,<br /> +Not noble then is never so,<br /> + Either in this world or the next.</p> +<h4><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>HONORIA.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">Grown weary with a week’s exile<br /> + From those fair friends, I rode to see<br /> +The church-restorings; lounged awhile,<br /> + And met the Dean; was ask’d to tea,<br /> +And found their cousin, Frederick Graham<br /> + At Honor’s side. Was I +concern’d,<br /> +If, when she sang, his colour came,<br /> + That mine, as with a buffet, burn’d?<br /> +A man to please a girl! thought I,<br /> + Retorting his forced smiles, the shrouds<br /> +Of wrath, so hid as she was by,<br /> + Sweet moon between her lighted clouds!</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">Whether this Cousin was the cause<br /> + I know not, but I seem’d to see,<br /> +The first time then, how fair she was,<br /> + How much the fairest of the three.<br /> +Each stopp’d to let the other go;<br /> + But, time-bound, he arose the first.<br /> +Stay’d he in Sarum long? If so<br /> + I hoped to see him at the Hurst.<br /> +<a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>No: he had +call’d here, on his way<br /> + To Portsmouth, where the Arrogant,<br /> +His ship, was; he should leave next day,<br /> + For two years’ cruise in the Levant.</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">Had love in her yet struck its germs?<br /> + I watch’d. Her farewell show’d me +plain<br /> +She loved, on the majestic terms<br /> + That she should not be loved again;<br /> +And so her cousin, parting, felt.<br /> + Hope in his voice and eye was dead.<br /> +Compassion did my malice melt;<br /> + Then went I home to a restless bed.<br /> +I, who admired her too, could see<br /> + His infinite remorse at this<br /> +Great mystery, that she should be<br /> + So beautiful, yet not be his,<br /> +And, pitying, long’d to plead his part;<br /> + But scarce could tell, so strange my whim,<br /> +Whether the weight upon my heart<br /> + Was sorrow for myself or him.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">She was all mildness; yet ’twas writ<br +/> + In all her grace, most legibly,<br /> +‘He that’s for heaven itself unfit,<br /> + Let him not hope to merit me.’<br /> +<a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>And such a +challenge, quite apart<br /> + From thoughts of love, humbled, and thus<br /> +To sweet repentance moved my heart,<br /> + And made me more magnanimous,<br /> +And led me to review my life,<br /> + Inquiring where in aught the least,<br /> +If question were of her for wife,<br /> + Ill might be mended, hope increas’d.<br /> +Not that I soar’d so far above<br /> + Myself, as this great hope to dare;<br /> +And yet I well foresaw that love<br /> + Might hope where reason must despair;<br /> +And, half-resenting the sweet pride<br /> + Which would not ask me to admire,<br /> +‘Oh,’ to my secret heart I sigh’d,<br /> + ‘That I were worthy to desire!’</p> +<h5>5</h5> +<p class="poetry">As drowsiness my brain reliev’d,<br /> + A shrill defiance of all to arms,<br /> +Shriek’d by the stable-cock, receiv’d<br /> + An angry answer from three farms.<br /> +And, then, I dream’d that I, her knight,<br /> + A clarion’s haughty pathos heard,<br /> +And rode securely to the fight,<br /> + Cased in the scarf she had conferr’d;<br /> +<a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>And there, +the bristling lists behind,<br /> + Saw many, and vanquish’d all I saw<br /> +Of her unnumber’d cousin-kind,<br /> + In Navy, Army, Church, and Law;<br /> +Smitten, the warriors somehow turn’d<br /> + To Sarum choristers, whose song,<br /> +Mix’d with celestial sorrow, yearn’d<br /> + With joy no memory can prolong;<br /> +And phantasms as absurd and sweet<br /> + Merged each in each in endless chace,<br /> +And everywhere I seem’d to meet<br /> + The haunting fairness of her face.</p> +<h3><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>CANTO +IV.<br /> +The Morning Call.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>The Rose of the World</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lo</span>, when the Lord +made North and South<br /> + And sun and moon ordained, He,<br /> +Forthbringing each by word of mouth<br /> + In order of its dignity,<br /> +Did man from the crude clay express<br /> + By sequence, and, all else decreed,<br /> +He form’d the woman; nor might less<br /> + Than Sabbath such a work succeed.<br /> +And still with favour singled out,<br /> + Marr’d less than man by mortal fall,<br /> +Her disposition is devout,<br /> + Her countenance angelical;<br /> +The best things that the best believe<br /> + Are in her face so kindly writ<br /> +The faithless, seeing her, conceive<br /> + Not only heaven, but hope of it;<br /> +<a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>No idle +thought her instinct shrouds,<br /> + But fancy chequers settled sense,<br /> +Like alteration of the clouds<br /> + On noonday’s azure permanence;<br /> +Pure dignity, composure, ease<br /> + Declare affections nobly fix’d,<br /> +And impulse sprung from due degrees<br /> + Of sense and spirit sweetly mix’d.<br /> +Her modesty, her chiefest grace,<br /> + The cestus clasping Venus’ side,<br /> +How potent to deject the face<br /> + Of him who would affront its pride!<br /> +Wrong dares not in her presence speak,<br /> + Nor spotted thought its taint disclose<br /> +Under the protest of a cheek<br /> + Outbragging Nature’s boast the rose.<br /> +In mind and manners how discreet;<br /> + How artless in her very art;<br /> +How candid in discourse; how sweet<br /> + The concord of her lips and heart;<br /> +How simple and how circumspect;<br /> + How subtle and how fancy-free;<br /> +Though sacred to her love, how deck’d<br /> + With unexclusive courtesy;<br /> +How quick in talk to see from far<br /> + The way to vanquish or evade;<br /> +How able her persuasions are<br /> + To prove, her reasons to persuade;<br /> +<a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>How (not +to call true instinct’s bent<br /> + And woman’s very nature, harm),<br /> +How amiable and innocent<br /> + Her pleasure in her power to charm;<br /> +How humbly careful to attract,<br /> + Though crown’d with all the soul desires,<br +/> +Connubial aptitude exact,<br /> + Diversity that never tires.</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>The Tribute</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Boon Nature to the woman bows;<br /> + She walks in earth’s whole glory clad,<br /> +And, chiefest far herself of shows,<br /> + All others help her, and are glad:<br /> +No splendour ’neath the sky’s proud dome<br /> + But serves for her familiar wear;<br /> +The far-fetch’d diamond finds its home<br /> + Flashing and smouldering in her hair;<br /> +For her the seas their pearls reveal;<br /> + Art and strange lands her pomp supply<br /> +With purple, chrome, and cochineal,<br /> + Ochre, and lapis lazuli;<br /> +The worm its golden woof presents;<br /> + Whatever runs, flies, dives, or delves,<br /> +All doff for her their ornaments,<br /> + Which suit her better than themselves;<br /> +<a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>And all, +by this their power to give,<br /> + Proving her right to take, proclaim<br /> +Her beauty’s clear prerogative<br /> + To profit so by Eden’s blame.</p> +<h5>III.<br /> +<i>Compensation</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">That nothing here may want its praise,<br /> + Know, she who in her dress reveals<br /> +A fine and modest taste, displays<br /> + More loveliness than she conceals.</p> +<h4>THE MORNING CALL.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘By meekness charm’d, or proud to +allow<br /> + A queenly claim to live admired,<br /> +Full many a lady has ere now<br /> + My apprehensive fancy fired,<br /> +And woven many a transient chain;<br /> + But never lady like to this,<br /> +Who holds me as the weather-vane<br /> + Is held by yonder clematis.<br /> +She seems the life of nature’s powers;<br /> + Her beauty is the genial thought<br /> +Which makes the sunshine bright; the flowers,<br /> + But for their hint of her, were nought.’</p> +<h5><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">A voice, the sweeter for the grace<br /> + Of suddenness, while thus I dream’d,<br /> +‘Good morning!’ said or sang. Her face<br /> + The mirror of the morning seem’d.<br /> +Her sisters in the garden walk’d,<br /> + And would I come? Across the Hall<br /> +She led me; and we laugh’d and talk’d,<br /> + And praised the Flower-show and the Ball;<br /> +And Mildred’s pinks had gain’d the Prize;<br /> + And, stepping like the light-foot fawn,<br /> +She brought me ‘Wiltshire Butterflies,’<br /> + The Prize-book; then we paced the lawn,<br /> +Close-cut, and with geranium-plots,<br /> + A rival glow of green and red;<br /> +Than counted sixty apricots<br /> + On one small tree; the gold-fish fed;<br /> +And watch’d where, black with scarlet tans,<br /> + Proud Psyche stood and flash’d like flame,<br +/> +Showing and shutting splendid fans;<br /> + And in the prize we found its name.</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">The sweet hour lapsed, and left my breast<br /> + A load of joy and tender care;<br /> +And this delight, which life oppress’d,<br /> + To fix’d aims grew, that ask’d for +pray’r.<br /> +<a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>I rode +home slowly; whip-in-hand<br /> + And soil’d bank-notes all ready, stood<br /> +The Farmer who farm’d all my land,<br /> + Except the little Park and Wood;<br /> +And with the accustom’d compliment<br /> + Of talk, and beef, and frothing beer,<br /> +I, my own steward, took my rent,<br /> + Three hundred pounds for half the year;<br /> +Our witnesses the Cook and Groom,<br /> + We sign’d the lease for seven years more,<br +/> +And bade Good-day; then to my room<br /> + I went, and closed and lock’d the door,<br /> +And cast myself down on my bed,<br /> + And there, with many a blissful tear,<br /> +I vow’d to love and pray’d to wed<br /> + The maiden who had grown so dear;<br /> +Thank’d God who had set her in my path;<br /> + And promised, as I hoped to win,<br /> +That I would never dim my faith<br /> + By the least selfishness or sin;<br /> +Whatever in her sight I’d seem<br /> + I’d truly be; I’d never blend<br /> +With my delight in her a dream<br /> + ’Twould change her cheek to comprehend;<br /> +And, if she wish’d it, I’d prefer<br /> + Another’s to my own success;<br /> +And always seek the best for her<br /> + With unofficious tenderness.</p> +<h5><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">Rising, I breathed a brighter clime,<br /> + And found myself all self above,<br /> +And, with a charity sublime,<br /> + Contemn’d not those who did not love:<br /> +And I could not but feel that then<br /> + I shone with something of her grace,<br /> +And went forth to my fellow men<br /> + My commendation in my face.</p> +<h3><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>CANTO +V.<br /> +The Violets.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>The Comparison</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Where</span> she succeeds +with cloudless brow,<br /> + In common and in holy course,<br /> +He fails, in spite of prayer and vow<br /> + And agonies of faith and force;<br /> +Or, if his suit with Heaven prevails<br /> + To righteous life, his virtuous deeds<br /> +Lack beauty, virtue’s badge; she fails<br /> + More graciously than he succeeds.<br /> +Her spirit, compact of gentleness,<br /> + If Heaven postpones or grants her pray’r,<br +/> +Conceives no pride in its success,<br /> + And in its failure no despair;<br /> +But his, enamour’d of its hurt,<br /> + Baffled, blasphemes, or, not denied,<br /> +Crows from the dunghill of desert,<br /> + And wags its ugly wings for pride.<br /> +<a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>He’s +never young nor ripe; she grows<br /> + More infantine, auroral, mild,<br /> +And still the more she lives and knows<br /> + The lovelier she’s express’d a child.<br +/> +Say that she wants the will of man<br /> + To conquer fame, not check’d by cross,<br /> +Nor moved when others bless or ban;<br /> + She wants but what to have were loss.<br /> +Or say she wants the patient brain<br /> + To track shy truth; her facile wit<br /> +At that which he hunts down with pain<br /> + Flies straight, and does exactly hit.<br /> +Were she but half of what she is,<br /> + He twice himself, mere love alone,<br /> +Her special crown, as truth is his,<br /> + Gives title to the worthier throne;<br /> +For love is substance, truth the form;<br /> + Truth without love were less than nought;<br /> +But blindest love is sweet and warm,<br /> + And full of truth not shaped by thought,<br /> +And therefore in herself she stands<br /> + Adorn’d with undeficient grace,<br /> +Her happy virtues taking hands,<br /> + Each smiling in another’s face.<br /> +So, dancing round the Tree of Life,<br /> + They make an Eden in her breast,<br /> +While his, disjointed and at strife,<br /> + Proud-thoughted, do not bring him rest.</p> +<h5><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>II.<br +/> +<i>Love in Tears</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">If fate Love’s dear ambition mar,<br /> + And load his breast with hopeless pain,<br /> +And seem to blot out sun and star,<br /> + Love, won or lost, is countless gain;<br /> +His sorrow boasts a secret bliss<br /> + Which sorrow of itself beguiles,<br /> +And Love in tears too noble is<br /> + For pity, save of Love in smiles.<br /> +But, looking backward through his tears,<br /> + With vision of maturer scope,<br /> +How often one dead joy appears<br /> + The platform of some better hope!<br /> +And, let us own, the sharpest smart<br /> + Which human patience may endure<br /> +Pays light for that which leaves the heart<br /> + More generous, dignified, and pure.</p> +<h5>III.<br /> +<i>Prospective Faith</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">They safely walk in darkest ways<br /> + Whose youth is lighted from above,<br /> +Where, through the senses’ silvery haze,<br /> + Dawns the veil’d moon of nuptial love.<br /> +<a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>Who is the +happy husband? He<br /> + Who, scanning his unwedded life,<br /> +Thanks Heaven, with a conscience free,<br /> + ’Twas faithful to his future wife.</p> +<h5>IV.<br /> +<i>Venus Victrix</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Fatal in force, yet gentle in will,<br /> + Defeats, from her, are tender pacts,<br /> +For, like the kindly lodestone, still<br /> + She’s drawn herself by what she attracts.</p> +<h4>THE VIOLETS.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">I went not to the Dean’s unbid:<br /> + I would not have my mystery,<br /> +From her so delicately hid,<br /> + The guess of gossips at their tea.<br /> +A long, long week, and not once there,<br /> + Had made my spirit sick and faint,<br /> +And lack-love, foul as love is fair,<br /> + Perverted all things to complaint.<br /> +<a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>How vain +the world had grown to be!<br /> + How mean all people and their ways,<br /> +How ignorant their sympathy,<br /> + And how impertinent their praise;<br /> +What they for virtuousness esteem’d,<br /> + How far removed from heavenly right;<br /> +What pettiness their trouble seem’d,<br /> + How undelightful their delight;<br /> +To my necessity how strange<br /> + The sunshine and the song of birds;<br /> +How dull the clouds’ continual change,<br /> + How foolishly content the herds;<br /> +How unaccountable the law<br /> + Which bade me sit in blindness here,<br /> +While she, the sun by which I saw,<br /> + Shed splendour in an idle sphere!<br /> +And then I kiss’d her stolen glove,<br /> + And sigh’d to reckon and define<br /> +The modes of martyrdom in love,<br /> + And how far each one might be mine.<br /> +I thought how love, whose vast estate<br /> + Is earth and air and sun and sea,<br /> +Encounters oft the beggar’s fate,<br /> + Despised on score of poverty;<br /> +How Heaven, inscrutable in this,<br /> + Lets the gross general make or mar<br /> +The destiny of love, which is<br /> + So tender and particular;<br /> +<a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>How +nature, as unnatural<br /> + And contradicting nature’s source,<br /> +Which is but love, seems most of all<br /> + Well-pleased to harry true love’s course;<br +/> +How, many times, it comes to pass<br /> + That trifling shades of temperament,<br /> +Affecting only one, alas,<br /> + Not love, but love’s success prevent;<br /> +How manners often falsely paint<br /> + The man; how passionate respect,<br /> +Hid by itself, may bear the taint<br /> + Of coldness and a dull neglect;<br /> +And how a little outward dust<br /> + Can a clear merit quite o’ercloud,<br /> +And make her fatally unjust,<br /> + And him desire a darker shroud;<br /> +How senseless opportunity<br /> + Gives baser men the better chance;<br /> +How powers, adverse else, agree<br /> + To cheat her in her ignorance;<br /> +How Heaven its very self conspires<br /> + With man and nature against love,<br /> +As pleased to couple cross desires,<br /> + And cross where they themselves approve.<br /> +Wretched were life, if the end were now!<br /> + But this gives tears to dry despair,<br /> +Faith shall be blest, we know not how,<br /> + And love fulfill’d, we know not where.</p> +<h5><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">While thus I grieved, and kiss’d her +glove,<br /> + My man brought in her note to say,<br /> +Papa had hid her send his love,<br /> + And would I dine with them next day?<br /> +They had learn’d and practised Purcell’s glee,<br /> + To sing it by to-morrow night.<br /> +The Postscript was: Her sisters and she<br /> + Inclosed some violets, blue and white;<br /> +She and her sisters found them where<br /> + I wager’d once no violets grew;<br /> +So they had won the gloves. And there<br /> + The violets lay, two white, one blue.</p> +<h3><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>CANTO +VI.<br /> +The Dean.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>Perfect Love rare</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Most</span> rare is still +most noble found,<br /> + Most noble still most incomplete;<br /> +Sad law, which leaves King Love uncrown’d<br /> + In this obscure, terrestrial seat!<br /> +With bale more sweet than others’ bliss,<br /> + And bliss more wise than others’ bale,<br /> +The secrets of the world are his.<br /> + And freedom without let or pale.<br /> +O, zealous good, O, virtuous glee,<br /> + Religious, and without alloy,<br /> +O, privilege high, which none but he<br /> + Who highly merits can enjoy;<br /> +O, Love, who art that fabled sun<br /> + Which all the world with bounty loads,<br /> +Without respect of realms, save one,<br /> + And gilds with double lustre Rhodes;<br /> +<a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>A day of +whose delicious life,<br /> + Though full of terrors, full of tears,<br /> +Is better than of other life<br /> + A hundred thousand million years;<br /> +Thy heavenly splendour magnifies<br /> + The least commixture of earth’s mould,<br /> +Cheapens thyself in thine own eyes,<br /> + And makes the foolish mocker bold.</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>Love Justified</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">What if my pole-star of respect<br /> + Be dim to others? Shall their +‘Nay,’<br /> +Presumably their own defect,<br /> + Invalidate my heart’s strong +‘Yea’?<br /> +And can they rightly me condemn,<br /> + If I, with partial love, prefer?<br /> +I am not more unjust to them,<br /> + But only not unjust to her.<br /> +Leave us alone! After awhile,<br /> + This pool of private charity<br /> +Shall make its continent an isle,<br /> + And roll, a world-embracing sea;<br /> +This foolish zeal of lip for lip,<br /> + This fond, self-sanction’d, wilful zest,<br /> +Is that elect relationship<br /> + Which forms and sanctions all the rest;<br /> +<a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>This +little germ of nuptial love,<br /> + Which springs so simply from the sod,<br /> +The root is, as my song shall prove,<br /> + Of all our love to man and God.</p> +<h5>III.<br /> +<i>Love Serviceable</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">What measure Fate to him shall mete<br /> + Is not the noble Lover’s care;<br /> +He’s heart-sick with a longing sweet<br /> + To make her happy as she’s fair.<br /> +Oh, misery, should she him refuse,<br /> + And so her dearest good mistake!<br /> +His own success he thus pursues<br /> + With frantic zeal for her sole sake.<br /> +To lose her were his life to blight,<br /> + Being loss to hers; to make her his,<br /> +Except as helping her delight,<br /> + He calls but incidental bliss;<br /> +And holding life as so much pelf<br /> + To buy her posies, learns this lore:<br /> +He does not rightly love himself<br /> + Who does not love another more.</p> +<h5><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>IV.<br +/> +<i>A Riddle Solved</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Kind souls, you wonder why, love you,<br /> + When you, you wonder why, love none.<br /> +We love, Fool, for the good we do,<br /> + Not that which unto us is done!</p> +<h4>THE DEAN.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">The Ladies rose. I held the door,<br /> + And sigh’d, as her departing grace<br /> +Assured me that she always wore<br /> + A heart as happy as her face;<br /> +And, jealous of the winds that blew,<br /> + I dreaded, o’er the tasteless wine,<br /> +What fortune momently might do<br /> + To hurt the hope that she’d be mine.</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">Towards my mark the Dean’s talk set:<br +/> + He praised my ‘Notes on Abury,’<br /> +Read when the Association met<br /> + At Sarum; he was pleased to see<br /> +<a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>I had not +stopp’d, as some men had,<br /> + At Wrangler and Prize Poet; last,<br /> +He hoped the business was not bad<br /> + I came about: then the wine pass’d.</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">A full glass prefaced my reply:<br /> + I loved his daughter, Honor; I told<br /> +My estate and prospects; might I try<br /> + To win her? At my words so bold<br /> +My sick heart sank. Then he: He gave<br /> + His glad consent, if I could get<br /> +Her love. A dear, good Girl! she’d have<br /> + Only three thousand pounds as yet;<br /> +More bye and bye. Yes, his good will<br /> + Should go with me; he would not stir;<br /> +He and my father in old time still<br /> + Wish’d I should one day marry her;<br /> +But God so seldom lets us take<br /> + Our chosen pathway, when it lies<br /> +In steps that either mar or make<br /> + Or alter others’ destinies,<br /> +That, though his blessing and his pray’r<br /> + Had help’d, should help, my suit, yet he<br /> +Left all to me, his passive share<br /> + Consent and opportunity.<br /> +<a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>My chance, +he hoped, was good: I’d won<br /> + Some name already; friends and place<br /> +Appear’d within my reach, but none<br /> + Her mind and manners would not grace.<br /> +Girls love to see the men in whom<br /> + They invest their vanities admired;<br /> +Besides, where goodness is, there room<br /> + For good to work will be desired.<br /> +’Twas so with one now pass’d away;<br /> + And what she was at twenty-two,<br /> +Honor was now; and he might say<br /> + Mine was a choice I could not rue.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">He ceased, and gave his hand. He had +won<br /> + (And all my heart was in my word),<br /> +From me the affection of a son,<br /> + Whichever fortune Heaven conferr’d!<br /> +Well, well, would I take more wine? Then go<br /> + To her; she makes tea on the lawn<br /> +These fine warm afternoons. And so<br /> + We went whither my soul was drawn;<br /> +And her light-hearted ignorance<br /> + Of interest in our discourse<br /> +Fill’d me with love, and seem’d to enhance<br /> + Her beauty with pathetic force,<br /> +<a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>As, +through the flowery mazes sweet,<br /> + Fronting the wind that flutter’d blythe,<br /> +And loved her shape, and kiss’d her feet,<br /> + Shown to their insteps proud and lithe,<br /> +She approach’d, all mildness and young trust,<br /> + And ever her chaste and noble air<br /> +Gave to love’s feast its choicest gust,<br /> + A vague, faint augury of despair.</p> +<h3><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>CANTO +VII.<br /> +Ætna and the Moon.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>Love’s Immortality</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">How vilely ’twere to misdeserve<br /> + The poet’s gift of perfect speech,<br /> +In song to try, with trembling nerve,<br /> + The limit of its utmost reach,<br /> +Only to sound the wretched praise<br /> + Of what to-morrow shall not be;<br /> +So mocking with immortal bays<br /> + The cross-bones of mortality!<br /> +I do not thus. My faith is fast<br /> + That all the loveliness I sing<br /> +Is made to bear the mortal blast,<br /> + And blossom in a better Spring.<br /> +Doubts of eternity ne’er cross<br /> + The Lover’s mind, divinely clear;<br /> +<i>For ever</i> is the gain or loss<br /> + Which maddens him with hope or fear:<br /> +<a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>So trifles +serve for his relief,<br /> + And trifles make him sick and pale;<br /> +And yet his pleasure and his grief<br /> + Are both on a majestic scale.<br /> +The chance, indefinitely small,<br /> + Of issue infinitely great,<br /> +Eclipses finite interests all,<br /> + And has the dignity of fate.</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>Heaven and Earth</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">How long shall men deny the flower<br /> + Because its roots are in the earth,<br /> +And crave with tears from God the dower<br /> + They have, and have despised as dearth,<br /> +And scorn as low their human lot,<br /> + With frantic pride, too blind to see<br /> +That standing on the head makes not<br /> + Either for ease or dignity!<br /> +But fools shall feel like fools to find<br /> + (Too late inform’d) that angels’ +mirth<br /> +Is one in cause, and mode, and kind<br /> + With that which they profaned on earth.</p> +<h4><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>ÆTNA AND THE MOON.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">To soothe my heart I, feigning, seized<br /> + A pen, and, showering tears, declared<br /> +My unfeign’d passion; sadly pleased<br /> + Only to dream that so I dared.<br /> +Thus was the fervid truth confess’d,<br /> + But wild with paradox ran the plea.<br /> +As wilfully in hope depress’d,<br /> + Yet bold beyond hope’s warranty:</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘O, more than dear, be more than just,<br +/> + And do not deafly shut the door!<br /> +I claim no right to speak; I trust<br /> + Mercy, not right; yet who has more?<br /> +For, if more love makes not more fit,<br /> + Of claimants here none’s more nor less,<br /> +Since your great worth does not permit<br /> + Degrees in our unworthiness.<br /> +Yet, if there’s aught that can be done<br /> + With arduous labour of long years,<br /> +By which you’ll say that you’ll be won,<br /> + O tell me, and I’ll dry my tears.<br /> +Ah, no; if loving cannot move,<br /> + How foolishly must labour fail!<br /> +The use of deeds is to show love;<br /> + If signs suffice let these avail:<br /> +<a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 63</span>Your name +pronounced brings to my heart<br /> + A feeling like the violet’s breath,<br /> +Which does so much of heaven impart<br /> + It makes me amorous of death;<br /> +The winds that in the garden toss<br /> + The Guelder-roses give me pain,<br /> +Alarm me with the dread of loss,<br /> + Exhaust me with the dream of gain;<br /> +I’m troubled by the clouds that move;<br /> + Tired by the breath which I respire;<br /> +And ever, like a torch, my love,<br /> + Thus agitated, flames the higher;<br /> +All’s hard that has not you for goal;<br /> + I scarce can move my hand to write,<br /> +For love engages all my soul,<br /> + And leaves the body void of might;<br /> +The wings of will spread idly, as do<br /> + The bird’s that in a vacuum lies;<br /> +My breast, asleep with dreams of you,<br /> + Forgets to breathe, and bursts in sighs;<br /> +I see no rest this side the grave,<br /> + No rest nor hope, from you apart;<br /> +Your life is in the rose you gave,<br /> + Its perfume suffocates my heart;<br /> +There’s no refreshment in the breeze;<br /> + The heaven o’erwhelms me with its blue;<br /> +I faint beside the dancing seas;<br /> + Winds, skies, and waves are only you;<br /> +<a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>The +thought or act which not intends<br /> + You service seems a sin and shame;<br /> +In that one only object ends<br /> + Conscience, religion, honour, fame.<br /> +Ah, could I put off love! Could we<br /> + Never have met! What calm, what ease!<br /> +Nay, but, alas, this remedy<br /> + Were ten times worse than the disease!<br /> +For when, indifferent, I pursue<br /> + The world’s best pleasures for relief,<br /> +My heart, still sickening back to you,<br /> + Finds none like memory of its grief;<br /> +And, though ’twere very hell to hear<br /> + You felt such misery as I,<br /> +All good, save you, were far less dear!<br /> + Than is that ill with which I die<br /> +Where’er I go, wandering forlorn,<br /> + You are the world’s love, life, and glee:<br +/> +Oh, wretchedness not to be borne<br /> + If she that’s Love should not love +me!’</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">I could not write another word,<br /> + Through pity for my own distress;<br /> +And forth I went, untimely stirr’d<br /> + To make my misery more or less.<br /> +<a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>I went, +beneath the heated noon,<br /> + To where, in her simplicity,<br /> +She sate at work; and, as the Moon<br /> + On Ætna smiles, she smiled on me.<br /> +But, now and then, in cheek and eyes,<br /> + I saw, or fancied, such a glow<br /> +As when, in summer-evening skies,<br /> + Some say, ‘It lightens,’ some say, +‘No.’<br /> +‘Honoria,’ I began—No more.<br /> + The Dean, by ill or happy hap,<br /> +Came home; and Wolf burst in before,<br /> + And put his nose upon her lap.</p> +<h3><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>CANTO +VIII.<br /> +Sarum Plain.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>Life of Life</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What’s</span> that, +which, ere I spake, was gone?<br /> + So joyful and intense a spark<br /> +That, whilst o’erhead the wonder shone,<br /> + The day, before but dull, grew dark.<br /> +I do not know; but this I know,<br /> + That, had the splendour lived a year,<br /> +The truth that I some heavenly show<br /> + Did see, could not be now more clear.<br /> +This know I too: might mortal breath<br /> + Express the passion then inspired,<br /> +Evil would die a natural death,<br /> + And nothing transient be desired;<br /> +And error from the soul would pass,<br /> + And leave the senses pure and strong<br /> +As sunbeams. But the best, alas,<br /> + Has neither memory nor tongue!</p> +<h5><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>II.<br +/> +<i>The Revelation</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">An idle poet, here and there,<br /> + Looks round him; but, for all the rest,<br /> +The world, unfathomably fair,<br /> + Is duller than a witling’s jest.<br /> +Love wakes men, once a lifetime each;<br /> + They lift their heavy lids, and look;<br /> +And, lo, what one sweet page can teach,<br /> + They read with joy, then shut the book.<br /> +And some give thanks, and some blaspheme,<br /> + And most forget; but, either way,<br /> +That and the Child’s unheeded dream<br /> + Is all the light of all their day.</p> +<h5>III.<br /> +<i>The Spirit’s Epochs</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Not in the crises of events,<br /> + Of compass’d hopes, or fears +fulfill’d,<br /> +Or acts of gravest consequence,<br /> + Are life’s delight and depth +reveal’d.<br /> +The day of days was not the day;<br /> + That went before, or was postponed;<br /> +The night Death took our lamp away<br /> + Was not the night on which we groan’d.<br /> +<a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>I drew my +bride, beneath the moon,<br /> + Across my threshold; happy hour!<br /> +But, ah, the walk that afternoon<br /> + We saw the water-flags in flower!</p> +<h5>IV.<br /> +<i>The Prototype</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Lo, there, whence love, life, light are +pour’d,<br /> + Veil’d with impenetrable rays,<br /> +Amidst the presence of the Lord<br /> + Co-equal Wisdom laughs and plays.<br /> +Female and male God made the man;<br /> + His image is the whole, not half;<br /> +And in our love we dimly scan<br /> + The love which is between Himself.</p> +<h5>V.<br /> +<i>The Praise of Love</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Spirit of Knowledge, grant me this:<br /> + A simple heart and subtle wit<br /> +To praise the thing whose praise it is<br /> + That all which can be praised is it.</p> +<h4><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>SARUM +PLAIN.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">Breakfast enjoy’d, ’mid hush of +boughs<br /> + And perfumes thro’ the windows blown;<br /> +Brief worship done, which still endows<br /> + The day with beauty not its own;<br /> +With intervening pause, that paints<br /> + Each act with honour, life with calm<br /> +(As old processions of the Saints<br /> + At every step have wands of palm),<br /> +We rose; the ladies went to dress,<br /> + And soon return’d with smiles; and then,<br /> +Plans fix’d, to which the Dean said ‘Yes,’<br +/> + Once more we drove to Salisbury Plain.<br /> +We past my house (observed with praise<br /> + By Mildred, Mary acquiesced),<br /> +And left the old and lazy greys<br /> + Below the hill, and walk’d the rest.</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">The moods of love are like the wind,<br /> + And none knows whence or why they rise:<br /> +I ne’er before felt heart and mind<br /> + So much affected through mine eyes.<br /> +<a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>How +cognate with the flatter’d air,<br /> + How form’d for earth’s familiar zone,<br +/> +She moved; how feeling and how fair<br /> + For others’ pleasure and her own!<br /> +And, ah, the heaven of her face!<br /> + How, when she laugh’d, I seem’d to +see<br /> +The gladness of the primal grace,<br /> + And how, when grave, its dignity!<br /> +Of all she was, the least not less<br /> + Delighted the devoted eye;<br /> +No fold or fashion of her dress<br /> + Her fairness did not sanctify.<br /> +I could not else than grieve. What cause?<br /> + Was I not blest? Was she not there?<br /> +Likely my own? Ah, that it was:<br /> + How like seem’d ‘likely’ to +despair!</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">And yet to see her so benign,<br /> + So honourable and womanly,<br /> +In every maiden kindness mine,<br /> + And full of gayest courtesy,<br /> +Was pleasure so without alloy,<br /> + Such unreproved, sufficient bliss,<br /> +I almost wish’d, the while, that joy<br /> + Might never further go than this.<br /> +<a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>So much it +was as now to walk,<br /> + And humbly by her gentle side<br /> +Observe her smile and hear her talk,<br /> + Could it be more to call her Bride?<br /> +I feign’d her won: the mind finite,<br /> + Puzzled and fagg’d by stress and strain<br /> +To comprehend the whole delight,<br /> + Made bliss more hard to bear than pain.<br /> +All good, save heart to hold, so summ’d<br /> + And grasp’d, the thought smote, like a +knife,<br /> +How laps’d mortality had numb’d<br /> + The feelings to the feast of life;<br /> +How passing good breathes sweetest breath;<br /> + And love itself at highest reveals<br /> +More black than bright, commending death<br /> + By teaching how much life conceals.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">But happier passions these subdued,<br /> + When from the close and sultry lane,<br /> +With eyes made bright by what they view’d,<br /> + We emerged upon the mounded Plain.<br /> +As to the breeze a flag unfurls,<br /> + My spirit expanded, sweetly embraced<br /> +By those same gusts that shook her curls<br /> + And vex’d the ribbon at her waist.<br /> +<a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>To the +future cast I future cares;<br /> + Breathed with a heart unfreighted, free,<br /> +And laugh’d at the presumptuous airs<br /> + That with her muslins folded me;<br /> +Till, one vague rack along my sky,<br /> + The thought that she might ne’er be mine<br /> +Lay half forgotten by the eye<br /> + So feasted with the sun’s warm shine.</p> +<h5>5</h5> +<p class="poetry">By the great stones we chose our ground<br /> + For shade; and there, in converse sweet,<br /> +Took luncheon. On a little mound<br /> + Sat the three ladies; at their feet<br /> +I sat; and smelt the heathy smell,<br /> + Pluck’d harebells, turn’d the +telescope<br /> +To the country round. My life went well,<br /> + For once, without the wheels of hope;<br /> +And I despised the Druid rocks<br /> + That scowl’d their chill gloom from above,<br +/> +Like churls whose stolid wisdom mocks<br /> + The lightness of immortal love.<br /> +And, as we talk’d, my spirit quaff’d<br /> + The sparkling winds; the candid skies<br /> +At our untruthful strangeness laugh’d;<br /> + I kiss’d with mine her smiling eyes;<br /> +<a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>And sweet +familiarness and awe<br /> + Prevail’d that hour on either part,<br /> +And in the eternal light I saw<br /> + That she was mine; though yet my heart<br /> +Could not conceive, nor would confess<br /> + Such contentation; and there grew<br /> +More form and more fair stateliness<br /> + Than heretofore between us two.</p> +<h3><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>CANTO +IX.<br /> +Sahara.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>The Wife’s Tragedy</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Man</span> must be pleased; +but him to please<br /> + Is woman’s pleasure; down the gulf<br /> +Of his condoled necessities<br /> + She casts her best, she flings herself.<br /> +How often flings for nought, and yokes<br /> + Her heart to an icicle or whim,<br /> +Whose each impatient word provokes<br /> + Another, not from her, but him;<br /> +While she, too gentle even to force<br /> + His penitence by kind replies,<br /> +Waits by, expecting his remorse,<br /> + With pardon in her pitying eyes;<br /> +And if he once, by shame oppress’d,<br /> + A comfortable word confers,<br /> +She leans and weeps against his breast,<br /> + And seems to think the sin was hers;<br /> +<a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>And whilst +his love has any life,<br /> + Or any eye to see her charms,<br /> +At any time, she’s still his wife,<br /> + Dearly devoted to his arms;<br /> +She loves with love that cannot tire;<br /> + And when, ah woe, she loves alone,<br /> +Through passionate duty love springs higher,<br /> + As grass grows taller round a stone.</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>Common Graces</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Is nature in thee too spiritless,<br /> + Ignoble, impotent, and dead,<br /> +To prize her love and loveliness<br /> + The more for being thy daily bread?<br /> +And art thou one of that vile crew<br /> + Which see no splendour in the sun,<br /> +Praising alone the good that’s new,<br /> + Or over, or not yet begun?<br /> +And has it dawn’d on thy dull wits<br /> + That love warms many as soft a nest,<br /> +That, though swathed round with benefits,<br /> + Thou art not singularly blest?<br /> +And fail thy thanks for gifts divine,<br /> + The common food of many a heart,<br /> +Because they are not only thine?<br /> + Beware lest in the end thou art<br /> +<a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>Cast for +thy pride forth from the fold,<br /> + Too good to feel the common grace<br /> +Of blissful myriads who behold<br /> + For evermore the Father’s face.</p> +<h5>III.<br /> +<i>The Zest of Life</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Give thanks. It is not time misspent;<br +/> + Worst fare this betters, and the best,<br /> +Wanting this natural condiment,<br /> + Breeds crudeness, and will not digest.<br /> +The grateful love the Giver’s law;<br /> + But those who eat, and look no higher,<br /> +From sin or doubtful sanction draw<br /> + The biting sauce their feasts require.<br /> +Give thanks for nought, if you’ve no more,<br /> + And, having all things, do not doubt<br /> +That nought, with thanks, is blest before<br /> + Whate’er the world can give, without.</p> +<h5>IV.<br /> +<i>Fool and Wise</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Endow the fool with sun and moon,<br /> + Being his, he holds them mean and low,<br /> +But to the wise a little boon<br /> + Is great, because the giver’s so.</p> +<h4><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +77</span>SAHARA.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">I stood by Honor and the Dean,<br /> + They seated in the London train.<br /> +A month from her! yet this had been,<br /> + Ere now, without such bitter pain.<br /> +But neighbourhood makes parting light,<br /> + And distance remedy has none;<br /> +Alone, she near, I felt as might<br /> + A blind man sitting in the sun;<br /> +She near, all for the time was well;<br /> + Hope’s self, when we were far apart,<br /> +With lonely feeling, like the smell<br /> + Of heath on mountains, fill’d my heart.<br /> +To see her seem’d delight’s full scope,<br /> + And her kind smile, so clear of care,<br /> +Ev’n then, though darkening all my hope,<br /> + Gilded the cloud of my despair.</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">She had forgot to bring a book.<br /> + I lent one; blamed the print for old;<br /> +And did not tell her that she took<br /> + A Petrarch worth its weight in gold.<br /> +<a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>I hoped +she’d lose it; for my love<br /> + Was grown so dainty, high, and nice,<br /> +It prized no luxury above<br /> + The sense of fruitless sacrifice.</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">The bell rang, and, with shrieks like death,<br +/> + Link catching link, the long array,<br /> +With ponderous pulse and fiery breath,<br /> + Proud of its burthen, swept away;<br /> +And through the lingering crowd I broke,<br /> + Sought the hill-side, and thence, heart-sick,<br /> +Beheld, far off, the little smoke<br /> + Along the landscape kindling quick.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">What should I do, where should I go,<br /> + Now she was gone, my love! for mine<br /> +She was, whatever here below<br /> + Cross’d or usurp’d my right divine.<br +/> +Life, without her, was vain and gross,<br /> + The glory from the world was gone,<br /> +And on the gardens of the Close<br /> + As on Sahara shone the sun.<br /> +Oppress’d with her departed grace,<br /> + My thoughts on ill surmises fed;<br /> +The harmful influence of the place<br /> + She went to fill’d my soul with dread.<br /> +<a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>She, +mixing with the people there,<br /> + Might come back alter’d, having caught<br /> +The foolish, fashionable air<br /> + Of knowing all, and feeling nought.<br /> +Or, giddy with her beauty’s praise,<br /> + She’d scorn our simple country life,<br /> +Its wholesome nights and tranquil days.<br /> + And would not deign to be my Wife.<br /> +‘My Wife,’ ‘my Wife,’ ah, tenderest +word!<br /> + How oft, as fearful she might hear,<br /> +Whispering that name of ‘Wife,’ I heard<br /> + The chiming of the inmost sphere.</p> +<h5>5</h5> +<p class="poetry">I pass’d the home of my regret.<br /> + The clock was striking in the hall,<br /> +And one sad window open yet,<br /> + Although the dews began to fall.<br /> +Ah, distance show’d her beauty’s scope!<br /> + How light of heart and innocent<br /> +That loveliness which sicken’d hope<br /> + And wore the world for ornament!<br /> +How perfectly her life was framed;<br /> + And, thought of in that passionate mood,<br /> +How her affecting graces shamed<br /> + The vulgar life that was but good!</p> +<h5><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 80</span>6</h5> +<p class="poetry">I wonder’d, would her bird be fed,<br /> + Her rose-plots water’d, she not by;<br /> +Loading my breast with angry dread<br /> + Of light, unlikely injury.<br /> +So, fill’d with love and fond remorse,<br /> + I paced the Close, its every part<br /> +Endow’d with reliquary force<br /> + To heal and raise from death my heart.<br /> +How tranquil and unsecular<br /> + The precinct! Once, through yonder gate,<br /> +I saw her go, and knew from far<br /> + Her love-lit form and gentle state.<br /> +Her dress had brush’d this wicket; here<br /> + She turn’d her face, and laugh’d, with +light<br /> +Like moonbeams on a wavering mere.<br /> + Weary beforehand of the night,<br /> +I went; the blackbird, in the wood<br /> + Talk’d by himself, and eastward grew<br /> +In heaven the symbol of my mood,<br /> + Where one bright star engross’d the blue.</p> +<h3><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>CANTO +X.<br /> +Church to Church.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>The Joyful Wisdom</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Would</span> Wisdom for +herself be woo’d,<br /> + And wake the foolish from his dream,<br /> +She must be glad as well as good,<br /> + And must not only be, but seem.<br /> +Beauty and joy are hers by right;<br /> + And, knowing this, I wonder less<br /> +That she’s so scorn’d, when falsely dight<br /> + In misery and ugliness.<br /> +What’s that which Heaven to man endears,<br /> + And that which eyes no sooner see<br /> +Than the heart says, with floods of tears,<br /> + ‘Ah, that’s the thing which I would +be!’<br /> +Not childhood, full of frown and fret;<br /> + Not youth, impatient to disown<br /> +Those visions high, which to forget<br /> + Were worse than never to have known;<br /> +<a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>Not +worldlings, in whose fair outside<br /> + Nor courtesy nor justice fails,<br /> +Thanks to cross-pulling vices tied,<br /> + Like Samson’s foxes, by the tails;<br /> +Not poets; real things are dreams,<br /> + When dreams are as realities,<br /> +And boasters of celestial gleams<br /> + Go stumbling aye for want of eyes;<br /> +Not patriots or people’s men,<br /> + In whom two worse-match’d evils meet<br /> +Than ever sought Adullam’s den,<br /> + Base conscience and a high conceit;<br /> +Not new-made saints, their feelings iced,<br /> + Their joy in man and nature gone,<br /> +Who sing ‘O easy yoke of Christ!’<br /> + But find ’tis hard to get it on;<br /> +Not great men, even when they’re good;<br /> + The good man whom the time makes great,<br /> +By some disgrace of chance or blood,<br /> + God fails not to humiliate;<br /> +Not these: but souls, found here and there,<br /> + Oases in our waste of sin,<br /> +Where everything is well and fair,<br /> + And Heav’n remits its discipline;<br /> +Whose sweet subdual of the world<br /> + The worldling scarce can recognise,<br /> +And ridicule, against it hurl’d,<br /> + Drops with a broken sting and dies;<br /> +<a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>Who nobly, +if they cannot know<br /> + Whether a ’scutcheon’s dubious field<br +/> +Carries a falcon or a crow,<br /> + Fancy a falcon on the shield;<br /> +Yet, ever careful not to hurt<br /> + God’s honour, who creates success,<br /> +Their praise of even the best desert<br /> + Is but to have presumed no less;<br /> +Who, should their own life plaudits bring,<br /> + Are simply vex’d at heart that such<br /> +An easy, yea, delightful thing<br /> + Should move the minds of men so much.<br /> +They live by law, not like the fool,<br /> + But like the bard, who freely sings<br /> +In strictest bonds of rhyme and rule,<br /> + And finds in them, not bonds, but wings.<br /> +Postponing still their private ease<br /> + To courtly custom, appetite,<br /> +Subjected to observances,<br /> + To banquet goes with full delight;<br /> +Nay, continence and gratitude<br /> + So cleanse their lives from earth’s alloy,<br +/> +They taste, in Nature’s common food,<br /> + Nothing but spiritual joy.<br /> +They shine like Moses in the face,<br /> + And teach our hearts, without the rod,<br /> +That God’s grace is the only grace,<br /> + And all grace is the grace of God.</p> +<h5><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>II.<br +/> +<i>The Devices</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Love, kiss’d by Wisdom, wakes twice +Love,<br /> + And Wisdom is, thro’ loving, wise.<br /> +Let Dove and Snake, and Snake and Dove,<br /> + This Wisdom’s be, that Love’s +device.</p> +<h4>GOING TO CHURCH.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">I woke at three; for I was bid<br /> + To breakfast with the Dean at nine,<br /> +And thence to Church. My curtain slid,<br /> + I found the dawning Sunday fine,<br /> +And could not rest, so rose. The air<br /> + Was dark and sharp; the roosted birds<br /> +Cheep’d, ‘Here am I, Sweet; are you there?’<br +/> + On Avon’s misty flats the herds<br /> +Expected, comfortless, the day,<br /> + Which slowly fired the clouds above;<br /> +The cock scream’d, somewhere far away;<br /> + In sleep the matrimonial dove<br /> +Was crooning; no wind waked the wood,<br /> + Nor moved the midnight river-damps,<br /> +Nor thrill’d the poplar; quiet stood<br /> + The chestnut with its thousand lamps;<br /> +<a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>The moon +shone yet, but weak and drear,<br /> + And seem’d to watch, with bated breath,<br /> +The landscape, all made sharp and clear<br /> + By stillness, as a face by death.</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">My pray’rs for her being done, I took<br +/> + Occasion by the quiet hour<br /> +To find and know, by Rule and Book,<br /> + The rights of love’s beloved power.</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">Fronting the question without ruth,<br /> + Nor ignorant that, evermore,<br /> +If men will stoop to kiss the Truth,<br /> + She lifts them higher than before,<br /> +I, from above, such light required<br /> + As now should once for all destroy<br /> +The folly which at times desired<br /> + A sanction for so great a joy.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">Thenceforth, and through that pray’r, I +trod<br /> + A path with no suspicions dim.<br /> +I loved her in the name of God,<br /> + And for the ray she was of Him;<br /> +<a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>I ought to +admire much more, not less<br /> + Her beauty was a godly grace;<br /> +The mystery of loveliness,<br /> + Which made an altar of her face,<br /> +Was not of the flesh, though that was fair,<br /> + But a most pure and living light<br /> +Without a name, by which the rare<br /> + And virtuous spirit flamed to sight.<br /> +If oft, in love, effect lack’d cause<br /> + And cause effect, ’twere vain to soar<br /> +Reasons to seek for that which was<br /> + Reason itself, or something more.<br /> +My joy was no idolatry<br /> + Upon the ends of the vile earth bent,<br /> +For when I loved her most then I<br /> + Most yearn’d for more divine content.<br /> +That other doubt, which, like a ghost,<br /> + In the brain’s darkness haunted me,<br /> +Was thus resolved: Him loved I most,<br /> + But her I loved most sensibly.<br /> +Lastly, my giddiest hope allow’d<br /> + No selfish thought, or earthly smirch;<br /> +And forth I went, in peace, and proud<br /> + To take my passion into Church;<br /> +Grateful and glad to think that all<br /> + Such doubts would seem entirely vain<br /> +To her whose nature’s lighter fall<br /> + Made no divorce of heart from brain.</p> +<h5><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>5</h5> +<p class="poetry">I found them, with exactest grace<br /> + And fresh as Spring, for Spring attired;<br /> +And by the radiance in her face<br /> + I saw she felt she was admired;<br /> +And, through the common luck of love,<br /> + A moment’s fortunate delay,<br /> +To fit the little lilac glove,<br /> + Gave me her arm; and I and they<br /> +(They true to this and every hour,<br /> + As if attended on by Time),<br /> +Enter’d the Church while yet the tower<br /> + Was noisy with the finish’d chime.</p> +<h5>6</h5> +<p class="poetry">Her soft voice, singularly heard<br /> + Beside me, in her chant, withstood<br /> +The roar of voices, like a bird<br /> + Sole warbling in a windy wood;<br /> +And, when we knelt, she seem’d to be<br /> + An angel teaching me to pray;<br /> +And all through the high Liturgy<br /> + My spirit rejoiced without allay,<br /> +Being, for once, borne clearly above<br /> + All banks and bars of ignorance,<br /> +By this bright spring-tide of pure love,<br /> + And floated in a free expanse,<br /> +<a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>Whence it +could see from side to side,<br /> + The obscurity from every part<br /> +Winnow’d away and purified<br /> + By the vibrations of my heart.</p> +<h3><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>CANTO +XI.<br /> +The Dance.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>The Daughter of Eve</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> woman’s +gentle mood o’erstept<br /> + Withers my love, that lightly scans<br /> +The rest, and does in her accept<br /> + All her own faults, but none of man’s.<br /> +As man I cannot judge her ill,<br /> + Or honour her fair station less,<br /> +Who, with a woman’s errors, still<br /> + Preserves a woman’s gentleness;<br /> +For thus I think, if one I see<br /> + Who disappoints my high desire,<br /> +‘How admirable would she be,<br /> + Could she but know how I admire!’<br /> +Or fail she, though from blemish clear,<br /> + To charm, I call it my defect;<br /> +And so my thought, with reverent fear<br /> + To err by doltish disrespect,<br /> +<a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>Imputes +love’s great regard, and says,<br /> + ‘Though unapparent ’tis to me,<br /> +Be sure this Queen some other sways<br /> + With well-perceiv’d supremacy.’<br /> +Behold the worst! Light from above<br /> + On the blank ruin writes ‘Forbear!<br /> +Her first crime was unguarded love,<br /> + And all the rest, perhaps, despair.’<br /> +Discrown’d, dejected, but not lost,<br /> + O, sad one, with no more a name<br /> +Or place in all the honour’d host<br /> + Of maiden and of matron fame,<br /> +Grieve on; but, if thou grievest right,<br /> + ’Tis not that these abhor thy state,<br /> +Nor would’st thou lower the least the height<br /> + Which makes thy casting down so great.<br /> +Good is thy lot in its degree;<br /> + For hearts that verily repent<br /> +Are burden’d with impunity<br /> + And comforted by chastisement.<br /> +Sweet patience sanctify thy woes!<br /> + And doubt not but our God is just,<br /> +Albeit unscathed thy traitor goes,<br /> + And thou art stricken to the dust.<br /> +That penalty’s the best to bear<br /> + Which follows soonest on the sin;<br /> +And guilt’s a game where losers fare<br /> + Better than those who seem to win.</p> +<h5><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>II.<br +/> +<i>Aurea Dicta</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">’Tis truth (although this truth’s a +star<br /> + Too deep-enskied for all to see),<br /> +As poets of grammar, lovers are<br /> + The fountains of morality.</p> +<p class="poetry">Child, would you shun the vulgar doom,<br /> + In love disgust, in death despair?<br /> +Know, death must come and love must come,<br /> + And so for each your soul prepare.</p> +<p class="poetry">Who pleasure follows pleasure slays;<br /> + God’s wrath upon himself he wreaks;<br /> +But all delights rejoice his days<br /> + Who takes with thanks, and never seeks.</p> +<p class="poetry">The wrong is made and measured by<br /> + The right’s inverted dignity.<br /> +Change love to shame, as love is high<br /> + So low in hell your bed shall be.</p> +<p class="poetry">How easy to keep free from sin!<br /> + How hard that freedom to recall!<br /> +For dreadful truth it is that men<br /> + Forget the heavens from which they fall.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +92</span>Lest sacred love your soul ensnare,<br /> + With pious fancy still infer<br /> +‘How loving and how lovely fair<br /> + Must He be who has fashion’d her!’</p> +<p class="poetry">Become whatever good you see,<br /> + Nor sigh if, forthwith, fades from view<br /> +The grace of which you may not be<br /> + The subject and spectator too.</p> +<p class="poetry">Love’s perfect blossom only blows<br /> + Where noble manners veil defect<br /> +Angels maybe familiar; those<br /> + Who err each other must respect.</p> +<p class="poetry">Love blabb’d of is a great decline;<br /> + A careless word unsanctions sense;<br /> +But he who casts Heaven’s truth to swine<br /> + Consummates all incontinence.</p> +<p class="poetry">Not to unveil before the gaze<br /> + Of an imperfect sympathy<br /> +In aught we are, is the sweet praise<br /> + And the main sum of modesty.</p> +<h4><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>THE +DANCE.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘My memory of Heaven awakes!<br /> + She’s not of the earth, although her light,<br +/> +As lantern’d by her body, makes<br /> + A piece of it past bearing bright.<br /> +So innocently proud and fair<br /> + She is, that Wisdom sings for glee<br /> +And Folly dies, breathing one air<br /> + With such a bright-cheek’d chastity;<br /> +And though her charms are a strong law<br /> + Compelling all men to admire,<br /> +They go so clad with lovely awe<br /> + None but the noble dares desire.<br /> +He who would seek to make her his<br /> + Will comprehend that souls of grace<br /> +Own sweet repulsion, and that ’tis<br /> + The quality of their embrace<br /> +To be like the majestic reach<br /> + Of coupled suns, that, from afar,<br /> +Mingle their mutual spheres, while each<br /> + Circles the twin obsequious star;<br /> +And, in the warmth of hand to hand,<br /> + Of heart to heart, he’ll vow to note<br /> +And reverently understand<br /> + How the two spirits shine remote;<br /> +<a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>And +ne’er to numb fine honour’s nerve,<br /> + Nor let sweet awe in passion melt,<br /> +Nor fail by courtesies to observe<br /> + The space which makes attraction felt;<br /> +Nor cease to guard like life the sense<br /> + Which tells him that the embrace of love<br /> +Is o’er a gulf of difference<br /> + Love cannot sound, nor death remove.’</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">This learn’d I, watching where she +danced,<br /> + Native to melody and light,<br /> +And now and then toward me glanced,<br /> + Pleased, as I hoped, to please my sight.</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">Ah, love to speak was impotent,<br /> + Till music did a tongue confer,<br /> +And I ne’er knew what music meant,<br /> + Until I danced to it with her.<br /> +Too proud of the sustaining power<br /> + Of my, till then, unblemish’d joy.<br /> +My passion, for reproof, that hour<br /> + Tasted mortality’s alloy,<br /> +And bore me down an eddying gulf;<br /> + I wish’d the world might run to wreck,<br /> +So I but once might fling myself<br /> + Obliviously about her neck.<br /> +<a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>I +press’d her hand, by will or chance<br /> + I know not, but I saw the rays<br /> +Withdrawn, which did till then enhance<br /> + Her fairness with its thanks for praise.<br /> +I knew my spirit’s vague offence<br /> + Was patent to the dreaming eye<br /> +And heavenly tact of innocence,<br /> + And did for fear my fear defy,<br /> +And ask’d her for the next dance. +‘Yes.’<br /> + ‘No,’ had not fall’n with half the +force.<br /> +She was fulfill’d with gentleness,<br /> + And I with measureless remorse;<br /> +And, ere I slept, on bended knee<br /> + I own’d myself, with many a tear,<br /> +Unseasonable, disorderly,<br /> + And a deranger of love’s sphere;<br /> +Gave thanks that, when we stumble and fall,<br /> + We hurt ourselves, and not the truth;<br /> +And, rising, found its brightness all<br /> + The brighter through the tears of ruth.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">Nor was my hope that night made less,<br /> + Though order’d, humbled, and reproved;<br /> +Her farewell did her heart express<br /> + As much, but not with anger, moved.<br /> +<a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span>My trouble +had my soul betray’d;<br /> + And, in the night of my despair,<br /> +My love, a flower of noon afraid,<br /> + Divulged its fulness unaware.<br /> +I saw she saw; and, O sweet Heaven,<br /> + Could my glad mind have credited<br /> +That influence had to me been given<br /> + To affect her so, I should have said<br /> +That, though she from herself conceal’d<br /> + Love’s felt delight and fancied harm,<br /> +They made her face the jousting field<br /> + Of joy and beautiful alarm.</p> +<h3><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>CANTO +XII.<br /> +The Abdication.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>The Chace</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">She</span> wearies with an +ill unknown;<br /> + In sleep she sobs and seems to float,<br /> +A water-lily, all alone<br /> + Within a lonely castle-moat;<br /> +And as the full-moon, spectral, lies<br /> + Within the crescent’s gleaming arms,<br /> +The present shows her heedless eyes<br /> + A future dim with vague alarms.<br /> +She sees, and yet she scarcely sees,<br /> + For, life-in-life not yet begun,<br /> +Too many are its mysteries<br /> + For thought to fix on any one.<br /> +She’s told that maidens are by youths<br /> + Extremely honour’d and desired;<br /> +And sighs, ‘If those sweet tales be truths,<br /> + What bliss to be so much admired!’<br /> +<a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>The +suitors come; she sees them grieve;<br /> + Her coldness fills them with despair;<br /> +She’d pity if she could believe;<br /> + She’s sorry that she cannot care.<br /> +But who now meets her on her way?<br /> + Comes he as enemy or friend,<br /> +Or both? Her bosom seems to say,<br /> + He cannot pass, and there an end.<br /> +Whom does he love? Does he confer<br /> + His heart on worth that answers his?<br /> +Or is he come to worship her?<br /> + She fears, she hopes, she thinks he is!<br /> +Advancing stepless, quick, and still,<br /> + As in the grass a serpent glides,<br /> +He fascinates her fluttering will,<br /> + Then terrifies with dreadful strides.<br /> +At first, there’s nothing to resist;<br /> + He fights with all the forms of peace;<br /> +He comes about her like a mist,<br /> + With subtle, swift, unseen increase;<br /> +And then, unlook’d for, strikes amain<br /> + Some stroke that frightens her to death,<br /> +And grows all harmlessness again,<br /> + Ere she can cry, or get her breath.<br /> +At times she stops, and stands at bay;<br /> + But he, in all more strong than she,<br /> +Subdues her with his pale dismay,<br /> + Or more admired audacity.<br /> +<a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>She plans +some final, fatal blow,<br /> + But when she means with frowns to kill,<br /> +He looks as if he loved her so,<br /> + She smiles to him against her will.<br /> +How sweetly he implies her praise!<br /> + His tender talk, his gentle tone,<br /> +The manly worship in his gaze,<br /> + They nearly make her heart his own.<br /> +With what an air he speaks her name;<br /> + His manner always recollects<br /> +Her sex, and still the woman’s claim<br /> + Is taught its scope by his respects.<br /> +Her charms, perceived to prosper first<br /> + In his beloved advertencies,<br /> +When in her glass they are rehearsed,<br /> + Prove his most powerful allies.<br /> +Ah, whither shall a maiden flee,<br /> + When a bold youth so swift pursues,<br /> +And siege of tenderest courtesy,<br /> + With hope perseverant, still renews!<br /> +Why fly so fast? Her flatter’d breast<br /> + Thanks him who finds her fair and good;<br /> +She loves her fears; veil’d joys arrest<br /> + The foolish terrors of her blood;<br /> +By secret, sweet degrees, her heart,<br /> + Vanquish’d, takes warmth from his desire;<br +/> +She makes it more, with hidden art,<br /> + And fuels love’s late dreaded fire.<br /> +<a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>The +generous credit he accords<br /> + To all the signs of good in her<br /> +Redeems itself; his praiseful words<br /> + The virtues they impute confer.<br /> +Her heart is thrice as rich in bliss,<br /> + She’s three times gentler than before;<br /> +He gains a right to call her his,<br /> + Now she through him is so much more;<br /> +’Tis heaven where’er she turns her head;<br /> + ’Tis music when she talks; ’tis air<br +/> +On which, elate, she seems to tread,<br /> + The convert of a gladder sphere!<br /> +Ah, might he, when by doubts aggrieved,<br /> + Behold his tokens next her breast,<br /> +At all his words and sighs perceived<br /> + Against its blythe upheaval press’d!<br /> +But still she flies. Should she be won,<br /> + It must not be believed or thought<br /> +She yields; she’s chased to death, undone,<br /> + Surprised, and violently caught.</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>Denied</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">The storm-cloud, whose portentous shade<br /> + Fumes from a core of smother’d fire,<br /> +His livery is whose worshipp’d maid<br /> + Denies herself to his desire.<br /> +<a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>Ah, +grief that almost crushes life,<br /> + To lie upon his lonely bed,<br /> +And fancy her another’s wife!<br /> + His brain is flame, his heart is lead.<br /> +Sinking at last, by nature’s course,<br /> + Cloak’d round with sleep from his despair,<br +/> +He does but sleep to gather force<br /> + That goes to his exhausted care.<br /> +He wakes renew’d for all the smart.<br /> + His only Love, and she is wed!<br /> +His fondness comes about his heart,<br /> + As milk comes, when the babe is dead.<br /> +The wretch, whom she found fit for scorn,<br /> + His own allegiant thoughts despise;<br /> +And far into the shining morn<br /> + Lazy with misery he lies.</p> +<h5>III.<br /> +<i>The Churl</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">This marks the Churl: when spousals crown<br /> + His selfish hope, he finds the grace,<br /> +Which sweet love has for ev’n the clown,<br /> + Was not in the woman, but the chace.</p> +<h4><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>THE +ABDICATION.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">From little signs, like little stars,<br /> + Whose faint impression on the sense<br /> +The very looking straight at mars,<br /> + Or only seen by confluence;<br /> +From instinct of a mutual thought,<br /> + Whence sanctity of manners flow’d;<br /> +From chance unconscious, and from what<br /> + Concealment, overconscious, show’d;<br /> +Her hand’s less weight upon my arm,<br /> + Her lowlier mien; that match’d with this;<br +/> +I found, and felt with strange alarm<br /> + I stood committed to my bliss.</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">I grew assured, before I ask’d,<br /> + That she’d be mine without reserve,<br /> +And in her unclaim’d graces bask’d,<br /> + At leisure, till the time should serve,<br /> +With just enough of dread to thrill<br /> + The hope, and make it trebly dear;<br /> +Thus loth to speak the word to kill<br /> + Either the hope or happy fear.</p> +<h5><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">Till once, through lanes returning late,<br /> + Her laughing sisters lagg’d behind;<br /> +And, ere we reach’d her father’s gate,<br /> + We paused with one presentient mind;<br /> +And, in the dim and perfumed mist,<br /> + Their coming stay’d, who, friends to me,<br /> +And very women, loved to assist<br /> + Love’s timid opportunity.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">Twice rose, twice died my trembling word;<br /> + The faint and frail Cathedral chimes<br /> +Spake time in music, and we heard<br /> + The chafers rustling in the limes.<br /> +Her dress, that touch’d me where I stood,<br /> + The warmth of her confided arm,<br /> +Her bosom’s gentle neighbourhood,<br /> + Her pleasure in her power to charm;<br /> +Her look, her love, her form, her touch,<br /> + The least seem’d most by blissful turn,<br /> +Blissful but that it pleased too much,<br /> + And taught the wayward soul to yearn.<br /> +It was as if a harp with wires<br /> + Was traversed by the breath I drew;<br /> +And, oh, sweet meeting of desires,<br /> + She, answering, own’d that she loved too.</p> +<h5><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +104</span>5</h5> +<p class="poetry">Honoria was to be my bride!<br /> + The hopeless heights of hope were scaled<br /> +The summit won, I paused and sigh’d,<br /> + As if success itself had fail’d.<br /> +It seem’d as if my lips approach’d<br /> + To touch at Tantalus’ reward,<br /> +And rashly on Eden life encroach’d,<br /> + Half-blinded by the flaming sword.<br /> +The whole world’s wealthiest and its best,<br /> + So fiercely sought, appear’d when found,<br /> +Poor in its need to be possess’d,<br /> + Poor from its very want of bound.<br /> +My queen was crouching at my side,<br /> + By love unsceptred and brought low,<br /> +Her awful garb of maiden pride<br /> + All melted into tears like snow;<br /> +The mistress of my reverent thought,<br /> + Whose praise was all I ask’d of fame,<br /> +In my close-watch’d approval sought<br /> + Protection as from danger and blame;<br /> +Her soul, which late I loved to invest<br /> + With pity for my poor desert,<br /> +Buried its face within my breast,<br /> + Like a pet fawn by hunters hurt.</p> +<h2><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>Book +II.</h2> +<h3>THE PROLOGUE.</h3> +<h4>1</h4> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Her</span> sons pursue the +butterflies,<br /> + Her baby daughter mocks the doves<br /> +With throbbing coo; in his fond eyes<br /> + She’s Venus with her little Loves;<br /> +Her footfall dignifies the earth,<br /> + Her form’s the native-land of grace,<br /> +And, lo, his coming lights with mirth<br /> + Its court and capital her face!<br /> +Full proud her favour makes her lord,<br /> + And that her flatter’d bosom knows.<br /> +She takes his arm without a word,<br /> + In lanes of laurel and of rose.<br /> +Ten years to-day has she been his.<br /> + He but begins to understand,<br /> +He says, the dignity and bliss<br /> + She gave him when she gave her hand.<br /> +<a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>She, +answering, says, he disenchants<br /> + The past, though that was perfect; he<br /> +Rejoins, the present nothing wants<br /> + But briefness to be ecstasy.<br /> +He lands her charms; her beauty’s glow<br /> + Wins from the spoiler Time new rays;<br /> +Bright looks reply, approving so<br /> + Beauty’s elixir vitæ, praise.<br /> +Upon a beech he bids her mark<br /> + Where, ten years since, he carved her name;<br /> +It grows there with the growing bark,<br /> + And in his heart it grows the same.<br /> +For that her soft arm presses his<br /> + Close to her fond, maternal breast;<br /> +He tells her, each new kindness is<br /> + The effectual sum of all the rest!<br /> +And, whilst the cushat, mocking, coo’d,<br /> + They blest the days they had been wed,<br /> +At cost of those in which he woo’d,<br /> + Till everything was three times said;<br /> +And words were growing vain, when Briggs,<br /> + Factotum, Footman, Butler, Groom,<br /> +Who press’d the cyder, fed the pigs,<br /> + Preserv’d the rabbits, drove the brougham,<br +/> +And help’d, at need, to mow the lawns,<br /> + And sweep the paths and thatch the hay,<br /> +Here brought the Post down, Mrs. Vaughan’s<br /> + Sole rival, but, for once, to-day,<br /> +<a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>Scarce +look’d at; for the ‘Second Book,’<br /> + Till this tenth festival kept close,<br /> +Was thus commenced, while o’er them shook<br /> + The laurel married with the rose.</p> +<h4>2</h4> +<p class="poetry">‘The pulse of War, whose bloody heats<br +/> + Sane purposes insanely work,<br /> +Now with fraternal frenzy beats,<br /> + And binds the Christian to the Turk,<br /> +And shrieking fifes’—</p> +<h4>3</h4> +<p class="poetry"> But, with a +roar,<br /> + In rush’d the Loves; the tallest +roll’d<br /> +A hedgehog from his pinafore,<br /> + Which saved his fingers; Baby, bold,<br /> +Touch’d it, and stared, and scream’d for life,<br /> + And stretch’d her hand for Vaughan to kiss,<br +/> +Who hugg’d his Pet, and ask’d his wife,<br /> + ‘Is this for love, or love for this?’<br +/> +But she turn’d pale, for, lo, the beast,<br /> + Found stock-still in the rabbit-trap,<br /> +And feigning so to be deceased,<br /> + And laid by Frank upon her lap,<br /> +<a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>Unglobed +himself, and show’d his snout,<br /> + And fell, scatt’ring the Loves amain,<br /> +With shriek, with laughter, and with shout;<br /> + And, peace at last restored again,<br /> +The bard, who this untimely hitch<br /> + Bore with a calm magnanimous,<br /> +(The hedgehog rolled into a ditch,<br /> + And Venus sooth’d), proceeded thus:</p> +<h3><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>CANTO I.<br /> +Accepted.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>The Song of Songs</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> pulse of War, +whose bloody heats<br /> + Sane purposes insanely work,<br /> +Now with fraternal frenzy beats,<br /> + And binds the Christian to the Turk,<br /> +And shrieking fifes and braggart flags,<br /> + Through quiet England, teach our breath<br /> +The courage corporate that drags<br /> + The coward to heroic death.<br /> +Too late for song! Who henceforth sings,<br /> + Must fledge his heavenly flight with more<br /> +Song-worthy and heroic things<br /> + Than hasty, home-destroying war.<br /> +While might and right are not agreed,<br /> + And battle thus is yet to wage,<br /> +So long let laurels be the meed<br /> + Of soldier as of poet sage;<br /> +<a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>But men +expect the Tale of Love,<br /> + And weary of the Tale of Hate;<br /> +Lift me, O Muse, myself above,<br /> + And let the world no longer wait!</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>The Kites</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">I saw three Cupids (so I dream’d),<br /> + Who made three kites, on which were drawn,<br /> +In letters that like roses gleam’d,<br /> + ‘Plato,’ ‘Anacreon,’ and +‘Vaughan.’<br /> +The boy who held by Plato tried<br /> + His airy venture first; all sail,<br /> +It heav’nward rush’d till scarce descried,<br /> + Then pitch’d and dropp’d for want of +tail.<br /> +Anacreon’s Love, with shouts of mirth<br /> + That pride of spirit thus should fall,<br /> +To his kite link’d a lump of earth,<br /> + And, lo, it would not soar at all.<br /> +Last, my disciple freighted his<br /> + With a long streamer made of flowers,<br /> +The children of the sod, and this<br /> + Rose in the sun, and flew for hours.</p> +<h5><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +111</span>III.<br /> +<i>Orpheus</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">The music of the Sirens found<br /> + Ulysses weak, though cords were strong;<br /> +But happier Orpheus stood unbound,<br /> + And shamed it with a sweeter song.<br /> +His mode be mine. Of Heav’n I ask,<br /> + May I, with heart-persuading might,<br /> +Pursue the Poet’s sacred task<br /> + Of superseding faith by sight,<br /> +Till ev’n the witless Gadarene,<br /> + Preferring Christ to swine, shall know<br /> +That life is sweetest when it’s clean.<br /> + To prouder folly let me show<br /> +Earth by divine light made divine;<br /> + And let the saints, who hear my word,<br /> +Say, ‘Lo, the clouds begin to shine<br /> + About the coming of the Lord!’</p> +<h5>IV.<br /> +<i>Nearest the Dearest</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Till Eve was brought to Adam, he<br /> + A solitary desert trod,<br /> +Though in the great society<br /> + Of nature, angels, and of God.<br /> +<a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>If one +slight column counterweighs<br /> + The ocean, ’tis the Maker’s law,<br /> +Who deems obedience better praise<br /> + Than sacrifice of erring awe.</p> +<h5>V.<br /> +<i>Perspective</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">What seems to us for us is true.<br /> + The planet has no proper light,<br /> +And yet, when Venus is in view,<br /> + No primal star is half so bright.</p> +<h4>ACCEPTED.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">What fortune did my heart foretell?<br /> + What shook my spirit, as I woke,<br /> +Like the vibration of a bell<br /> + Of which I had not heard the stroke?<br /> +Was it some happy vision shut<br /> + From memory by the sun’s fresh ray?<br /> +Was it that linnet’s song; or but<br /> + A natural gratitude for day?<br /> +Or the mere joy the senses weave,<br /> + A wayward ecstasy of life?<br /> +Then I remember’d, yester-eve<br /> + I won Honoria for my Wife.</p> +<h5><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">Forth riding, while as yet the day<br /> + Was dewy, watching Sarum Spire,<br /> +Still beckoning me along my way,<br /> + And growing every minute higher,<br /> +I reach’d the Dean’s. One blind was down,<br /> + Though nine then struck. My bride to be!<br /> +And had she rested ill, my own,<br /> + With thinking (oh, my heart!) of me?<br /> +I paced the streets; a pistol chose,<br /> + To guard my now important life<br /> +When riding late from Sarum Close;<br /> + At noon return’d. Good Mrs. Fife,<br /> +To my, ‘The Dean, is he at home?’<br /> + Said, ‘No, sir; but Miss Honor is;’<br +/> +And straight, not asking if I’d come,<br /> + Announced me, ‘Mr. Felix, Miss,’<br /> +To Mildred, in the Study. There<br /> + We talk’d, she working. We agreed<br /> +The day was fine; the Fancy-Fair<br /> + Successful; ‘Did I ever read<br /> +De Genlis?’ ‘Never.’ +‘Do! She heard<br /> + I was engaged.’ ‘To +whom?’ ‘Miss Fry<br /> +Was it the fact?’ ‘No!’ ‘On +my word?’<br /> + ‘What scandal people +talk’d!’ ‘Would I<br /> +<a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>Hold out +this skein of silk.’ So pass’d<br /> + I knew not how much time away.<br /> +‘How were her sisters?’ +‘Well.’ At last<br /> + I summon’d heart enough to say,<br /> +‘I hoped to have seen Miss Churchill too.’<br /> + ‘Miss Churchill, Felix! What is this?<br +/> +I said, and now I find ’tis true,<br /> + Last night you quarrell’d! Here she +is.’</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">She came, and seem’d a morning rose<br /> + When ruffling rain has paled its blush;<br /> +Her crown once more was on her brows;<br /> + And, with a faint, indignant flush,<br /> +And fainter smile, she gave her hand,<br /> + But not her eyes, then sate apart,<br /> +As if to make me understand<br /> + The honour of her vanquish’d heart.<br /> +But I drew humbly to her side;<br /> + And she, well pleased, perceiving me<br /> +Liege ever to the noble pride<br /> + Of her unconquer’d majesty,<br /> +Once and for all put it away;<br /> + The faint flush pass’d; and, thereupon,<br /> +Her loveliness, which rather lay<br /> + In light than colour, smiled and shone,<br /> +<a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 115</span>Till +sick was all my soul with bliss;<br /> + Or was it with remorse and ire<br /> +Of such a sanctity as this<br /> + Subdued by love to my desire?</p> +<h3><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +116</span>CANTO II.<br /> +The Course of True Love.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>The Changed Allegiance</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Watch</span> how a bird, +that captived sings,<br /> + The cage set open, first looks out,<br /> +Yet fears the freedom of his wings,<br /> + And now withdraws, and flits about,<br /> +And now looks forth again; until,<br /> + Grown bold, he hops on stool and chair,<br /> +And now attains the window-sill,<br /> + And now confides himself to air.<br /> +The maiden so, from love’s free sky<br /> + In chaste and prudent counsels caged,<br /> +But longing to be loosen’d by<br /> + Her suitor’s faith declared and gaged,<br /> +When blest with that release desired,<br /> + First doubts if truly she is free,<br /> +Then pauses, restlessly retired,<br /> + Alarm’d at too much liberty;<br /> +<a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>But +soon, remembering all her debt<br /> + To plighted passion, gets by rote<br /> +Her duty; says, ‘I love him!’ yet<br /> + The thought half chokes her in her throat;<br /> +And, like that fatal ‘I am thine,’<br /> + Comes with alternate gush and check<br /> +And joltings of the heart, as wine<br /> + Pour’d from a flask of narrow neck.<br /> +Is he indeed her choice? She fears<br /> + Her Yes was rashly said, and shame,<br /> +Remorse and ineffectual tears<br /> + Revolt from has conceded claim.<br /> +Oh, treason! So, with desperate nerve,<br /> + She cries, ‘I am in love, am his;’<br /> +Lets run the cables of reserve,<br /> + And floats into a sea of bliss,<br /> +And laughs to think of her alarm,<br /> + Avows she was in love before,<br /> +Though has avowal was the charm<br /> + Which open’d to her own the door.<br /> +She loves him for his mastering air,<br /> + Whence, Parthian-like, she slaying flies;<br /> +His flattering look, which seems to wear<br /> + Her loveliness in manly eyes;<br /> +His smile, which, by reverse, portends<br /> + An awful wrath, should reason stir;<br /> +(How fortunate it is they’re friends,<br /> + And he will ne’er be wroth with her!)<br /> +<a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>His +power to do or guard from harm;<br /> + If he but chose to use it half,<br /> +And catch her up in one strong arm,<br /> + What could she do but weep, or laugh!<br /> +His words, which still instruct, but so<br /> + That this applause seems still implied,<br /> +‘How wise in all she ought to know,<br /> + How ignorant of all beside!’<br /> +His skilful suit, which leaves her free,<br /> + Gives nothing for the world to name,<br /> +And keeps her conscience safe, while he,<br /> + With half the bliss, takes all the blame;<br /> +His clear repute with great and small;<br /> + The jealousy his choice will stir;<br /> +But ten times more than ten times all,<br /> + She loves him for his love of her.<br /> +How happy ’tis he seems to see<br /> + In her that utter loveliness<br /> +Which she, for his sake, longs to be!<br /> + At times, she cannot but confess<br /> +Her other friends are somewhat blind;<br /> + Her parents’ years excuse neglect,<br /> +But all the rest are scarcely kind,<br /> + And brothers grossly want respect;<br /> +And oft she views what he admires<br /> + Within her glass, and sight of this<br /> +Makes all the sum of her desires<br /> + To be devotion unto his.<br /> +<a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>But +still, at first, whatever’s done,<br /> + A touch, her hand press’d lightly, she<br /> +Stands dizzied, shock’d, and flush’d, like one<br /> + Set sudden neck-deep in the sea;<br /> +And, though her bond for endless time<br /> + To his good pleasure gives her o’er,<br /> +The slightest favour seems a crime,<br /> + Because it makes her love him more.<br /> +But that she ne’er will let him know;<br /> + For what were love should reverence cease?<br /> +A thought which makes her reason so<br /> + Inscrutable, it seems caprice.<br /> +With her, as with a desperate town,<br /> + Too weak to stand, too proud to treat,<br /> +The conqueror, though the walls are down,<br /> + Has still to capture street by street;<br /> +But, after that, habitual faith,<br /> + Divorced from self, where late ’twas due,<br +/> +Walks nobly in its novel path,<br /> + And she’s to changed allegiance true;<br /> +And prizing what she can’t prevent,<br /> + (Right wisdom, often misdeem’d whim),<br /> +Her will’s indomitably bent<br /> + On mere submissiveness to him;<br /> +To him she’ll cleave, for him forsake<br /> + Father’s and mother’s fond command!<br +/> +He is her lord, for he can take<br /> + Hold of her faint heart with his hand.</p> +<h5><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +120</span>II.<br /> +<i>Beauty</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘Beauty deludes.’ O shaft +well shot,<br /> + To strike the mark’s true opposite!<br /> +That ugly good is scorn’d proves not<br /> + ’Tis beauty lies, but lack of it.<br /> +By Heaven’s law the Jew might take<br /> + A slave to wife, if she was fair;<br /> +So strong a plea does beauty make<br /> + That, where ’tis seen, discretion’s +there.<br /> +If, by a monstrous chance, we learn<br /> + That this illustrious vaunt’s a lie,<br /> +Our minds, by which the eyes discern,<br /> + See hideous contrariety.<br /> +And laugh at Nature’s wanton mood,<br /> + Which, thus a swinish thing to flout,<br /> +Though haply in its gross way good,<br /> + Hangs such a jewel in its snout.</p> +<h5>III.<br /> +<i>Lais and Lucretia</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Did first his beauty wake her sighs?<br /> + That’s Lais! Thus Lucretia’s +known:<br /> +The beauty in her Lover’s eyes<br /> + Was admiration of her own.</p> +<h4><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>THE +COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">Oh, beating heart of sweet alarm,<br /> + Which stays the lover’s step, when near<br /> +His mistress and her awful charm<br /> + Of grace and innocence sincere!<br /> +I held the half-shut door, and heard<br /> + The voice of my betrothed wife,<br /> +Who sang my verses, every word<br /> + By music taught its latent life;<br /> +With interludes of well-touch’d notes,<br /> + That flash’d, surprising and serene,<br /> +As meteor after meteor floats<br /> + The soft, autumnal stars between.<br /> +There was a passion in her tone,<br /> + A tremor when she touch’d the keys,<br /> +Which told me she was there alone,<br /> + And uttering all her soul at ease.<br /> +I enter’d; for I did not choose<br /> + To learn how in her heart I throve,<br /> +By chance or stealth; beyond her use,<br /> + Her greeting flatter’d me with love.</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">With true love’s treacherous +confidence,<br /> + And ire, at last to laughter won,<br /> +She spoke this speech, and mark’d its sense,<br /> + By action, as her Aunt had done.</p> +<h5><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘“You, with your looks and catching +air,<br /> + To think of Vaughan! You fool! You +know,<br /> +You might, with ordinary care,<br /> + Ev’n yet be Lady Clitheroe.<br /> +You’re sure he’ll do great things some day!<br /> + Nonsense, he won’t; he’s dress’d +too well.<br /> +Dines with the Sterling Club, they say;<br /> + Not commonly respectable!<br /> +Half Puritan, half Cavalier!<br /> + His curly hair I think’s a wig;<br /> +And, for his fortune, why my Dear,<br /> + ’Tis not enough to keep a gig.<br /> +Rich Aunts and Uncles never die;<br /> + And what you bring won’t do for dress:<br /> +And so you’ll live on By-and-by,<br /> + Within oaten-cake and water-cress!”</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘I cried, but did not let her see.<br /> + At last she soften’d her dispraise,<br /> +On learning you had bought for me<br /> + A carriage and a pair of bays.<br /> +But here she comes! You take her in<br /> + To dinner. I impose this task<br /> +Make her approve my love; and win<br /> + What thanks from me you choose to ask!’</p> +<h5><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>5</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘My niece has told you every word<br /> + I said of you! What may I mean?<br /> +Of course she has; but you’ve not heard<br /> + How I abused you to the Dean;—<br /> +Yes, I’ll take wine; he’s mad, like her;<br /> + And she <i>will</i> have you: there it ends!<br /> +And, now I’ve done my duty, Sir,<br /> + And you’ve shown common-sense, we’re +friends!’</p> +<h5>6</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘Go, child, and see him out +yourself,’<br /> + Aunt Maude said, after tea, ‘and show<br /> +The place, upon that upper shelf,<br /> + Where Petrarch stands, lent long ago.’</p> +<h5>7</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘These rose-leaves to my heart be +press’d,<br /> + Honoria, while it aches for you!’<br /> +(The rose in ruin, from her breast,<br /> + Fell, as I took a fond adieu.)<br /> +‘You must go now, Love!’ ‘See, the air<br +/> + Is thick with starlight!’ ‘Let me +tie<br /> +This scarf on. Oh, your Petrarch! There!<br /> + I’m coming, Aunt!’ ‘Sweet, +Sweet!’ ‘Good-bye!’<br /> +<a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +124</span>‘Ah, Love, to me ’tis death to part,<br /> + Yet you, my sever’d life, smile on!’<br +/> +These “Good-nights,” Felix, break my heart;<br /> + I’m only gay till you are gone!’<br /> +With love’s bright arrows from her eyes,<br /> + And balm on her permissive lips,<br /> +She pass’d, and night was a surprise,<br /> + As when the sun at Quito dips.<br /> +Her beauties were like sunlit snows,<br /> + Flush’d but not warm’d with my +desire.<br /> +Oh, how I loved her! Fiercely glows<br /> + In the pure air of frost the fire.<br /> +Who for a year is sure of fate!<br /> + I thought, dishearten’d as I went,<br /> +Wroth with the Dean, who bade me wait,<br /> + And vex’d with her, who seem’d +content.<br /> +Nay, could eternal life afford<br /> + That tyranny should thus deduct<br /> +From this fair land, which call’d me lord,<br /> + A year of the sweet usufruct?<br /> +It might not and it should not be!<br /> + I’d go back now, and he must own,<br /> +At once, my love’s compulsive plea.<br /> + I turn’d, I found the Dean alone.<br /> +‘Nonsense, my friend; go back to bed!<br /> + It’s half-past twelve!’ +‘July, then, Sir!’<br /> +‘Well, come to-morrow,’ at last he said,<br /> + ‘And you may talk of it with her.’<br /> +<a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>A light +gleam’d as I pass’d the stair.<br /> + A pausing foot, a flash of dress,<br /> +And a sweet voice. ‘Is Felix there?’<br /> + ‘July, Love!’ ‘Says Papa +so?’ ‘Yes!’</p> +<h3><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +126</span>CANTO III.<br /> +The Country Ball.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>Love Ceremonious</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Keep</span> your undrest, +familiar style<br /> + For strangers, but respect your friend,<br /> +Her most, whose matrimonial smile<br /> + Is and asks honour without end.<br /> +’Tis found, and needs it must so be,<br /> + That life from love’s allegiance flags,<br /> +When love forgets his majesty<br /> + In sloth’s unceremonious rags.<br /> +Let love make home a gracious Court;<br /> + There let the world’s rude, hasty ways<br /> +Be fashion’d to a loftier port,<br /> + And learn to bow and stand at gaze;<br /> +And let the sweet respective sphere<br /> + Of personal worship there obtain<br /> +Circumference for moving clear,<br /> + None treading on another’s train.<br /> +<a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>This +makes that pleasures do not cloy,<br /> + And dignifies our mortal strife<br /> +With calmness and considerate joy,<br /> + Befitting our immortal life.</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>The Rainbow</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">A stately rainbow came and stood,<br /> + When I was young, in High-Hurst Park;<br /> +Its bright feet lit the hill and wood<br /> + Beyond, and cloud and sward were dark;<br /> +And I, who thought the splendour ours<br /> + Because the place was, t’wards it flew,<br /> +And there, amidst the glittering showers,<br /> + Gazed vainly for the glorious view.<br /> +With whatsoever’s lovely, know<br /> + It is not ours; stand off to see,<br /> +Or beauty’s apparition so<br /> + Puts on invisibility.</p> +<h5>III.<br /> +<i>A Paradox</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">To tryst Love blindfold goes, for fear<br /> + He should not see, and eyeless night<br /> +He chooses still for breathing near<br /> + Beauty, that lives but in the sight.</p> +<h4><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>THE +COUNTY BALL.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">Well, Heaven be thank’d my first-love +fail’d,<br /> + As, Heaven be thank’d, our first-loves do!<br +/> +Thought I, when Fanny past me sail’d,<br /> + Loved once, for what I never knew,<br /> +Unless for colouring in her talk,<br /> + When cheeks and merry mouth would show<br /> +Three roses on a single stalk,<br /> + The middle wanting room to blow,<br /> +And forward ways, that charm’d the boy<br /> + Whose love-sick mind, misreading fate,<br /> +Scarce hoped that any Queen of Joy<br /> + Could ever stoop to be his mate.</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">But there danced she, who from the leaven<br /> + Of ill preserv’d my heart and wit<br /> +All unawares, for she was heaven,<br /> + Others at best but fit for it.<br /> +One of those lovely things she was<br /> + In whose least action there can be<br /> +Nothing so transient but it has<br /> + An air of immortality.<br /> +<a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>I +mark’d her step, with peace elate,<br /> + Her brow more beautiful than morn,<br /> +Her sometime look of girlish state<br /> + Which sweetly waived its right to scorn;<br /> +The giddy crowd, she grave the while,<br /> + Although, as ’twere beyond her will,<br /> +Around her mouth the baby smile<br /> + That she was born with linger’d still.<br /> +Her ball-dress seem’d a breathing mist,<br /> + From the fair form exhaled and shed,<br /> +Raised in the dance with arm and wrist<br /> + All warmth and light, unbraceleted.<br /> +Her motion, feeling ’twas beloved,<br /> + The pensive soul of tune express’d,<br /> +And, oh, what perfume, as she moved,<br /> + Came from the flowers in her breast!<br /> +How sweet a tongue the music had!<br /> + ‘Beautiful Girl,’ it seem’d to +say,<br /> +‘Though all the world were vile and sad,<br /> + Dance on; let innocence be gay.’<br /> +Ah, none but I discern’d her looks,<br /> + When in the throng she pass’d me by,<br /> +For love is like a ghost, and brooks<br /> + Only the chosen seer’s eye;<br /> +And who but she could e’er divine<br /> + The halo and the happy trance,<br /> +When her bright arm reposed on mine,<br /> + In all the pauses of the dance!</p> +<h5><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">Whilst so her beauty fed my sight,<br /> + And whilst I lived in what she said,<br /> +Accordant airs, like all delight<br /> + Most sweet when noted least, were play’d;<br +/> +And was it like the Pharisee<br /> + If I in secret bow’d my face<br /> +With joyful thanks that I should be,<br /> + Not as were many, but with grace<br /> +And fortune of well-nurtured youth,<br /> + And days no sordid pains defile,<br /> +And thoughts accustom’d to the truth,<br /> + Made capable of her fair smile?</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">Charles Barton follow’d down the +stair,<br /> + To talk with me about the Ball,<br /> +And carp at all the people there.<br /> + The Churchills chiefly stirr’d his gall:<br /> +‘Such were the Kriemhilds and Isondes<br /> + You storm’d about at Trinity!<br /> +Nothing at heart but handsome Blondes!<br /> + ‘Folk say that you and Fanny +Fry—’<br /> +‘They err! Good-night! Here lies my course,<br +/> + Through Wilton.’ Silence blest my +ears,<br /> +And, weak at heart with vague remorse,<br /> + A passing poignancy of tears<br /> +<a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +131</span>Attack’d mine eyes. By pale and park<br /> + I rode, and ever seem’d to see,<br /> +In the transparent starry dark,<br /> + That splendid brow of chastity,<br /> +That soft and yet subduing light,<br /> + At which, as at the sudden moon,<br /> +I held my breath, and thought ‘how bright!’<br /> + That guileless beauty in its noon,<br /> +Compelling tribute of desires<br /> + Ardent as day when Sirius reigns,<br /> +Pure as the permeating fires<br /> + That smoulder in the opal’s veins.</p> +<h3><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>CANTO IV.<br /> +Love in Idleness.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>Honour and Desert</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">queen</span>, awake to +thy renown,<br /> + Require what ’tis our wealth to give,<br /> +And comprehend and wear the crown<br /> + Of thy despised prerogative!<br /> +I, who in manhood’s name at length<br /> + With glad songs come to abdicate<br /> +The gross regality of strength,<br /> + Must yet in this thy praise abate,<br /> +That, through thine erring humbleness<br /> + And disregard of thy degree,<br /> +Mainly, has man been so much less<br /> + Than fits his fellowship with thee.<br /> +High thoughts had shaped the foolish brow,<br /> + The coward had grasp’d the hero’s +sword,<br /> +The vilest had been great, hadst thou,<br /> + Just to thyself, been worth’s reward.<br /> +<a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>But +lofty honours undersold<br /> + Seller and buyer both disgrace;<br /> +And favours that make folly bold<br /> + Banish the light from virtue’s face.</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>Love and Honour</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">What man with baseness so content,<br /> + Or sick with false conceit of right,<br /> +As not to know that the element<br /> + And inmost warmth of love’s delight<br /> +Is honour? Who’d not rather kiss<br /> + A duchess than a milkmaid, prank<br /> +The two in equal grace, which is<br /> + Precedent Nature’s obvious rank?<br /> +Much rather, then, a woman deck’d<br /> + With saintly honours, chaste and good,<br /> +Whose thoughts celestial things affect,<br /> + Whose eyes express her heavenly mood!<br /> +Those lesser vaunts are dimm’d or lost<br /> + Which plume her name or paint her lip,<br /> +Extinct in the deep-glowing boast<br /> + Of her angelic fellowship.</p> +<h5><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>III.<br /> +<i>Valour Misdirected</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">I’ll hunt for dangers North and South,<br +/> + To prove my love, which sloth maligns!’<br /> +What seems to say her rosy mouth?<br /> + ‘I’m not convinced by proofs but +signs.’</p> +<h4>LOVE IN IDLENESS.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">What should I do? In such a wife<br /> + Fortune had lavish’d all her store,<br /> +And nothing now seem’d left for life<br /> + But to deserve her more and more.<br /> +To this I vow’d my life’s whole scope;<br /> + And Love said, ‘I forewarn you now,<br /> +The Maiden will fulfill your hope<br /> + Only as you fulfil your vow.’</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">A promised service, (task for days),<br /> + Was done this morning while she slept,<br /> +With that full heart which thinks no praise<br /> + Of vows which are not more than kept;<br /> +<a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>But +loftier work did love impose.<br /> + And studious hours. Alas, for these,<br /> +While she from all my thoughts arose<br /> + Like Venus from the restless seas!</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">I conn’d a scheme, within mind elate:<br +/> + My Uncle’s land would fall to me,<br /> +My skill was much in school debate,<br /> + My friends were strong in Salisbury;<br /> +A place in Parliament once gain’d,<br /> + Thro’ saps first labour’d out of +sight,<br /> +Far loftier peaks were then attain’d<br /> + With easy leaps from height to height;<br /> +And that o’erwhelming honour paid,<br /> + Or recognised, at least, in life,<br /> +Which this most sweet and noble Maid<br /> + Should yield to him who call’d her Wife.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">I fix’d this rule: in Sarum Close<br /> + To make two visits every week,<br /> +The first, to-day; and, save on those,<br /> + I nought would do, think, read, or speak,<br /> +Which did not help my settled will<br /> + To earn the Statesman’s proud applause.<br /> +And now, forthwith, to mend my skill<br /> + In ethics, politics, and laws,<br /> +<a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>The +Statesman’s learning! Flush’d with power<br /> + And pride of freshly-form’d resolve,<br /> +I read Helvetius half-an-hour;<br /> + But, halting in attempts to solve<br /> +Why, more than all things else that be,<br /> + A lady’s grace hath force to move<br /> +That sensitive appetency<br /> + Of intellectual good, call’d love,<br /> +Took Blackstone down, only to draw<br /> + My swift-deriving thoughts ere long<br /> +To love, which is the source of law,<br /> + And, like a king, can do no wrong;<br /> +Then open’d Hyde, where loyal hearts,<br /> + With faith unpropp’d by precedent,<br /> +Began to play rebellious parts.<br /> + O, mighty stir that little meant!<br /> +How dull the crude, plough’d fields of fact<br /> + To me who trod the Elysian grove!<br /> +How idle all heroic act<br /> + By the least suffering of love!<br /> +I could not read; so took my pen,<br /> + And thus commenced, in form of notes,<br /> +A Lecture for the Salisbury men,<br /> + With due regard to Tory votes:<br /> +‘A road’s a road, though worn to ruts;<br /> + They speed who travel straight therein;<br /> +But he who tacks and tries short cuts<br /> + Gets fools’ praise and a broken +shin—’<br /> +<a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>And here +I stopp’d in sheer despair;<br /> + But, what to-day was thus begun,<br /> +I vow’d, up starting from my chair,<br /> + To-morrow should indeed be done;<br /> +So loosed my chafing thoughts from school,<br /> + To play with fancy as they chose,<br /> +And then, according to my rule,<br /> + I dress’d, and came to Sarum Close.</p> +<h5>5</h5> +<p class="poetry">Ah, that sweet laugh! Diviner sense<br /> + Did Nature, forming her, inspire<br /> +To omit the grosser elements,<br /> + And make her all of air and fire!</p> +<h5>6</h5> +<p class="poetry">To-morrow, Cowes’ Regatta fell:<br /> + The Dean would like his girls to go,<br /> +If I went too. ‘Most gladly.’ Well,<br /> + I did but break a foolish vow!<br /> +Unless Love’s toil has love for prize,<br /> + (And then he’s Hercules), above<br /> +All other contrarieties<br /> + Is labour contrary to love.<br /> +No fault of Love’s, but nature’s laws!<br /> + And Love, in idleness, lies quick;<br /> +For as the worm whose powers make pause,<br /> + And swoon, through alteration sick,<br /> +<a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>The +soul, its wingless state dissolved,<br /> + Awaits its nuptial life complete,<br /> +All indolently self-convolved,<br /> + Cocoon’d in silken fancies sweet.</p> +<h3><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>CANTO V.<br /> +The Queen’s Room.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>Rejected</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘<span class="smcap">Perhaps</span> +she’s dancing somewhere now!’<br /> + The thoughts of light and music wake<br /> +Sharp jealousies, that grow and grow<br /> + Till silence and the darkness ache.<br /> +He sees her step, so proud and gay,<br /> + Which, ere he spake, foretold despair:<br /> +Thus did she look, on such a day,<br /> + And such the fashion of her hair;<br /> +And thus she stood, when, kneeling low,<br /> + He took the bramble from her dress,<br /> +And thus she laugh’d and talk’d, whose +‘No’<br /> + Was sweeter than another’s +‘Yes.’<br /> +He feeds on thoughts that most deject;<br /> + He impudently feigns her charms,<br /> +So reverenced in his own respect,<br /> + Dreadfully clasp’d by other arms;<br /> +<a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>And +turns, and puts his brows, that ache,<br /> + Against the pillow where ’tis cold.<br /> +If, only now his heart would break!<br /> + But, oh, how much a heart can hold.</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>Rachel</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">You loved her, and would lie all night<br /> + Thinking how beautiful she was,<br /> +And what to do for her delight.<br /> + Now both are bound with alien laws!<br /> +Be patient; put your heart to school;<br /> + Weep if you will, but not despair;<br /> +The trust that nought goes wrong by rule<br /> + Should ease this load the many bear.<br /> +Love, if there’s heav’n, shall meet his dues,<br /> + Though here unmatch’d, or match’d +amiss;<br /> +Meanwhile, the gentle cannot choose<br /> + But learn to love the lips they kiss.<br /> +Ne’er hurt the homely sister’s ears<br /> + With Rachel’s beauties; secret be<br /> +The lofty mind whose lonely tears<br /> + Protest against mortality.</p> +<h5><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</span>III.<br /> +<i>The Heart’s Prophecies</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Be not amazed at life; ’tis still<br /> + The mode of God with his elect<br /> +Their hopes exactly to fulfil,<br /> + In times and ways they least expect.</p> +<h4>THE QUEEN’S ROOM.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">There’s nothing happier than the days<br +/> + In which young Love makes every thought<br /> +Pure as a bride’s blush, when she says<br /> + ‘I will’ unto she knows not what;<br /> +And lovers, on the love-lit globe,<br /> + For love’s sweet sake, walk yet aloof,<br /> +And hear Time weave the marriage-robe,<br /> + Attraction warp and reverence woof.</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">My Housekeeper, my Nurse of yore,<br /> + Cried, as the latest carriage went,<br /> +‘Well, Mr, Felix, Sir, I’m sure<br /> + The morning’s gone off excellent!<br /> +<a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>I never +saw the show to pass<br /> + The ladies, in their fine fresh gowns,<br /> +So sweetly dancing on the grass,<br /> + To music with its ups and downs.<br /> +We’d such work, Sir, to clean the plate;<br /> + ’Twas just the busy times of old.<br /> +The Queen’s Room, Sir, look’d quite like state.<br /> + Miss Smythe, when she went up, made bold<br /> +To peep into the Rose Boudoir,<br /> + And cried, “How charming! all quite +new;”<br /> +And wonder’d who it could be for.<br /> + All but Miss Honor look’d in too.<br /> +But she’s too proud to peep and pry.<br /> + None’s like that sweet Miss Honor, Sir!<br /> +Excuse my humbleness, but I<br /> + Pray Heav’n you’ll get a wife like +her!<br /> +The Poor love dear Miss Honor’s ways<br /> + Better than money. Mrs. Rouse,<br /> +Who ought to know a lady, says<br /> + No finer goes to Wilton House.<br /> +Miss Bagshaw thought that dreary room<br /> + Had kill’d old Mrs. Vaughan with fright;<br /> +She would not sleep in such a tomb<br /> + For all her host was worth a night!<br /> +Miss Fry, Sir, laugh’d; they talk’d the rest<br /> + In French; and French Sir’s Greek to me;<br /> +But, though they smiled, and seem’d to jest,<br /> + No love was lost, for I could see<br /> +<a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>How +serious-like Miss Honor was—’<br /> + ‘Well, Nurse, this is not my affair.<br /> +The ladies talk’d in French with cause.<br /> + Good-day; and thank you for your prayer.’</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">I loiter’d through the vacant house,<br +/> + Soon to be her’s; in one room stay’d,<br +/> +Of old my mother’s. Here my vows<br /> + Of endless thanks were oftenest paid.<br /> +This room its first condition kept;<br /> + For, on her road to Sarum Town,<br /> +Therein an English Queen had slept,<br /> + Before the Hurst was half pull’d down.<br /> +The pictured walls the place became:<br /> + Here ran the Brook Anaurus, where<br /> +Stout Jason bore the wrinkled dame<br /> + Whom serving changed to Juno; there,<br /> +Ixion’s selfish hope, instead<br /> + Of the nuptial goddess, clasp’d a cloud;<br /> +And, here, translated Psyche fed<br /> + Her gaze on Love, not disallow’d.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">And in this chamber had she been,<br /> + And into that she would not look,<br /> +My Joy, my Vanity, my Queen,<br /> + At whose dear name my pulses shook!<br /> +<a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>To +others how express at all<br /> + My worship in that joyful shrine?<br /> +I scarcely can myself recall<br /> + What peace and ardour then were mine;<br /> +And how more sweet than aught below,<br /> + The daylight and its duties done,<br /> +It felt to fold the hands, and so<br /> + Relinquish all regards but one;<br /> +To see her features in the dark,<br /> + To lie and meditate once more<br /> +The grace I did not fully mark,<br /> + The tone I had not heard before;<br /> +And from my pillow then to take<br /> + Her notes, her picture, and her glove,<br /> +Put there for joy when I should wake,<br /> + And press them to the heart of love;<br /> +And then to whisper ‘Wife!’ and pray<br /> + To live so long as not to miss<br /> +That unimaginable day<br /> + Which farther seems the nearer ’tis;<br /> +And still from joy’s unfathom’d well<br /> + To drink, in dreams, while on her brows<br /> +Of innocence ineffable<br /> + Blossom’d the laughing bridal rose.</p> +<h3><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +145</span>CANTO VI.<br /> +The Love-Letters.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>Love’s Perversity</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">How</span> strange a thing +a lover seems<br /> + To animals that do not love!<br /> +Lo, where he walks and talks in dreams,<br /> + And flouts us with his Lady’s glove;<br /> +How foreign is the garb he wears;<br /> + And how his great devotion mocks<br /> +Our poor propriety, and scares<br /> + The undevout with paradox!<br /> +His soul, through scorn of worldly care,<br /> + And great extremes of sweet and gall,<br /> +And musing much on all that’s fair,<br /> + Grows witty and fantastical;<br /> +He sobs his joy and sings his grief,<br /> + And evermore finds such delight<br /> +In simply picturing his relief,<br /> + That ’plaining seems to cure his plight;<br /> +<a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>He makes +his sorrow, when there’s none;<br /> + His fancy blows both cold and hot;<br /> +Next to the wish that she’ll be won,<br /> + His first hope is that she may not;<br /> +He sues, yet deprecates consent;<br /> + Would she be captured she must fly;<br /> +She looks too happy and content,<br /> + For whose least pleasure he would die;<br /> +Oh, cruelty, she cannot care<br /> + For one to whom she’s always kind!<br /> +He says he’s nought, but, oh, despair,<br /> + If he’s not Jove to her fond mind!<br /> +He’s jealous if she pets a dove,<br /> + She must be his with all her soul;<br /> +Yet ’tis a postulate in love<br /> + That part is greater than the whole;<br /> +And all his apprehension’s stress,<br /> + When he’s with her, regards her hair,<br /> +Her hand, a ribbon of her dress,<br /> + As if his life were only there;<br /> +Because she’s constant, he will change,<br /> + And kindest glances coldly meet,<br /> +And, all the time he seems so strange,<br /> + His soul is fawning at her feet;<br /> +Of smiles and simple heaven grown tired,<br /> + He wickedly provokes her tears,<br /> +And when she weeps, as he desired,<br /> + Falls slain with ecstasies of fears;<br /> +<a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>He +blames her, though she has no fault,<br /> + Except the folly to be his;<br /> +He worships her, the more to exalt<br /> + The profanation of a kiss;<br /> +Health’s his disease, he’s never well<br /> + But when his paleness shames her rose;<br /> +His faith’s a rock-built citadel,<br /> + Its sign a flag that each way blows;<br /> +His o’erfed fancy frets and fumes;<br /> + And Love, in him, is fierce, like Hate,<br /> +And ruffles his ambrosial plumes<br /> + Against the bars of time and fate.</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>The Power of Love</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Samson the Mighty, Solomon<br /> + The Wise, and Holy David all<br /> +Must doff their crowns to Love, for none<br /> + But fell as Love would scorn to fall!<br /> +And what may fallen spirits win,<br /> + When stripes and precepts cannot move?<br /> +Only the sadness of all sin,<br /> + When look’d at in the light of Love.</p> +<h4><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 148</span>THE +LOVE-LETTERS.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘You ask, Will admiration halt,<br /> + Should spots appear within my Sun?<br /> +Oh, how I wish I knew your fault,<br /> + For Love’s tired gaze to rest upon!<br /> +Your graces, which have made me great,<br /> + Will I so loftily admire,<br /> +Yourself yourself shall emulate,<br /> + And be yourself your own desire.<br /> +I’ll nobly mirror you too fair,<br /> + And, when you’re false to me your glass,<br /> +What’s wanting you’ll by that repair,<br /> + So bring yourself through me to pass.<br /> +O dearest, tell me how to prove<br /> + Goodwill which cannot be express’d;<br /> +The beneficial heart of love<br /> + Is labour in an idle breast.<br /> +Name in the world your chosen part,<br /> + And here I vow, with all the bent<br /> +And application of my heart<br /> + To give myself to your content.<br /> +Would you live on, home-worshipp’d, thus,<br /> + Not proudly high nor poorly low?<br /> +Indeed the lines are fall’n to us<br /> + In pleasant places! Be it so.<br /> +<a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>But +would you others heav’nward move,<br /> + By sight not faith, while you they admire?<br /> +I’ll help with zeal as I approve<br /> + That just and merciful desire.<br /> +High as the lonely moon to view<br /> + I’ll lift your light; do you decree<br /> +Your place, I’ll win it; for from you<br /> + Command inspires capacity.<br /> +Or, unseen, would you sway the world<br /> + More surely? Then in gracious rhyme<br /> +I’ll raise your emblem, fair unfurl’d<br /> + With blessing in the breeze of time.<br /> +Faith removes mountains, much more love;<br /> + Let your contempt abolish me<br /> +If ought of your devisal prove<br /> + Too hard or high to do or be.’</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">I ended. ‘From your Sweet-Heart, +Sir,’<br /> + Said Nurse, ‘The Dean’s man brings it +down.’<br /> +I could have kiss’d both him and her!<br /> + ‘Nurse, give him that, with +half-a-crown.’<br /> +How beat my heart, how paused my breath,<br /> + When, with perversely fond delay,<br /> +I broke the seal, that bore a wreath<br /> + Of roses link’d with one of bay.</p> +<h5><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</span>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘I found your note. How very +kind<br /> + To leave it there! I cannot tell<br /> +How pleased I was, or how you find<br /> + Words to express your thoughts so well.<br /> +The Girls are going to the Ball<br /> + At Wilton. If you can, <i>do</i> come;<br /> +And any day this week you call<br /> + Papa and I shall be at home.<br /> +You said to Mary once—I hope<br /> + In jest—that women <i>should</i> be vain:<br +/> +On Saturday your friend (her Pope),<br /> + The Bishop dined with us again.<br /> +She put the question, if they ought?<br /> + He turn’d it cleverly away<br /> +(For giddy Mildred cried, she thought<br /> + We <i>must</i>), with “What we must we +may.”<br /> +‘Dear papa laugh’d, and said ’twas sad<br /> + To think how vain his girls would be,<br /> +Above all Mary, now she had<br /> + Episcopal authority.<br /> +But I was very dull, dear friend,<br /> + And went upstairs at last, and cried.<br /> +Be sure to come to-day, or send<br /> + A rose-leaf kiss’d on either side.<br /> +<a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>Adieu! I am not well. Last night<br /> + My dreams were wild: I often woke,<br /> +The summer-lightning was so bright;<br /> + And when it flash’d I thought you +spoke.’</p> +<h3><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +152</span>CANTO VII.<br /> +The Revulsion.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>Joy and Use</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Can</span> ought compared +with wedlock be<br /> + For use? But He who made the heart<br /> +To use proportions joy. What He<br /> + Has join’d let no man put apart.<br /> +Sweet Order has its draught of bliss<br /> + Graced with the pearl of God’s consent,<br /> +Ten times delightful in that ’tis<br /> + Considerate and innocent.<br /> +In vain Disorder grasps the cup;<br /> + The pleasure’s not enjoy’d but spilt,<br +/> +And, if he stoops to lick it up,<br /> + It only tastes of earth and guilt.<br /> +His sorry raptures rest destroys;<br /> + To live, like comets, they must roam;<br /> +On settled poles turn solid joys,<br /> + And sunlike pleasures shine at home.</p> +<h5><a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +153</span>II.<br /> +‘<i>She was Mine</i>.’</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘Thy tears o’erprize thy +loss! Thy wife,<br /> + In what was she particular?<br /> +Others of comely face and life,<br /> + Others as chaste and warm there are,<br /> +And when they speak they seem to sing;<br /> + Beyond her sex she was not wise;<br /> +And there is no more common thing<br /> + Than kindness in a woman’s eyes.<br /> +Then wherefore weep so long and fast,<br /> + Why so exceedingly repine!<br /> +Say, how has thy Beloved surpass’d<br /> + So much all others?’ ‘She was +mine.’</p> +<h4>THE REVULSION.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">’Twas when the spousal time of May<br /> + Hangs all the hedge with bridal wreaths,<br /> +And air’s so sweet the bosom gay<br /> + Give thanks for every breath it breathes,<br /> +When like to like is gladly moved,<br /> + And each thing joins in Spring’s refrain,<br +/> +‘Let those love now who never loved;<br /> + Let those who have loved love again;’<br /> +<a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>That I, +in whom the sweet time wrought,<br /> + Lay stretch’d within a lonely glade,<br /> +Abandon’d to delicious thought<br /> + Beneath the softly twinkling shade.<br /> +The leaves, all stirring, mimick’d well<br /> + A neighbouring rush of rivers cold,<br /> +And, as the sun or shadow fell,<br /> + So these were green and those were gold;<br /> +In dim recesses hyacinths droop’d,<br /> + And breadths of primrose lit the air,<br /> +Which, wandering through the woodland, stoop’d<br /> + And gather’d perfumes here and there;<br /> +Upon the spray the squirrel swung,<br /> + And careless songsters, six or seven.<br /> +Sang lofty songs the leaves among,<br /> + Fit for their only listener, Heaven.<br /> +I sigh’d, ‘Immeasurable bliss<br /> + Gains nothing by becoming more!<br /> +Millions have meaning; after this<br /> + Cyphers forget the integer.’</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">And so I mused, till musing brought<br /> + A dream that shook my house of clay,<br /> +And, in my humbled heart, I thought,<br /> + To me there yet may come a day<br /> +<a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>With +this the single vestige seen<br /> + Of comfort, earthly or divine,<br /> +My sorrow some time must have been<br /> + Her portion, had it not been mine.<br /> +Then I, who knew, from watching life,<br /> + That blows foreseen are slow to fall,<br /> +Rehearsed the losing of a wife,<br /> + And faced its terrors each and all.<br /> +The self-chastising fancy show’d<br /> + The coffin with its ghastly breath;<br /> +The innocent sweet face that owed<br /> + None of its innocence to death;<br /> +The lips that used to laugh; the knell<br /> + That bade the world beware of mirth;<br /> +The heartless and intolerable<br /> + Indignity of ‘earth to earth;’<br /> +At morn remembering by degrees<br /> + That she I dream’d about was dead;<br /> +Love’s still recurrent jubilees,<br /> + The days that she was born, won, wed;<br /> +The duties of my life the same,<br /> + Their meaning for the feelings gone;<br /> +Friendship impertinent, and fame<br /> + Disgusting; and, more harrowing none,<br /> +Small household troubles fall’n to me,<br /> + As, ‘What time would I dine to-day?’<br +/> +And, oh, how could I bear to see<br /> + The noisy children at their play.<br /> +<a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>Besides, +where all things limp and halt,<br /> + Could I go straight, should I alone<br /> +Have kept my love without default,<br /> + Pitch’d at the true and heavenly tone?<br /> +The festal-day might come to mind<br /> + That miss’d the gift which more endears;<br /> +The hour which might have been more kind,<br /> + And now less fertile in vain tears;<br /> +The good of common intercourse,<br /> + For daintier pleasures, then despised,<br /> +Now with what passionate remorse,<br /> + What poignancy of hunger prized!<br /> +The little wrong, now greatly rued,<br /> + Which no repentance now could right;<br /> +And love, in disbelieving mood,<br /> + Deserting his celestial height.<br /> +Withal to know, God’s love sent grief<br /> + To make me less the world’s, and more<br /> +Meek-hearted: ah, the sick relief!<br /> + Why bow’d I not my heart before?</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘What,’ I exclaimed, with chill +alarm,<br /> + ‘If this fantastic horror shows<br /> +The feature of an actual harm!’<br /> + And, coming straight to Sarum Close,<br /> +<a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>As one +who dreams his wife is dead,<br /> + And cannot in his slumber weep,<br /> +And moans upon his wretched bed,<br /> + And wakes, and finds her there asleep,<br /> +And laughs and sighs, so I, not less<br /> + Relieved, beheld, with blissful start,<br /> +The light and happy loveliness<br /> + Which lay so heavy on my heart.</p> +<h3><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +158</span>CANTO VIII.<br /> +The Koh-i-noor.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>In Love</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> he’s +capricious she’ll be so,<br /> + But, if his duties constant are,<br /> +She lets her loving favour glow<br /> + As steady as a tropic star;<br /> +Appears there nought for which to weep,<br /> + She’ll weep for nought, for his dear sake;<br +/> +She clasps her sister in her sleep;<br /> + Her love in dreams is most awake.<br /> +Her soul, that once with pleasure shook,<br /> + Did any eyes her beauty own,<br /> +Now wonders how they dare to look<br /> + On what belongs to him alone;<br /> +The indignity of taking gifts<br /> + Exhilarates her loving breast;<br /> +A rapture of submission lifts<br /> + Her life into celestial rest;<br /> +<a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>There’s nothing left of what she was;<br /> + Back to the babe the woman dies,<br /> +And all the wisdom that she has<br /> + Is to love him for being wise.<br /> +She’s confident because she fears;<br /> + And, though discreet when he’s away,<br /> +If none but her dear despot hears,<br /> + She prattles like a child at play.<br /> +Perchance, when all her praise is said,<br /> + He tells the news, a battle won,<br /> +On either side ten thousand dead.<br /> + ‘Alas!’ she says; but, if ’twere +known,<br /> +She thinks, ‘He’s looking on my face!<br /> + I am his joy; whate’er I do,<br /> +He sees such time-contenting grace<br /> + In that, he’d have me always so!’<br /> +And, evermore, for either’s sake,<br /> + To the sweet folly of the dove,<br /> +She joins the cunning of the snake,<br /> + To rivet and exalt his love;<br /> +Her mode of candour is deceit;<br /> + And what she thinks from what she’ll say<br /> +(Although I’ll never call her cheat),<br /> + Lies far as Scotland from Cathay.<br /> +Without his knowledge he was won;<br /> + Against his nature kept devout;<br /> +She’ll never tell him how ’twas done,<br /> + And he will never find it out.<br /> +<a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>If, +sudden, he suspects her wiles,<br /> + And hears her forging chain and trap,<br /> +And looks, she sits in simple smiles,<br /> + Her two hands lying in her lap.<br /> +Her secret (privilege of the Bard,<br /> + Whose fancy is of either sex),<br /> +Is mine; but let the darkness guard<br /> + Myst’ries that light would more perplex!</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>Love Thinking</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">What lifts her in my thought so far<br /> + Beyond all else? Let Love not err!<br /> +’Tis that which all right women are,<br /> + But which I’ll know in none but her.<br /> +She is to me the only Ark<br /> + Of that high mystery which locks<br /> +The lips of joy, or speaks in dark<br /> + Enigmas and in paradox;<br /> +That potent charm, which none can fly,<br /> + Nor would, which makes me bond and free,<br /> +Nor can I tell if first ’twas I<br /> + Chose it, or it elected me;<br /> +Which, when I look intentest, lo,<br /> + Cheats most mine eyes, albeit my heart,<br /> +Content to feel and not to know,<br /> + Perceives it all in every part;<br /> +<a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>I kiss +its cheek; its life divine<br /> + Exhales from its resplendent shroud;<br /> +Ixion’s fate reversed is mine,<br /> + Authentic Juno seems a cloud;<br /> +I feel a blessed warmth, I see<br /> + A bright circumference of rays,<br /> +But darkness, where the sun should be,<br /> + Fills admiration with amaze;<br /> +And when, for joy’s relief, I think<br /> + To fathom with the line of thought<br /> +The well from which I, blissful, drink,<br /> + The spring’s so deep I come to nought.</p> +<h5>III.<br /> +<i>The Kiss</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘I saw you take his kiss!’ +‘’Tis true.’<br /> + ‘O, modesty!’ ‘’Twas +strictly kept:<br /> +He thought me asleep; at least, I knew<br /> + He thought I thought he thought I slept.’</p> +<h4>THE KOH-I-NOOR.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘Be man’s hard virtues highly +wrought,<br /> + But let my gentle Mistress be,<br /> +In every look, word, deed, and thought,<br /> + Nothing but sweet and womanly!<br /> +<a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>Her +virtues please my virtuous mood,<br /> + But what at all times I admire<br /> +Is, not that she is wise or good,<br /> + But just the thing which I desire.<br /> +With versatility to sing<br /> + The theme of love to any strain,<br /> +If oft’nest she is anything,<br /> + Be it careless, talkative, and vain.<br /> +That seems in her supremest grace<br /> + Which, virtue or not, apprises me<br /> +That my familiar thoughts embrace<br /> + Unfathomable mystery.’</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">I answer’d thus; for she desired<br /> + To know what mind I most approved;<br /> +Partly to learn what she inquired,<br /> + Partly to get the praise she loved.</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">I praised her, but no praise could fill<br /> + The depths of her desire to please,<br /> +Though dull to others as a Will<br /> + To them that have no legacies.<br /> +The more I praised the more she shone,<br /> + Her eyes incredulously bright,<br /> +And all her happy beauty blown<br /> + Beneath the beams of my delight.<br /> +<a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>Sweet +rivalry was thus begot;<br /> + By turns, my speech, in passion’s style,<br /> +With flatteries the truth o’ershot,<br /> + And she surpass’d them with her smile.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘You have my heart so sweetly +seiz’d,<br /> + And I confess, nay, ’tis my pride<br /> +That I’m with you so solely pleased,<br /> + That, if I’m pleased with aught beside,<br /> +As music, or the month of June,<br /> + My friend’s devotion, or his wit,<br /> +A rose, a rainbow, or the moon,<br /> + It is that you illustrate it.<br /> +All these are parts, you are the whole;<br /> + You fit the taste for Paradise,<br /> +To which your charms draw up the soul<br /> + As turning spirals draw the eyes.<br /> +Nature to you was more than kind;<br /> + ’Twas fond perversity to dress<br /> +So much simplicity of mind<br /> + In such a pomp of loveliness!<br /> +But, praising you, the fancy deft<br /> + Flies wide, and lets the quarry stray,<br /> +And, when all’s said, there’s something left,<br /> + And that’s the thing I meant to say.’<br +/> +<a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +164</span>‘Dear Felix!’ ‘Sweet, my +Love!’ But there<br /> + Was Aunt Maude’s noisy ring and knock!<br /> +‘Stay, Felix; you have caught my hair.<br /> + Stoop! Thank you!’ ‘May I +have that lock?’<br /> +‘Not now. Good morning, Aunt!’ +‘Why, Puss,<br /> + You look magnificent to-day.’<br /> +‘Here’s Felix, Aunt.’ ‘Fox and +green goose!<br /> + Who handsome gets should handsome pay!<br /> +Aunt, you are friends!’ ‘Ah, to be sure!<br /> + Good morning! Go on flattering, sir;<br /> +A woman, like the Koh-i-noor,<br /> + Mounts to the price that’s put on +her.’</p> +<h3><a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>CANTO IX.<br /> +The Friends.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>The Nursling of Civility</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lo</span>, how the woman +once was woo’d;<br /> + Forth leapt the savage from his lair,<br /> +And fell’d her, and to nuptials rude<br /> + He dragg’d her, bleeding, by the hair.<br /> +From that to Chloe’s dainty wiles<br /> + And Portia’s dignified consent,<br /> +What distance! Bat these Pagan styles<br /> + How far below Time’s fair intent!<br /> +Siegfried sued Kriemhild. Sweeter life<br /> + Could Love’s self covet? Yet ’tis +snug<br /> +In what rough sort he chid his wife<br /> + For want of curb upon her tongue!<br /> +Shall Love, where last I leave him, halt?<br /> + Nay; none can fancy or forsee<br /> +To how strange bliss may time exalt<br /> + This nursling of civility.</p> +<h5><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>II.<br /> +<i>The Foreign Land</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">A woman is a foreign land,<br /> + Of which, though there he settle young,<br /> +A man will ne’er quite understand<br /> + The customs, politics, and tongue.<br /> +The foolish hie them post-haste through,<br /> + See fashions odd, and prospects fair,<br /> +Learn of the language, ‘How d’ye do,’<br /> + And go and brag they have been there.<br /> +The most for leave to trade apply,<br /> + For once, at Empire’s seat, her heart,<br /> +Then get what knowledge ear and eye<br /> + Glean chancewise in the life-long mart.<br /> +And certain others, few and fit,<br /> + Attach them to the Court, and see<br /> +The Country’s best, its accent hit,<br /> + And partly sound its polity.</p> +<h5>III.<br /> +<i>Disappointment</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘The bliss which woman’s charms +bespeak,<br /> + I’ve sought in many, found in none!’<br +/> +‘In many ’tis in vain you seek<br /> + What only can be found in one.’</p> +<h4><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>THE +FRIENDS.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">Frank’s long, dull letter, lying by<br /> + The gay sash from Honoria’s waist,<br /> +Reproach’d me; passion spared a sigh<br /> + For friendship without fault disgraced.<br /> +How should I greet him? how pretend<br /> + I felt the love he once inspired?<br /> +Time was when either, in his friend,<br /> + His own deserts with joy admired;<br /> +We took one side in school-debate,<br /> + Like hopes pursued with equal thirst,<br /> +Were even-bracketed by Fate,<br /> + Twin-Wranglers, seventh from the First;<br /> +And either loved a lady’s laugh<br /> + More than all music; he and I<br /> +Were perfect in the pleasant half<br /> + Of universal charity.</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">From pride of likeness thus I loved<br /> + Him, and he me, till love begot<br /> +The lowliness which now approved<br /> + Nothing but that which I was not,<br /> +<a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>Blest +was the pride of feeling so<br /> + Subjected to a girl’s soft reign.<br /> +She was my vanity, and, oh,<br /> + All other vanities how vain!</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">Frank follow’d in his letter’s +track,<br /> + And set my guilty heart at ease<br /> +By echoing my excuses back<br /> + With just the same apologies.<br /> +So he had slighted me as well!<br /> + Nor was my mind disburthen’d less<br /> +When what I sought excuse to tell<br /> + He of himself did first confess.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">Each, rapturous, praised his lady’s +worth;<br /> + He eloquently thus: ‘Her face<br /> +Is the summ’d sweetness of the earth,<br /> + Her soul the glass of heaven’s grace,<br /> +To which she leads me by the hand;<br /> + Or, briefly all the truth to say<br /> +To you, who briefly understand,<br /> + She is both heaven and the way.<br /> +Displeasures and resentments pass<br /> + Athwart her charitable eyes<br /> +More fleetingly than breath from glass,<br /> + Or truth from foolish memories;<br /> +<a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 169</span>Her +heart’s so touch’d with others’ woes<br /> + She has no need of chastisement;<br /> +Her gentle life’s conditions close,<br /> + Like God’s commandments, with content,<br /> +And make an aspect calm and gay,<br /> + Where sweet affections come and go,<br /> +Till all who see her, smile and say,<br /> + How fair, and happy that she’s so!<br /> +She is so lovely, true, and pure,<br /> + Her virtue virtue so endears,<br /> +That often, when I think of her,<br /> + Life’s meanness fills mine eyes with +tears—’<br /> +‘You paint Miss Churchill! Pray go +on—’<br /> + ‘She’s perfect, and, if joy was much<br +/> +To think her nature’s paragon,<br /> + ’Tis more that there’s another +such!’</p> +<h5>5</h5> +<p class="poetry">Praising and paying back their praise<br /> + With rapturous hearts, t’ward Sarum Spire<br +/> +We walk’d, in evening’s golden haze,<br /> + Friendship from passion stealing fire.<br /> +In joy’s crown danced the feather jest,<br /> + And, parting by the Deanery door,<br /> +Clasp’d hands, less shy than words, confess’d<br /> + We had not been true friends before.</p> +<h3><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span>CANTO X.<br /> +The Epitaph.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>Frost in Harvest</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> lover who, +across a gulf<br /> + Of ceremony, views his Love,<br /> +And dares not yet address herself,<br /> + Pays worship to her stolen glove.<br /> +The gulf o’erleapt, the lover wed,<br /> + It happens oft, (let truth be told),<br /> +The halo leaves the sacred head,<br /> + Respect grows lax, and worship cold,<br /> +And all love’s May-day promising,<br /> + Like song of birds before they pair,<br /> +Or flush of flowers in boastful Spring,<br /> + Dies out, and leaves the Summer bare.<br /> +Yet should a man, it seems to me,<br /> + Honour what honourable is,<br /> +For some more honourable plea<br /> + Than only that it is not his.<br /> +<a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 171</span>The +gentle wife, who decks his board<br /> + And makes his day to have no night,<br /> +Whose wishes wait upon her lord,<br /> + Who finds her own in his delight,<br /> +Is she another now than she<br /> + Who, mistress of her maiden charms,<br /> +At his wild prayer, incredibly<br /> + Committed them to his proud arms?<br /> +Unless her choice of him’s a slur<br /> + Which makes her proper credit dim,<br /> +He never enough can honour her<br /> + Who past all speech has honour’d him.</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>Felicity</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">To marry her and take her home!<br /> + The poet, painting pureness, tells<br /> +Of lilies; figures power by Rome;<br /> + And each thing shows by something else.<br /> +But through the songs of poets look,<br /> + And who so lucky to have found<br /> +In universal nature’s book<br /> + A likeness for a life so crown’d!<br /> +Here they speak best who best express<br /> + Their inability to speak,<br /> +And none are strong, but who confess<br /> + With happy skill that they are weak.</p> +<h5><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +172</span>III.<br /> +<i>Marriage Indissoluble</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘In heaven none marry.’ Grant +the most<br /> + Which may by this dark word be meant,<br /> +Who shall forbid the eternal boast<br /> + ‘I kiss’d, and kiss’d with her +consent!’<br /> +If here, to Love, past favour is<br /> + A present boast, delight, and chain,<br /> +What lacks of honour, bond, and bliss,<br /> + Where Now and Then are no more twain!</p> +<h4>THE EPITAPH.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘At Church, in twelve hours more, we +meet!<br /> + This, Dearest, is our last farewell.’<br /> +‘Oh, Felix, do you love me?’ ‘Sweet,<br +/> + Why do you ask?’ ‘I cannot +tell.’</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">And was it no vain fantasy<br /> + That raised me from the earth with pride?<br /> +Should I to-morrow verily<br /> + Be Bridegroom, and Honoria Bride?<br /> +<a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>Should +I, in simple fact, henceforth<br /> + Live unconditionally lord<br /> +Of her whose smile for brightest worth<br /> + Seem’d all too bountiful reward?<br /> +Incredible life’s promise seem’d,<br /> + Or, credible, for life too great;<br /> +Love his own deity blasphemed,<br /> + And doff’d at last his heavenly state.<br /> +What law, if man could mount so high,<br /> + To further insolence set bars,<br /> +And kept the chaste moon in the sky,<br /> + And bade him not tread out the stars!</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">Patience and hope had parted truce,<br /> + And, sun-like, Love obscured his ray<br /> +With dazzling mists, driven up profuse<br /> + Before his own triumphant way.<br /> +I thought with prayer how Jacob paid<br /> + The patient price of Rachel; them,<br /> +Of that calm grace Tobias said,<br /> + And Sarah’s innocent ‘Amen.’<br /> +Without avail! O’erwhelming wealth,<br /> + The wondrous gift of God so near,<br /> +Which should have been delight and health<br /> + Made heart and spirit sick and sere.<br /> +<a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>Until at +last the soul of love,<br /> + That recks not of its own delight,<br /> +Awoke and bade the mists remove,<br /> + And then once more I breathed aright;<br /> +And I rehears’d my marriage vow,<br /> + And swore her welfare to prefer<br /> +To all things, and for aye as now<br /> + To live, not for myself, but her.<br /> +Forth, from the glittering spirit’s peace<br /> + And gaiety ineffable,<br /> +Stream’d to the heart delight and ease,<br /> + As from an overflowing well;<br /> +And, orderly deriving thence<br /> + Its pleasure perfect and allow’d,<br /> +Bright with the spirit shone the sense,<br /> + As with the sun a fleecy cloud.<br /> +If now to part with her could make<br /> + Her pleasure greater, sorrow less,<br /> +I for my epitaph would take<br /> + ‘To serve seem’d more than to +possess.’<br /> +And I perceiv’d, (the vision sweet<br /> + Dimming with happy dew mine eyes),<br /> +That love and joy are torches lit<br /> + From altar-fires of sacrifice.</p> +<h5><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +175</span>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">Across the sky the daylight crept,<br /> + And birds grew garrulous in the grove,<br /> +And on my marriage-morn I slept<br /> + A soft sleep, undisturb’d by love.</p> +<h3><a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +176</span>CANTO XI.<br /> +The Wedding.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>Platonic Love</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Right</span> art thou who +wouldst rather be<br /> + A doorkeeper in Love’s fair house,<br /> +Than lead the wretched revelry<br /> + Where fools at swinish troughs carouse.<br /> +But do not boast of being least;<br /> + And if to kiss thy Mistress’ skirt<br /> +Amaze thy brain, scorn not the Priest<br /> + Whom greater honours do not hurt.<br /> +Stand off and gaze, if more than this<br /> + Be more than thou canst understand,<br /> +Revering him whose power of bliss,<br /> + Angelic, dares to seize her hand,<br /> +Or whose seraphic love makes flight<br /> + To the apprehension of her lips;<br /> +And think, the sun of such delight<br /> + From thine own darkness takes eclipse.<br /> +<a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 177</span>And, +wouldst thou to the same aspire,<br /> + This is the art thou must employ,<br /> +Live greatly; so shalt thou acquire<br /> + Unknown capacities of joy.</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>A Demonstration</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Nature, with endless being rife,<br /> + Parts each thing into ‘him’ and +‘her,’<br /> +And, in the arithmetic of life,<br /> + The smallest unit is a pair;<br /> +And thus, oh, strange, sweet half of me,<br /> + If I confess a loftier flame,<br /> +If more I love high Heaven than thee,<br /> + I more than love thee, thine I am;<br /> +And, if the world’s not built of lies,<br /> + Nor all a cheat the Gospel tells,<br /> +If that which from the dead shall rise<br /> + Be I indeed, not something else,<br /> +There’s no position more secure<br /> + In reason or in faith than this,<br /> +That those conditions must endure,<br /> + Which, wanting, I myself should miss.</p> +<h5><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +178</span>III.<br /> +<i>The Symbol</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">As if I chafed the sparks from glass,<br /> + And said, ‘It lightens,’ hitherto<br /> +The songs I’ve made of love may pass<br /> + For all but for proportion true;<br /> +But likeness and proportion both<br /> + Now fail, as if a child in glee,<br /> +Catching the flakes of the salt froth,<br /> + Cried, ‘Look, my mother, here’s the +sea.<br /> +Yet, by the help of what’s so weak,<br /> + But not diverse, to those who know,<br /> +And only unto those I speak,<br /> + May far-inferring fancy show<br /> +Love’s living sea by coasts uncurb’d,<br /> + Its depth, its mystery, and its might,<br /> +Its indignation if disturb’d,<br /> + The glittering peace of its delight.</p> +<h5>IV.<br /> +<i>Constancy Rewarded</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">I vow’d unvarying faith, and she,<br /> + To whom in full I pay that vow,<br /> +Rewards me with variety<br /> + Which men who change can never know.</p> +<h4><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 179</span>THE +WEDDING.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">Life smitten with a feverish chill,<br /> + The brain too tired to understand,<br /> +In apathy of heart and will,<br /> + I took the woman from the hand<br /> +Of him who stood for God, and heard<br /> + Of Christ, and of the Church his Bride;<br /> +The Feast, by presence of the Lord<br /> + And his first Wonder, beautified;<br /> +The mystic sense to Christian men;<br /> + The bonds in innocency made,<br /> +And gravely to be enter’d then,<br /> + For children, godliness, and, aid,<br /> +And honour’d, and kept free from smirch;<br /> + And how a man must love his wife<br /> +No less than Christ did love his Church,<br /> + If need be, giving her his life;<br /> +And, vowing then the mutual vow,<br /> + The tongue spoke, but intention slept.<br /> +’Tis well for us Heaven asks not how<br /> + We take this oath, but how ’tis kept.</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">O, bold seal of a bashful bound,<br /> + Which makes the marriage-day to be,<br /> +To those before it and beyond,<br /> + An iceberg in an Indian sea!</p> +<h5><a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +180</span>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘Now, while she’s changing,’ +said the Dean,<br /> + ‘Her bridal for her travelling dress,<br /> +I’ll preach allegiance to your queen!<br /> + Preaching’s the thing which I profess;<br /> +And one more minute’s mine! You know<br /> + I’ve paid my girl a father’s debt,<br /> +And this last charge is all I owe.<br /> + She’s yours; but I love more than yet<br /> +You can; such fondness only wakes<br /> + When time has raised the heart above<br /> +The prejudice of youth, which makes<br /> + Beauty conditional to love.<br /> +Prepare to meet the weak alarms<br /> + Of novel nearness; recollect<br /> +The eye which magnified her charms<br /> + Is microscopic for defect.<br /> +Fear comes at first; but soon, rejoiced,<br /> + You’ll find your strong and tender loves,<br +/> +Like holy rocks by Druids poised,<br /> + The least force shakes, but none removes.<br /> +Her strength is your esteem; beware<br /> + Of finding fault; her will’s unnerv’d<br +/> +By blame; from you ’twould be despair;<br /> + But praise that is not quite deserv’d<br /> +<a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 181</span>Will all +her noble nature move<br /> + To make your utmost wishes tree.<br /> +Yet think, while mending thus your Love,<br /> + Of snatching her ideal too.<br /> +The death of nuptial joy is sloth:<br /> + To keep your mistress in your wife,<br /> +Keep to the very height your oath,<br /> + And honour her with arduous life.<br /> +Lastly, no personal reverence doff.<br /> + Life’s all externals unto those<br /> +Who pluck the blushing petals off,<br /> + To find the secret of the rose.—<br /> +How long she’s tarrying! Green’s Hotel<br /> + I’m sure you’ll like. The charge +is fair,<br /> +The wines good. I remember well<br /> + I stay’d once, with her Mother, there.<br /> +A tender conscience of her vow<br /> + That Mother had! She’s so like +her!’<br /> +But Mrs. Fife, much flurried, now<br /> + Whisper’d, ‘Miss Honor’s ready, +Sir.’</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">Whirl’d off at last, for speech I +sought,<br /> + To keep shy Love in countenance,<br /> +But, whilst I vainly tax’d my thought,<br /> + Her voice deliver’d mime from trance:<br /> +<a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>‘Look, is not this a pretty shawl,<br /> + Aunt’s parting gift.’ +‘She’s always kind.’<br /> +‘The new wing spoils Sir John’s old Hall:<br /> + You’ll see it, if you pull the +blind.’</p> +<h5>5</h5> +<p class="poetry">I drew the silk: in heaven the night<br /> + Was dawning; lovely Venus shone,<br /> +In languishment of tearful light,<br /> + Swathed by the red breath of the sun.</p> +<h3><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +183</span>CANTO XII.<br /> +Husband and Wife.</h3> +<h4>PRELUDES.</h4> +<h5>I.<br /> +<i>The Married Lover</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Why</span>, having won her, +do I woo?<br /> + Because her spirit’s vestal grace<br /> +Provokes me always to pursue,<br /> + But, spirit-like, eludes embrace;<br /> +Because her womanhood is such<br /> + That, as on court-days subjects kiss<br /> +The Queen’s hand, yet so near a touch<br /> + Affirms no mean familiarness,<br /> +Nay, rather marks more fair the height<br /> + Which can with safety so neglect<br /> +To dread, as lower ladies might,<br /> + That grace could meet with disrespect,<br /> +Thus she with happy favour feeds<br /> + Allegiance from a love so high<br /> +That thence no false conceit proceeds<br /> + Of difference bridged, or state put by;<br /> +<a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 184</span>Because, +although in act and word<br /> + As lowly as a wife can be,<br /> +Her manners, when they call me lord,<br /> + Remind me ’tis by courtesy;<br /> +Not with her least consent of will,<br /> + Which would my proud affection hurt,<br /> +But by the noble style that still<br /> + Imputes an unattain’d desert;<br /> +Because her gay and lofty brows,<br /> + When all is won which hope can ask,<br /> +Reflect a light of hopeless snows<br /> + That bright in virgin ether bask;<br /> +Because, though free of the outer court<br /> + I am, this Temple keeps its shrine<br /> +Sacred to Heaven; because, in short,<br /> + She’s not and never can be mine.</p> +<h5>II.<br /> +<i>The Amaranth</i>.</h5> +<p class="poetry">Feasts satiate; stars distress with height;<br +/> + Friendship means well, but misses reach,<br /> +And wearies in its best delight,<br /> + Vex’d with the vanities of speech;<br /> +Too long regarded, roses even<br /> + Afflict the mind with fond unrest;<br /> +And to converse direct within Heaven<br /> + Is oft a labour in the breast;<br /> +<a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>Whate’er the up-looking soul admires,<br /> + Whate’er the senses’ banquet be,<br /> +Fatigues at last with vain desires,<br /> + Or sickens by satiety;<br /> +But truly my delight was more<br /> + In her to whom I’m bound for aye<br /> +Yesterday than the day before<br /> + And more to-day than yesterday.</p> +<h4>HUSBAND AND WIFE.</h4> +<h5>1</h5> +<p class="poetry">I, while the shop-girl fitted on<br /> + The sand-shoes, look’d where, down the bay,<br +/> +The sea glow’d with a shrouded sun.<br /> + ‘I’m ready, Felix; will you +pay?’<br /> +That was my first expense for this<br /> + Sweet Stranger, now my three days’ Wife.<br /> +How light the touches are that kiss<br /> + The music from the chords of life!</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">Her feet, by half-a-mile of sea,<br /> + In spotless sand left shapely prints;<br /> +With agates, then, she loaded me;<br /> + (The lapidary call’d them flints);<br /> +<a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 186</span>Then, at +her wish, I hail’d a boat,<br /> + To take her to the ships-of-war,<br /> +At anchor, each a lazy mote<br /> + Black in the brilliance, miles from shore.</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">The morning breeze the canvas fill’d,<br +/> + Lifting us o’er the bright-ridged gulf,<br /> +And every lurch my darling thrill’d<br /> + With light fear smiling at itself;<br /> +And, dashing past the Arrogant,<br /> + Asleep upon the restless wave<br /> +After its cruise in the Levant,<br /> + We reach’d the Wolf, and signal gave<br /> +For help to board; within caution meet,<br /> + My bride was placed within the chair,<br /> +The red flag wrapp’d about her feet,<br /> + And so swung laughing through the air.</p> +<h5>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘Look, Love,’ she said, +‘there’s Frederick Graham,<br /> + My cousin, whom you met, you know,’<br /> +And seeing us, the brave man came,<br /> + And made his frank and courteous bow,<br /> +And gave my hand a sailor’s shake,<br /> + And said, ‘You ask’d me to the Hurst:<br +/> +I never thought my luck would make<br /> + Your wife and you my guests the first.’<br /> +<a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>And +Honor, cruel, ‘Nor did we:<br /> + Have you not lately changed your ship?’<br /> +‘Yes: I’m Commander, now,’ said he,<br /> + With a slight quiver of the lip.<br /> +We saw the vessel, shown with pride;<br /> + Took luncheon; I must eat his salt!<br /> +Parting he said, (I fear my bride<br /> + Found him unselfish to a fault),<br /> +His wish, he saw, had come to pass,<br /> + (And so, indeed, her face express’d),<br /> +That that should be, whatever ’twas,<br /> + Which made his Cousin happiest.<br /> +We left him looking from above;<br /> + Rich bankrupt! for he could afford<br /> +To say most proudly that his love<br /> + Was virtue and its own reward.<br /> +But others loved as well as he,<br /> + (Thought I, half-anger’d), and if fate,<br /> +Unfair, had only fashion’d me<br /> + As hapless, I had been as great.</p> +<h5>5</h5> +<p class="poetry">As souls, ambitious, but low-born,<br /> + If raised past hope by luck or wit,<br /> +All pride of place will proudly scorn,<br /> + And live as they’d been used to it,<br /> +<a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>So we +two wore our strange estate:<br /> + Familiar, unaffected, free,<br /> +We talk’d, until the dusk grew late,<br /> + Of this and that; but, after tea,<br /> +As doubtful if a lot so sweet<br /> + As ours was ours in very sooth,<br /> +Like children, to promote conceit,<br /> + We feign’d that it was not the truth;<br /> +And she assumed the maiden coy,<br /> + And I adored remorseless charms,<br /> +And then we clapp’d our hands for joy,<br /> + And ran into each others arms.</p> +<h4><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 189</span>THE +EPILOGUE.</h4> +<h5>I</h5> +<p class="poetry">‘<span class="smcap">Ah</span>, dearest +Wife, a fresh-lit fire<br /> + Sends forth to heaven great shows of fume,<br /> +And watchers, far away, admire;<br /> + But when the flames their power assume,<br /> +The more they burn the less they show,<br /> + The clouds no longer smirch the sky,<br /> +And then the flames intensest glow<br /> + When far-off watchers think they die.<br /> +The fumes of early love my verse<br /> + Has figured—’ ‘You must +paint the flame!’<br /> +’Twould merit the Promethean curse!<br /> + But now, Sweet, for your praise and blame.’<br +/> +‘You speak too boldly; veils are due<br /> + To women’s feelings.’ ‘Fear +not this!<br /> +Women will vow I say not true,<br /> + And men believe thine lips they kiss.’<br /> +I did not call you “Dear” or “Love,”<br +/> + ‘I think, till after Frank was born.’<br +/> +‘That fault I cannot well remove;<br /> + The rhymes’—but Frank now blew his +horn,<br /> +And Walter bark’d, on hands and knees,<br /> + At Baby in the mignonette,<br /> +And all made, full-cry, for the trees<br /> + Where Felix and his Wife were set.<br /> +<a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span>Again +disturb’d, (crickets have cares!)<br /> + True to their annual use they rose,<br /> +To offer thanks at Evening Prayers<br /> + In three times sacred Sarum Close.</p> +<h5>2</h5> +<p class="poetry">Passing, they left a gift of wine<br /> + At Widow Neale’s. Her daughter said:<br +/> +‘O, Ma’am, she’s sinking! For a sign,<br +/> + She cried just now, of him that’s dead,<br /> +“Mary, he’s somewhere close above,<br /> + Weeping and wailing his dead wife,<br /> +With forceful prayers and fatal love<br /> + Conjuring me to come to life.<br /> +A spirit is terrible though dear!<br /> + It comes by night, and sucks my breath,<br /> +And draws me with desire and fear.”<br /> + Ah, Ma’am, she’ll soon be his in +death!’</p> +<h5>3</h5> +<p class="poetry">Vaughan, when his kind Wife’s eyes were +dry,<br /> + Said, ‘This thought crosses me, my Dove;<br /> +If Heaven should proffer, when we die,<br /> + Some unconceiv’d, superior love,<br /> +<a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>How take +the exchange without despair,<br /> + Without worse folly how refuse?’<br /> +But she, who, wise as she was fair,<br /> + For subtle doubts had simple clues,<br /> +Said, ‘Custom sanctifies, and faith<br /> + Is more than joy: ah, how desire<br /> +In any heaven a different path,<br /> + Though, found at first, it had been higher?<br /> +Yet love makes death a dreadful thought!<br /> + Felix, at what a price we live!’<br /> +But present pleasures soon forgot<br /> + The future’s dread alternative;<br /> +For, as became the festal time,<br /> + He cheer’d her heart with tender praise,<br /> +And speeches wanting only rhyme<br /> + To make them like his winged lays.<br /> +He discommended girlhood. ‘What<br /> + For sweetness like the ten-years’ wife,<br /> +Whose customary love is not<br /> + Her passion, or her play, but life?<br /> +With beauties so maturely fair,<br /> + Affecting, mild, and manifold,<br /> +May girlish charms mo more compare<br /> + Than apples green with apples gold.<br /> +Ah, still unpraised Honoria, Heaven,<br /> + When you into my arms it gave,<br /> +Left nought hereafter to be given<br /> + But grace to feel the good I have.’</p> +<h5><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +192</span>4</h5> +<p class="poetry">Her own and manhood’s modesty<br /> + Made dumb her love, but, on their road,<br /> +His hand in hers felt soft reply,<br /> + And like rejoinder found bestow’d;<br /> +And, when the carriage set them down,<br /> + ‘How strange,’ said he, +‘’twould seem to meet,<br /> +When pacing, as we now this town,<br /> + A Florence or a Lisbon Street,<br /> +That Laura or that Catherine, who,<br /> + In the remote, romantic years,<br /> +From Petrarch or Camoens drew<br /> + Their songs and their immortal tears!’<br /> +But here their converse had its end;<br /> + For, crossing the Cathedral Lawn,<br /> +There came an ancient college-friend,<br /> + Who, introduced to Mrs. Vaughan,<br /> +Lifted his hat, and bow’d and smiled.<br /> + And fill’d her kind large eyes with joy,<br /> +By patting on the cheek her child,<br /> + With, ‘Is he yours, this handsome +boy?’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> + +<div class="gapmediumline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">Printed by +Cassell & Company, Limited, La Bella Sauvage, London, +E.C.</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">18–491</span></p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 4099-h.htm or 4099-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/0/9/4099 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* + + + + +THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + + +There could be but one answer to the suggestion of Mr. Coventry +Patmore that his "Angel in the House" might usefully have a place in +this "National Library." The suggestion was made with the belief +that wide and cheap diffusion would not take from the value of a +copyright library edition, while the best use of writing is +fulfilled by the spreading of verse dedicated to the sacred love of +home. The two parts of the Poem appeared in 1854 and 1856, were +afterwards elaborately revised, and have since obtained a permanent +place among the Home Books of the English People. Our readers will +join, surely, in thanks to the author for the present he has made +us. + +H. M. + + + + +THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE + + + + +BOOK I. + + + +THE PROLOGUE. + +1 + +'Mine is no horse with wings, to gain + The region of the spheral chime; +He does but drag a rumbling wain, + Cheer'd by the coupled bells of rhyme; +And if at Fame's bewitching note + My homely Pegasus pricks an ear, +The world's cart-collar hugs his throat, + And he's too wise to prance or rear.' + +2 + +Thus ever answer'd Vaughan his Wife, + Who, more than he, desired his fame; +But, in his heart, his thoughts were rife + How for her sake to earn a name. +With bays poetic three times crown'd, + And other college honours won, +He, if he chose, might be renown'd, + He had but little doubt, she none; +And in a loftier phrase he talk'd + With her, upon their Wedding-Day, +(The eighth), while through the fields they walk'd, + Their children shouting by the way. +'Not careless of the gift of song, + Nor out of love with noble fame, +I, meditating much and long + What I should sing, how win a name, +Considering well what theme unsung, + What reason worth the cost of rhyme, +Remains to loose the poet's tongue + In these last days, the dregs of time, +Learn that to me, though born so late, + There does, beyond desert, befall +(May my great fortune make me great!) + The first of themes, sung last of all. +In green and undiscover'd ground, + Yet near where many others sing, +I have the very well-head found + Whence gushes the Pierian Spring.' + + 4 + +Then she: 'What is it, Dear? The Life + Of Arthur, or Jerusalem's Fall?' +'Neither: your gentle self, my Wife, + And love, that grows from one to all. +And if I faithfully proclaim + Of these the exceeding worthiness, +Surely the sweetest wreath of Fame + Shall, to your hope, my brows caress; +And if, by virtue of my choice + Of this, the most heart-touching theme +That ever tuned a poet's voice, + I live, as I am bold to dream, +To be delight to many days, + And into silence only cease +When those are still, who shared their bays + With Laura and with Beatrice, +Imagine, Love, how learned men + Will deep-conceiv'd devices find, +Beyond my purpose and my ken, + An ancient bard of simple mind. +You, Sweet, his Mistress, Wife, and Muse, + Were you for mortal woman meant? +Your praises give a hundred clues + To mythological intent! +And, severing thus the truth from trope, + In you the Commentators see +Outlines occult of abstract scope, + A future for philosophy! +Your arm's on mine! these are the meads + In which we pass our living days; +There Avon runs, now hid with reeds, + Now brightly brimming pebbly bays; +Those are our children's songs that come + With bells and bleatings of the sheep; +And there, in yonder English home, + We thrive on mortal food and sleep!' +She laugh'd. How proud she always was + To feel how proud he was of her! +But he had grown distraught, because + The Muse's mood began to stir. + +5 + +His purpose with performance crown'd, + He to his well-pleased Wife rehears'd, +When next their Wedding-Day came round, + His leisure's labour, 'Book the First.' + + + +CANTO I--THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE. + + + +PRELUDES. + +I.--The Impossibility. + +Lo, love's obey'd by all. 'Tis right + That all should know what they obey, +Lest erring conscience damp delight, + And folly laugh our joys away. +Thou Primal Love, who grantest wings + And voices to the woodland birds, +Grant me the power of saying things + Too simple and too sweet for words! + +II.--Love's Really. + +I walk, I trust, with open eyes; + I've travell'd half my worldly course; +And in the way behind me lies + Much vanity and some remorse; +I've lived to feel how pride may part + Spirits, tho' match'd like hand and glove; +I've blush'd for love's abode, the heart; + But have not disbelieved in love; +Nor unto love, sole mortal thing + Of worth immortal, done the wrong +To count it, with the rest that sing, + Unworthy of a serious song; +And love is my reward; for now, + When most of dead'ning time complain, +The myrtle blooms upon my brow, + Its odour quickens all my brain. + +III.--The Poet's Confidence. + +The richest realm of all the earth + Is counted still a heathen land: +Lo, I, like Joshua, now go forth + To give it into Israel's hand. +I will not hearken blame or praise; + For so should I dishonour do +To that sweet Power by which these Lays + Alone are lovely, good, and true; +Nor credence to the world's cries give, + Which ever preach and still prevent +Pure passion's high prerogative + To make, not follow, precedent. +From love's abysmal ether rare + If I to men have here made known +New truths, they, like new stars, were there + Before, though not yet written down. +Moving but as the feelings move, + I run, or loiter with delight, +Or pause to mark where gentle Love + Persuades the soul from height to height. +Yet, know ye, though my words are gay + As David's dance, which Michal scorn'd. +If kindly you receive the Lay, + You shall be sweetly help'd and warn'd. + + +THE CATHEDRAL CLOSE. + + +1. + +Once more I came to Sarum Close, + With joy half memory, half desire, +And breathed the sunny wind that rose + And blew the shadows o'er the Spire, +And toss'd the lilac's scented plumes, + And sway'd the chestnut's thousand cones, +And fill'd my nostrils with perfumes, + And shaped the clouds in waifs and zones, +And wafted down the serious strain + Of Sarum bells, when, true to time, +I reach'd the Dean's, with heart and brain + That trembled to the trembling chime. + +2 + +'Twas half my home, six years ago. + The six years had not alter'd it: +Red-brick and ashlar, long and low, + With dormers and with oriels lit. +Geranium, lychnis, rose array'd + The windows, all wide open thrown; +And some one in the Study play'd + The Wedding-March of Mendelssohn. +And there it was I last took leave: + 'Twas Christmas: I remember'd now +The cruel girls, who feign'd to grieve, + Took down the evergreens; and how +The holly into blazes woke + The fire, lighting the large, low room, +A dim, rich lustre of old oak + And crimson velvet's glowing gloom. +No change had touch'd Dean Churchill: kind, + By widowhood more than winters bent, +And settled in a cheerful mind, + As still forecasting heaven's content. +Well might his thoughts be fix'd on high, + Now she was there! Within her face +Humility and dignity + Were met in a most sweet embrace. +She seem'd expressly sent below + To teach our erring minds to see +The rhythmic change of time's swift flow + As part of still eternity. +Her life, all honour, observed, with awe + Which cross experience could not mar, +The fiction of the Christian law + That all men honourable are; +And so her smile at once conferr'd + High flattery and benign reproof; +And I, a rude boy, strangely stirr'd, + Grew courtly in my own behoof. +The years, so far from doing her wrong, + Anointed her with gracious balm, +And made her brows more and more young + With wreaths of amaranth and palm. + +4 + +Was this her eldest, Honor; prude, + Who would not let me pull the swing; +Who, kiss'd at Christmas, call'd me rude, + And, sobbing low, refused to sing? +How changed! In shape no slender Grace, + But Venus; milder than the dove; +Her mother's air; her Norman face; + Her large sweet eyes, clear lakes of love. +Mary I knew. In former time + Ailing and pale, she thought that bliss +Was only for a better clime, + And, heavenly overmuch, scorn'd this. +I, rash with theories of the right, + Which stretch'd the tether of my Creed, +But did not break it, held delight + Half discipline. We disagreed. +She told the Dean I wanted grace. + Now she was kindest of the three, +And soft wild roses deck'd her face. + And, what, was this my Mildred, she +To herself and all a sweet surprise? + My Pet, who romp'd and roll'd a hoop? +I wonder'd where those daisy eyes + Had found their touching curve and droop. + +5 + +Unmannerly times! But now we sat + Stranger than strangers; till I caught +And answer'd Mildred's smile; and that + Spread to the rest, and freedom brought. +The Dean talk'd little, looking on, + Of three such daughters justly vain. +What letters they had had from Bonn, + Said Mildred, and what plums from Spain! +By Honor I was kindly task'd + To excuse my never coming down +From Cambridge; Mary smiled and ask'd + Were Kant and Goethe yet outgrown? +And, pleased, we talk'd the old days o'er; + And, parting, I for pleasure sigh'd. +To be there as a friend, (since more), + Seem'd then, seems still, excuse for pride; +For something that abode endued + With temple-like repose, an air +Of life's kind purposes pursued + With order'd freedom sweet and fair. +A tent pitch'd in a world not right + It seem'd, whose inmates, every one, +On tranquil faces bore the light + Of duties beautifully done, +And humbly, though they had few peers, + Kept their own laws, which seem'd to be +The fair sum of six thousand years' + Traditions of civility. + + + +CANTO II--MARY AND MILDRED + + + +PRELUDES. + +I.--The Paragon. + +When I behold the skies aloft + Passing the pageantry of dreams, +The cloud whose bosom, cygnet-soft, + A couch for nuptial Juno seems, +The ocean broad, the mountains bright, + The shadowy vales with feeding herds, +I from my lyre the music smite, + Nor want for justly matching words. +All forces of the sea and air, + All interests of hill and plain, +I so can sing, in seasons fair, + That who hath felt may feel again. +Elated oft by such free songs, + I think with utterance free to raise +That hymn for which the whole world longs, + A worthy hymn in woman's praise; +A hymn bright-noted like a bird's, + Arousing these song-sleepy times +With rhapsodies of perfect words, + Ruled by returning kiss of rhymes. +But when I look on her and hope + To tell with joy what I admire, +My thoughts lie cramp'd in narrow scope, + Or in the feeble birth expire; +No mystery of well-woven speech, + No simplest phrase of tenderest fall, +No liken'd excellence can reach + Her, thee most excellent of all, +The best half of creation's best, + Its heart to feel, its eye to see, +The crown and complex of the rest, + Its aim and its epitome. +Nay, might I utter my conceit, + 'Twere after all a vulgar song, +For she's so simply, subtly sweet, + My deepest rapture does her wrong. +Yet is it now my chosen task + To sing her worth as Maid and Wife; +Nor happier post than this I ask, + To live her laureate all my life. +On wings of love uplifted free, + And by her gentleness made great, +I'll teach how noble man should be + To match with such a lovely mate; +And then in her may move the more + The woman's wish to be desired, +(By praise increased), till both shall soar, + With blissful emulations fired. +And, as geranium, pink, or rose + Is thrice itself through power of art, +So may my happy skill disclose + New fairness even in her fair heart; +Until that churl shall nowhere be + Who bends not, awed, before the throne +Of her affecting majesty, + So meek, so far unlike our own; +Until (for who may hope too much + From her who wields the powers of love?) +Our lifted lives at last shall touch + That happy goal to which they move; +Until we find, as darkness rolls + Away, and evil mists dissolve, +That nuptial contrasts are the poles + On which the heavenly spheres revolve. + +II.--Love at Large. + +Whene'er I come where ladies are, + How sad soever I was before, +Though like a ship frost-bound and far + Withheld in ice from the ocean's roar, +Third-winter'd in that dreadful dock, + With stiffen'd cordage, sails decay'd, +And crew that care for calm and shock + Alike, too dull to be dismay'd, +Yet, if I come where ladies are, + How sad soever I was before, +Then is my sadness banish'd far, + And I am like that ship no more; +Or like that ship if the ice-field splits, + Burst by the sudden polar Spring, +And all thank God with their warming wits, + And kiss each other and dance and sing, +And hoist fresh sails, that make the breeze + Blow them along the liquid sea, +Out of the North, where life did freeze, + Into the haven where they would be. + +III.--Love and Duty. + +Anne lived so truly from above, + She was so gentle and so good, +That duty bade me fall in love, + And 'but for that,' thought I, 'I should!' +I worshipp'd Kate with all my will, + In idle moods you seem to see +A noble spirit in a hill, + A human touch about a tree. + +IV.--A Distinction. + +The lack of lovely pride, in her + Who strives to please, my pleasure numbs, +And still the maid I most prefer + Whose care to please with pleasing comes. + +MARY AND MILDRED. + +1 + +One morning, after Church, I walk'd + Alone with Mary on the lawn, +And felt myself, howe'er we talk'd, + To grave themes delicately drawn. +When she, delighted, found I knew + More of her peace than she supposed, +Our confidences heavenwards grew, + Like fox-glove buds, in pairs disclosed. +Our former faults did we confess, + Our ancient feud was more than heal'd, +And, with the woman's eagerness + For amity full-sign'd and seal'd, +She, offering up for sacrifice + Her heart's reserve, brought out to show +Some verses, made when she was ice + To all but Heaven, six years ago; +Since happier grown! I took and read + The neat-writ lines. She, void of guile, +Too late repenting, blush'd, and said, + I must not think about the style. + +2 + +'Day after day, until to-day, + Imaged the others gone before, +The same dull task, the weary way, + The weakness pardon'd o'er and o'er, + +'The thwarted thirst, too faintly felt, + For joy's well-nigh forgotten life, +The restless heart, which, when I knelt, + Made of my worship barren strife. + +'Ah, whence to-day's so sweet release, + This clearance light of all my care, +This conscience free, this fertile peace, + These softly folded wings of prayer, + +'This calm and more than conquering love, + With which nought evil dares to cope, +This joy that lifts no glance above, + For faith too sure, too sweet for hope? + +'O, happy time, too happy change, + It will not live, though fondly nurst! +Full soon the sun will seem as strange + As now the cloud which seems dispersed.' + +3 + +She from a rose-tree shook the blight; + And well she knew that I knew well +Her grace with silence to requite; + And, answering now the luncheon bell, +I laugh'd at Mildred's laugh, which made + All melancholy wrong, its mood +Such sweet self-confidence display'd, + So glad a sense of present good. + +4 + +I laugh'd and sigh'd: for I confess + I never went to Ball, or Fete, +Or Show, but in pursuit express + Of my predestinated mate; +And thus to me, who had in sight + The happy chance upon the cards, +Each beauty blossom'd in the light + Of tender personal regards; +And, in the records of my breast, + Red-letter'd, eminently fair, +Stood sixteen, who, beyond the rest, + By turns till then had been my care: +At Berlin three, one at St. Cloud, + At Chatteris, near Cambridge, one, +At Ely four, in London two, + Two at Bowness, in Paris none, +And, last and best, in Sarum three; + But dearest of the whole fair troop, +In judgment of the moment, she + Whose daisy eyes had learn'd to droop. +Her very faults my fancy fired; + My loving will, so thwarted, grew; +And, bent on worship, I admired + Whate'er she was, with partial view. +And yet when, as to-day, her smile + Was prettiest, I could not but note +Honoria, less admired the while, + Was lovelier, though from love remote. + + + +CANTO III.--Honoria + + + +PRELUDES. + +I.--The Lover. + +He meets, by heavenly chance express, + The destined maid; seine hidden hand +Unveils to him that loveliness + Which others cannot understand. +His merits in her presence grow, + To match the promise in her eyes, +And round her happy footsteps blow + The authentic airs of Paradise. +For joy of her he cannot sleep; + Her beauty haunts him all the night; +It melts his heart, it makes him weep + For wonder, worship, and delight. +O, paradox of love, he longs, + Most humble when he most aspires, +To suffer scorn and cruel wrongs + From her he honours and desires. +Her graces make him rich, and ask + No guerdon; this imperial style +Affronts him; he disdains to bask, + The pensioner of her priceless smile. +He prays for some hard thing to do, + Some work of fame and labour immense, +To stretch the languid bulk and thew + Of love's fresh-born magnipotence. +No smallest boon were bought too dear, + Though barter'd for his love-sick life; +Yet trusts he, with undaunted cheer, + To vanquish heaven, and call her Wife +He notes how queens of sweetness still + Neglect their crowns, and stoop to mate; +How, self-consign'd with lavish will, + They ask but love proportionate; +How swift pursuit by small degrees, + Love's tactic, works like miracle; +How valour, clothed in courtesies, + Brings down the haughtiest citadel; +And therefore, though he merits not + To kiss the braid upon her skirt, +His hope, discouraged ne'er a jot, + Out-soars all possible desert. + +II.--Love a Virtue. + +Strong passions mean weak will, and he + Who truly knows the strength and bliss +Which are in love, will own with me + No passion but a virtue 'tis. +Few hear my word; it soars above + The subtlest senses of the swarm +Of wretched things which know not love, + Their Psyche still a wingless worm. +Ice-cold seems heaven's noble glow + To spirits whose vital heat is hell; +And to corrupt hearts even so + The songs I sing, the tale I tell. +These cannot see the robes of white + In which I sing of love. Alack, +But darkness shows in heavenly light, + Though whiteness, in the dark, is black! + +III.--The Attainment. + +You love? That's high as you shall go; + For 'tis as true as Gospel text, +Not noble then is never so, + Either in this world or the next. + +HONORIA. + +1 + +Grown weary with a week's exile + From those fair friends, I rode to see +The church-restorings; lounged awhile, + And met the Dean; was ask'd to tea, +And found their cousin, Frederick Graham + At Honor's side. Was I concern'd, +If, when she sang, his colour came, + That mine, as with a buffet, burn'd? +A man to please a girl! thought I, + Retorting his forced smiles, the shrouds +Of wrath, so hid as she was by, + Sweet moon between her lighted clouds! + +2 + +Whether this Cousin was the cause + I know not, but I seem'd to see, +The first time then, how fair she was, + How much the fairest of the three. +Each stopp'd to let the other go; + But, time-bound, he arose the first. +Stay'd he in Sarum long? If so + I hoped to see him at the Hurst. +No: he had call'd here, on his way + To Portsmouth, where the Arrogant, +His ship, was; he should leave next day, + For two years' cruise in the Levant. + +3 + +Had love in her yet struck its germs? + I watch'd. Her farewell show'd me plain +She loved, on the majestic terms + That she should not be loved again; +And so her cousin, parting, felt. + Hope in his voice and eye was dead. +Compassion did my malice melt; + Then went I home to a restless bed. +I, who admired her too, could see + His infinite remorse at this +Great mystery, that she should be + So beautiful, yet not be his, +And, pitying, long'd to plead his part; + But scarce could tell, so strange my whim, +Whether the weight upon my heart + Was sorrow for myself or him. + +4 + +She was all mildness; yet 'twas writ + In all her grace, most legibly, +'He that's for heaven itself unfit, + Let him not hope to merit me.' +And such a challenge, quite apart + From thoughts of love, humbled, and thus +To sweet repentance moved my heart, + And made me more magnanimous, +And led me to review my life, + Inquiring where in aught the least, +If question were of her for wife, + Ill might be mended, hope increas'd. +Not that I soar'd so far above + Myself, as this great hope to dare; +And yet I well foresaw that love + Might hope where reason must despair; +And, half-resenting the sweet pride + Which would not ask me to admire, +'Oh,' to my secret heart I sigh'd, + 'That I were worthy to desire!' + +5 + +As drowsiness my brain reliev'd, + A shrill defiance of all to arms, +Shriek'd by the stable-cock, receiv'd + An angry answer from three farms. +And, then, I dream'd that I, her knight, + A clarion's haughty pathos heard, +And rode securely to the fight, + Cased in the scarf she had conferr'd; +And there, the bristling lists behind, + Saw many, and vanquish'd all I saw +Of her unnumber'd cousin-kind, + In Navy, Army, Church, and Law; +Smitten, the warriors somehow turn'd + To Sarum choristers, whose song, +Mix'd with celestial sorrow, yearn'd + With joy no memory can prolong; +And phantasms as absurd and sweet + Merged each in each in endless chace, +And everywhere I seem'd to meet + The haunting fairness of her face. + + + +CANTO IV.--THE MORNING CALL + + + +PRELUDES. + +I.--The Rose of the World. + +Lo, when the Lord made North and South + And sun and moon ordained, He, +Forthbringing each by word of mouth + In order of its dignity, +Did man from the crude clay express + By sequence, and, all else decreed, +He form'd the woman; nor might less + Than Sabbath such a work succeed. +And still with favour singled out, + Marr'd less than man by mortal fall, +Her disposition is devout, + Her countenance angelical; +The best things that the best believe + Are in her face so kindly writ +The faithless, seeing her, conceive + Not only heaven, but hope of it; +No idle thought her instinct shrouds, + But fancy chequers settled sense, +Like alteration of the clouds + On noonday's azure permanence; +Pure dignity, composure, ease + Declare affections nobly fix'd, +And impulse sprung from due degrees + Of sense and spirit sweetly mix'd. +Her modesty, her chiefest grace, + The cestus clasping Venus' side, +How potent to deject the face + Of him who would affront its pride! +Wrong dares not in her presence speak, + Nor spotted thought its taint disclose +Under the protest of a cheek + Outbragging Nature's boast the rose. +In mind and manners how discreet; + How artless in her very art; +How candid in discourse; how sweet + The concord of her lips and heart; +How simple and how circumspect; + How subtle and how fancy-free; +Though sacred to her love, how deck'd + With unexclusive courtesy; +How quick in talk to see from far + The way to vanquish or evade; +How able her persuasions are + To prove, her reasons to persuade; +How (not to call true instinct's bent + And woman's very nature, harm), +How amiable and innocent + Her pleasure in her power to charm; +How humbly careful to attract, + Though crown'd with all the soul desires, +Connubial aptitude exact, + Diversity that never tires. + +II.--The Tribute. + +Boon Nature to the woman bows; + She walks in earth's whole glory clad, +And, chiefest far herself of shows, + All others help her, and are glad: +No splendour 'neath the sky's proud dome + But serves for her familiar wear; +The far-fetch'd diamond finds its home + Flashing and smouldering in her hair; +For her the seas their pearls reveal; + Art and strange lands her pomp supply +With purple, chrome, and cochineal, + Ochre, and lapis lazuli; +The worm its golden woof presents; + Whatever runs, flies, dives, or delves, +All doff for her their ornaments, + Which suit her better than themselves; +And all, by this their power to give, + Proving her right to take, proclaim +Her beauty's clear prerogative + To profit so by Eden's blame. + +III.--Compensation. + +That nothing here may want its praise, + Know, she who in her dress reveals +A fine and modest taste, displays + More loveliness than she conceals. + +THE MORNING CALL. + +1 + +'By meekness charm'd, or proud to allow + A queenly claim to live admired, +Full many a lady has ere now + My apprehensive fancy fired, +And woven many a transient chain; + But never lady like to this, +Who holds me as the weather-vane + Is held by yonder clematis. +She seems the life of nature's powers; + Her beauty is the genial thought +Which makes the sunshine bright; the flowers, + But for their hint of her, were nought.' + +2 + +A voice, the sweeter for the grace + Of suddenness, while thus I dream'd, +'Good morning!' said or sang. Her face + The mirror of the morning seem'd. +Her sisters in the garden walk'd, + And would I come? Across the Hall +She led me; and we laugh'd and talk'd, + And praised the Flower-show and the Ball; +And Mildred's pinks had gain'd the Prize; + And, stepping like the light-foot fawn, +She brought me 'Wiltshire Butterflies,' + The Prize-book; then we paced the lawn, +Close-cut, and with geranium-plots, + A rival glow of green and red; +Than counted sixty apricots + On one small tree; the gold-fish fed; +And watch'd where, black with scarlet tans, + Proud Psyche stood and flash'd like flame, +Showing and shutting splendid fans; + And in the prize we found its name. + +3 + +The sweet hour lapsed, and left my breast + A load of joy and tender care; +And this delight, which life oppress'd, + To fix'd aims grew, that ask'd for pray'r. +I rode home slowly; whip-in-hand + And soil'd bank-notes all ready, stood +The Farmer who farm'd all my land, + Except the little Park and Wood; +And with the accustom'd compliment + Of talk, and beef, and frothing beer, +I, my own steward, took my rent, + Three hundred pounds for half the year; +Our witnesses the Cook and Groom, + We sign'd the lease for seven years more, +And bade Good-day; then to my room + I went, and closed and lock'd the door, +And cast myself down on my bed, + And there, with many a blissful tear, +I vow'd to love and pray'd to wed + The maiden who had grown so dear; +Thank'd God who had set her in my path; + And promised, as I hoped to win, +That I would never dim my faith + By the least selfishness or sin; +Whatever in her sight I'd seem + I'd truly be; I'd never blend +With my delight in her a dream + 'Twould change her cheek to comprehend; +And, if she wish'd it, I'd prefer + Another's to my own success; +And always seek the best for her + With unofficious tenderness. + +4 + +Rising, I breathed a brighter clime, + And found myself all self above, +And, with a charity sublime, + Contemn'd not those who did not love: +And I could not but feel that then + I shone with something of her grace, +And went forth to my fellow men + My commendation in my face. + + + +CANTO V.--THE VIOLETS + + + +PRELUDES. + + +I.--The Comparison. + +Where she succeeds with cloudless brow, + In common and in holy course, +He fails, in spite of prayer and vow + And agonies of faith and force; +Or, if his suit with Heaven prevails + To righteous life, his virtuous deeds +Lack beauty, virtue's badge; she fails + More graciously than he succeeds. +Her spirit, compact of gentleness, + If Heaven postpones or grants her pray'r, +Conceives no pride in its success, + And in its failure no despair; +But his, enamour'd of its hurt, + Baffled, blasphemes, or, not denied, +Crows from the dunghill of desert, + And wags its ugly wings for pride. +He's never young nor ripe; she grows + More infantine, auroral, mild, +And still the more she lives and knows + The lovelier she's express'd a child. +Say that she wants the will of man + To conquer fame, not check'd by cross, +Nor moved when others bless or ban; + She wants but what to have were loss. +Or say she wants the patient brain + To track shy truth; her facile wit +At that which he hunts down with pain + Flies straight, and does exactly hit. +Were she but half of what she is, + He twice himself, mere love alone, +Her special crown, as truth is his, + Gives title to the worthier throne; +For love is substance, truth the form; + Truth without love were less than nought; +But blindest love is sweet and warm, + And full of truth not shaped by thought, +And therefore in herself she stands + Adorn'd with undeficient grace, +Her happy virtues taking hands, + Each smiling in another's face. +So, dancing round the Tree of Life, + They make an Eden in her breast, +While his, disjointed and at strife, + Proud-thoughted, do not bring him rest. + +II.--Love in Tears. + +If fate Love's dear ambition mar, + And load his breast with hopeless pain, +And seem to blot out sun and star, + Love, won or lost, is countless gain; +His sorrow boasts a secret bliss + Which sorrow of itself beguiles, +And Love in tears too noble is + For pity, save of Love in smiles. +But, looking backward through his tears, + With vision of maturer scope, +How often one dead joy appears + The platform of some better hope! +And, let us own, the sharpest smart + Which human patience may endure +Pays light for that which leaves the heart + More generous, dignified, and pure. + +III.--PROSPECTIVE FAITH. + +They safely walk in darkest ways + Whose youth is lighted from above, +Where, through the senses' silvery haze, + Dawns the veil'd moon of nuptial love. +Who is the happy husband? He + Who, scanning his unwedded life, +Thanks Heaven, with a conscience free, + 'Twas faithful to his future wife. + +IV.--VENUS VICTRIX. + +Fatal in force, yet gentle in will, + Defeats, from her, are tender pacts, +For, like the kindly lodestone, still + She's drawn herself by what she attracts. + + +THE VIOLETS. + + +1 + +I went not to the Dean's unbid: + I would not have my mystery, +From her so delicately hid, + The guess of gossips at their tea. +A long, long week, and not once there, + Had made my spirit sick and faint, +And lack-love, foul as love is fair, + Perverted all things to complaint. +How vain the world had grown to be! + How mean all people and their ways, +How ignorant their sympathy, + And how impertinent their praise; +What they for virtuousness esteem'd, + How far removed from heavenly right; +What pettiness their trouble seem'd, + How undelightful their delight; +To my necessity how strange + The sunshine and the song of birds; +How dull the clouds' continual change, + How foolishly content the herds; +How unaccountable the law + Which bade me sit in blindness here, +While she, the sun by which I saw, + Shed splendour in an idle sphere! +And then I kiss'd her stolen glove, + And sigh'd to reckon and define +The modes of martyrdom in love, + And how far each one might be mine. +I thought how love, whose vast estate + Is earth and air and sun and sea, +Encounters oft the beggar's fate, + Despised on score of poverty; +How Heaven, inscrutable in this, + Lets the gross general make or mar +The destiny of love, which is + So tender and particular; +How nature, as unnatural + And contradicting nature's source, +Which is but love, seems most of all + Well-pleased to harry true love's course; +How, many times, it comes to pass + That trifling shades of temperament, +Affecting only one, alas, + Not love, but love's success prevent; +How manners often falsely paint + The man; how passionate respect, +Hid by itself, may bear the taint + Of coldness and a dull neglect; +And how a little outward dust + Can a clear merit quite o'ercloud, +And make her fatally unjust, + And him desire a darker shroud; +How senseless opportunity + Gives baser men the better chance; +How powers, adverse else, agree + To cheat her in her ignorance; +How Heaven its very self conspires + With man and nature against love, +As pleased to couple cross desires, + And cross where they themselves approve. +Wretched were life, if the end were now! + But this gives tears to dry despair, +Faith shall be blest, we know not how, + And love fulfill'd, we know not where. + +2 + +While thus I grieved, and kiss'd her glove, + My man brought in her note to say, +Papa had hid her send his love, + And would I dine with them next day? +They had learn'd and practised Purcell's glee, + To sing it by to-morrow night. +The Postscript was: Her sisters and she + Inclosed some violets, blue and white; +She and her sisters found them where + I wager'd once no violets grew; +So they had won the gloves. And there + The violets lay, two white, one blue. + + + +CANTO VI.--THE DEAN + + + +PRELUDES. + + +I.--PERFECT LOVE RARE. + +Most rare is still most noble found, + Most noble still most incomplete; +Sad law, which leaves King Love uncrown'd + In this obscure, terrestrial seat! +With bale more sweet than others' bliss, + And bliss more wise than others' bale, +The secrets of the world are his. + And freedom without let or pale. +O, zealous good, O, virtuous glee, + Religious, and without alloy, +O, privilege high, which none but he + Who highly merits can enjoy; +O, Love, who art that fabled sun + Which all the world with bounty loads, +Without respect of realms, save one, + And gilds with double lustre Rhodes; +A day of whose delicious life, + Though full of terrors, full of tears, +Is better than of other life + A hundred thousand million years; +Thy heavenly splendour magnifies + The least commixture of earth's mould, +Cheapens thyself in thine own eyes, + And makes the foolish mocker bold. + +II.--LOVE JUSTIFIED. + +What if my pole-star of respect + Be dim to others? Shall their 'Nay,' +Presumably their own defect, + Invalidate my heart's strong 'Yea'? +And can they rightly me condemn, + If I, with partial love, prefer? +I am not more unjust to them, + But only not unjust to her. +Leave us alone! After awhile, + This pool of private charity +Shall make its continent an isle, + And roll, a world-embracing sea; +This foolish zeal of lip for lip, + This fond, self-sanction'd, wilful zest, +Is that elect relationship + Which forms and sanctions all the rest; +This little germ of nuptial love, + Which springs so simply from the sod, +The root is, as my song shall prove, + Of all our love to man and God. + +III.--LOVE SERVICEABLE. + +What measure Fate to him shall mete + Is not the noble Lover's care; +He's heart-sick with a longing sweet + To make her happy as she's fair. +Oh, misery, should she him refuse, + And so her dearest good mistake! +His own success he thus pursues + With frantic zeal for her sole sake. +To lose her were his life to blight, + Being loss to hers; to make her his, +Except as helping her delight, + He calls but incidental bliss; +And holding life as so much pelf + To buy her posies, learns this lore: +He does not rightly love himself + Who does not love another more. + +IV.--A RIDDLE SOLVED. + +Kind souls, you wonder why, love you, + When you, you wonder why, love none. +We love, Fool, for the good we do, + Not that which unto us is done! + + +THE DEAN. + + +1 + +The Ladies rose. I held the door, + And sigh'd, as her departing grace +Assured me that she always wore + A heart as happy as her face; +And, jealous of the winds that blew, + I dreaded, o'er the tasteless wine, +What fortune momently might do + To hurt the hope that she'd be mine. + +2 + +Towards my mark the Dean's talk set: + He praised my 'Notes on Abury,' +Read when the Association met + At Sarum; he was pleased to see +I had not stopp'd, as some men had, + At Wrangler and Prize Poet; last, +He hoped the business was not bad + I came about: then the wine pass'd. + +3 + +A full glass prefaced my reply: + I loved his daughter, Honor; I told +My estate and prospects; might I try + To win her? At my words so bold +My sick heart sank. Then he: He gave + His glad consent, if I could get +Her love. A dear, good Girl! she'd have + Only three thousand pounds as yet; +More bye and bye. Yes, his good will + Should go with me; he would not stir; +He and my father in old time still + Wish'd I should one day marry her; +But God so seldom lets us take + Our chosen pathway, when it lies +In steps that either mar or make + Or alter others' destinies, +That, though his blessing and his pray'r + Had help'd, should help, my suit, yet he +Left all to me, his passive share + Consent and opportunity. +My chance, he hoped, was good: I'd won + Some name already; friends and place +Appear'd within my reach, but none + Her mind and manners would not grace. +Girls love to see the men in whom + They invest their vanities admired; +Besides, where goodness is, there room + For good to work will be desired. +'Twas so with one now pass'd away; + And what she was at twenty-two, +Honor was now; and he might say + Mine was a choice I could not rue. + +4 + +He ceased, and gave his hand. He had won + (And all my heart was in my word), +From me the affection of a son, + Whichever fortune Heaven conferr'd! +Well, well, would I take more wine? Then go + To her; she makes tea on the lawn +These fine warm afternoons. And so + We went whither my soul was drawn; +And her light-hearted ignorance + Of interest in our discourse +Fill'd me with love, and seem'd to enhance + Her beauty with pathetic force, +As, through the flowery mazes sweet, + Fronting the wind that flutter'd blythe, +And loved her shape, and kiss'd her feet, + Shown to their insteps proud and lithe, +She approach'd, all mildness and young trust, + And ever her chaste and noble air +Gave to love's feast its choicest gust, + A vague, faint augury of despair. + + + +CANTO VII--AETNA AND THE MOON + + + +PRELUDES. + +I.--LOVE'S IMMORTALITY. + +How vilely 'twere to misdeserve + The poet's gift of perfect speech, +In song to try, with trembling nerve, + The limit of its utmost reach, +Only to sound the wretched praise + Of what to-morrow shall not be; +So mocking with immortal bays + The cross-bones of mortality! +I do not thus. My faith is fast + That all the loveliness I sing +Is made to bear the mortal blast, + And blossom in a better Spring. +Doubts of eternity ne'er cross + The Lover's mind, divinely clear; +FOR EVER is the gain or loss + Which maddens him with hope or fear: +So trifles serve for his relief, + And trifles make him sick and pale; +And yet his pleasure and his grief + Are both on a majestic scale. +The chance, indefinitely small, + Of issue infinitely great, +Eclipses finite interests all, + And has the dignity of fate. + +II.--HEAVEN AND EARTH. + +How long shall men deny the flower + Because its roots are in the earth, +And crave with tears from God the dower + They have, and have despised as dearth, +And scorn as low their human lot, + With frantic pride, too blind to see +That standing on the head makes not + Either for ease or dignity! +But fools shall feel like fools to find + (Too late inform'd) that angels' mirth +Is one in cause, and mode, and kind + With that which they profaned on earth. + + +AETNA AND THE MOON. + + +1 + +To soothe my heart I, feigning, seized + A pen, and, showering tears, declared +My unfeign'd passion; sadly pleased + Only to dream that so I dared. +Thus was the fervid truth confess'd, + But wild with paradox ran the plea. +As wilfully in hope depress'd, + Yet bold beyond hope's warranty: + +2 + +'O, more than dear, be more than just, + And do not deafly shut the door! +I claim no right to speak; I trust + Mercy, not right; yet who has more? +For, if more love makes not more fit, + Of claimants here none's more nor less, +Since your great worth does not permit + Degrees in our unworthiness. +Yet, if there's aught that can be done + With arduous labour of long years, +By which you'll say that you'll be won, + O tell me, and I'll dry my tears. +Ah, no; if loving cannot move, + How foolishly must labour fail! +The use of deeds is to show love; + If signs suffice let these avail: +Your name pronounced brings to my heart + A feeling like the violet's breath, +Which does so much of heaven impart + It makes me amorous of death; +The winds that in the garden toss + The Guelder-roses give me pain, +Alarm me with the dread of loss, + Exhaust me with the dream of gain; +I'm troubled by the clouds that move; + Tired by the breath which I respire; +And ever, like a torch, my love, + Thus agitated, flames the higher; +All's hard that has not you for goal; + I scarce can move my hand to write, +For love engages all my soul, + And leaves the body void of might; +The wings of will spread idly, as do + The bird's that in a vacuum lies; +My breast, asleep with dreams of you, + Forgets to breathe, and bursts in sighs; +I see no rest this side the grave, + No rest nor hope, from you apart; +Your life is in the rose you gave, + Its perfume suffocates my heart; +There's no refreshment in the breeze; + The heaven o'erwhelms me with its blue; +I faint beside the dancing seas; + Winds, skies, and waves are only you; +The thought or act which not intends + You service seems a sin and shame; +In that one only object ends + Conscience, religion, honour, fame. +Ah, could I put off love! Could we + Never have met! What calm, what ease! +Nay, but, alas, this remedy + Were ten times worse than the disease! +For when, indifferent, I pursue + The world's best pleasures for relief, +My heart, still sickening back to you, + Finds none like memory of its grief; +And, though 'twere very hell to hear + You felt such misery as I, +All good, save you, were far less dear! + Than is that ill with which I die +Where'er I go, wandering forlorn, + You are the world's love, life, and glee: +Oh, wretchedness not to be borne + If she that's Love should not love me!' + +3 + +I could not write another word, + Through pity for my own distress; +And forth I went, untimely stirr'd + To make my misery more or less. +I went, beneath the heated noon + To where, in her simplicity, +She sate at work; and, as the Moon + On AEtna smiles, she smiled on me. +But, now and then, in cheek and eyes, + I saw, or fancied, such a glow +As when, in summer-evening skies, + Some say, 'It lightens,' some say, 'No.' +'Honoria,' I began--No more. + The Dean, by ill or happy hap, +Came home; and Wolf burst in before, + And put his nose upon her lap. + + + +CANTO VIII.--SARUM PLAIN + + + +PRELUDES. + + +I.--LIFE OF LIFE + +What's that, which, ere I spake, was gone? + So joyful and intense a spark +That, whilst o'erhead the wonder shone, + The day, before but dull, grew dark. +I do not know; but this I know, + That, had the splendour lived a year, +The truth that I some heavenly show + Did see, could not be now more clear. +This know I too: might mortal breath + Express the passion then inspired, +Evil would die a natural death, + And nothing transient be desired; +And error from the soul would pass, + And leave the senses pure and strong +As sunbeams. But the best, alas, + Has neither memory nor tongue! + +II.--THE REVELATION. + +An idle poet, here and there, + Looks round him; but, for all the rest, +The world, unfathomably fair, + Is duller than a witling's jest. +Love wakes men, once a lifetime each; + They lift their heavy lids, and look; +And, lo, what one sweet page can teach, + They read with joy, then shut the book. +And some give thanks, and some blaspheme, + And most forget; but, either way, +That and the Child's unheeded dream + Is all the light of all their day. + +III.--THE SPIRIT'S EPOCHS. + +Not in the crises of events, + Of compass'd hopes, or fears fulfill'd, +Or acts of gravest consequence, + Are life's delight and depth reveal'd. +The day of days was not the day; + That went before, or was postponed; +The night Death took our lamp away + Was not the night on which we groan'd. +I drew my bride, beneath the moon, + Across my threshold; happy hour! +But, ah, the walk that afternoon + We saw the water-flags in flower! + +IV.--THE PROTOTYPE. + +Lo, there, whence love, life, light are pour'd, + Veil'd with impenetrable rays, +Amidst the presence of the Lord + Co-equal Wisdom laughs and plays. +Female and male God made the man; + His image is the whole, not half; +And in our love we dimly scan + The love which is between Himself. + +V.--THE PRAISE OF LOVE. + +Spirit of Knowledge, grant me this: + A simple heart and subtle wit +To praise the thing whose praise it is + That all which can be praised is it. + + +SARUM PLAIN. + + +1 + +Breakfast enjoy'd, 'mid hush of boughs + And perfumes thro' the windows blown; +Brief worship done, which still endows + The day with beauty not its own; +With intervening pause, that paints + Each act with honour, life with calm +(As old processions of the Saints + At every step have wands of palm), +We rose; the ladies went to dress, + And soon return'd with smiles; and then, +Plans fix'd, to which the Dean said 'Yes,' + Once more we drove to Salisbury Plain. +We past my house (observed with praise + By Mildred, Mary acquiesced), +And left the old and lazy greys + Below the hill, and walk'd the rest. + +2 + +The moods of love are like the wind, + And none knows whence or why they rise: +I ne'er before felt heart and mind + So much affected through mine eyes. +How cognate with the flatter'd air, + How form'd for earth's familiar zone, +She moved; how feeling and how fair + For others' pleasure and her own! +And, ah, the heaven of her face! + How, when she laugh'd, I seem'd to see +The gladness of the primal grace, + And how, when grave, its dignity! +Of all she was, the least not less + Delighted the devoted eye; +No fold or fashion of her dress + Her fairness did not sanctify. +I could not else than grieve. What cause? + Was I not blest? Was she not there? +Likely my own? Ah, that it was: + How like seem'd 'likely' to despair! + +3 + +And yet to see her so benign, + So honourable and womanly, +In every maiden kindness mine, + And full of gayest courtesy, +Was pleasure so without alloy, + Such unreproved, sufficient bliss, +I almost wish'd, the while, that joy + Might never further go than this. +So much it was as now to walk, + And humbly by her gentle side +Observe her smile and hear her talk, + Could it be more to call her Bride? +I feign'd her won: the mind finite, + Puzzled and fagg'd by stress and strain +To comprehend the whole delight, + Made bliss more hard to bear than pain. +All good, save heart to hold, so summ'd + And grasp'd, the thought smote, like a knife, +How laps'd mortality had numb'd + The feelings to the feast of life; +How passing good breathes sweetest breath; + And love itself at highest reveals +More black than bright, commending death + By teaching how much life conceals. + +4 + +But happier passions these subdued, + When from the close and sultry lane, +With eyes made bright by what they view'd, + We emerged upon the mounded Plain. +As to the breeze a flag unfurls, + My spirit expanded, sweetly embraced +By those same gusts that shook her curls + And vex'd the ribbon at her waist. +To the future cast I future cares; + Breathed with a heart unfreighted, free, +And laugh'd at the presumptuous airs + That with her muslins folded me; +Till, one vague rack along my sky, + The thought that she might ne'er be mine +Lay half forgotten by the eye + So feasted with the sun's warm shine. + +5 + +By the great stones we chose our ground + For shade; and there, in converse sweet, +Took luncheon. On a little mound + Sat the three ladies; at their feet +I sat; and smelt the heathy smell, + Pluck'd harebells, turn'd the telescope +To the country round. My life went well, + For once, without the wheels of hope; +And I despised the Druid rocks + That scowl'd their chill gloom from above, +Like churls whose stolid wisdom mocks + The lightness of immortal love. +And, as we talk'd, my spirit quaff'd + The sparkling winds; the candid skies +At our untruthful strangeness laugh'd; + I kiss'd with mine her smiling eyes; +And sweet familiarness and awe + Prevail'd that hour on either part, +And in the eternal light I saw + That she was mine; though yet my heart +Could not conceive, nor would confess + Such contentation; and there grew +More form and more fair stateliness + Than heretofore between us two. + + + +CANTO IX.--SAHARA + + + +PRELUDES. + + +I.--THE WIFE'S TRAGEDY + +Man must be pleased; but him to please + Is woman's pleasure; down the gulf +Of his condoled necessities + She casts her best, she flings herself. +How often flings for nought, and yokes + Her heart to an icicle or whim, +Whose each impatient word provokes + Another, not from her, but him; +While she, too gentle even to force + His penitence by kind replies, +Waits by, expecting his remorse, + With pardon in her pitying eyes; +And if he once, by shame oppress'd, + A comfortable word confers, +She leans and weeps against his breast, + And seems to think the sin was hers; +And whilst his love has any life, + Or any eye to see her charms, +At any time, she's still his wife, + Dearly devoted to his arms; +She loves with love that cannot tire; + And when, ah woe, she loves alone, +Through passionate duty love springs higher, + As grass grows taller round a stone. + +II.--COMMON GRACES. + +Is nature in thee too spiritless, + Ignoble, impotent, and dead, +To prize her love and loveliness + The more for being thy daily bread? +And art thou one of that vile crew + Which see no splendour in the sun, +Praising alone the good that's new, + Or over, or not yet begun? +And has it dawn'd on thy dull wits + That love warms many as soft a nest, +That, though swathed round with benefits, + Thou art not singularly blest? +And fail thy thanks for gifts divine, + The common food of many a heart, +Because they are not only thine? + Beware lest in the end thou art +Cast for thy pride forth from the fold, + Too good to feel the common grace +Of blissful myriads who behold + For evermore the Father's face. + +III.--THE ZEST OF LIFE. + +Give thanks. It is not time misspent; + Worst fare this betters, and the best, +Wanting this natural condiment, + Breeds crudeness, and will not digest. +The grateful love the Giver's law; + But those who eat, and look no higher, +From sin or doubtful sanction draw + The biting sauce their feasts require. +Give thanks for nought, if you've no more, + And, having all things, do not doubt +That nought, with thanks, is blest before + Whate'er the world can give, without. + +IV.--FOOL AND WISE. + +Endow the fool with sun and moon, + Being his, he holds them mean and low, +But to the wise a little boon + Is great, because the giver's so. + + +SAHARA. + + +1 + +I stood by Honor and the Dean, + They seated in the London train. +A month from her! yet this had been, + Ere now, without such bitter pain. +But neighbourhood makes parting light, + And distance remedy has none; +Alone, she near, I felt as might + A blind man sitting in the sun; +She near, all for the time was well; + Hope's self, when we were far apart, +With lonely feeling, like the smell + Of heath on mountains, fill'd my heart. +To see her seem'd delight's full scope, + And her kind smile, so clear of care, +Ev'n then, though darkening all my hope, + Gilded the cloud of my despair. + +2 + +She had forgot to bring a book. + I lent one; blamed the print for old; +And did not tell her that she took + A Petrarch worth its weight in gold. +I hoped she'd lose it; for my love + Was grown so dainty, high, and nice, +It prized no luxury above + The sense of fruitless sacrifice. + +3 + +The bell rang, and, with shrieks like death, + Link catching link, the long array, +With ponderous pulse and fiery breath, + Proud of its burthen, swept away; +And through the lingering crowd I broke, + Sought the hill-side, and thence, heart-sick, +Beheld, far off, the little smoke + Along the landscape kindling quick. + +4 + +What should I do, where should I go, + Now she was gone, my love! for mine +She was, whatever here below + Cross'd or usurp'd my right divine. +Life, without her, was vain and gross, + The glory from the world was gone, +And on the gardens of the Close + As on Sahara shone the sun. +Oppress'd with her departed grace, + My thoughts on ill surmises fed; +The harmful influence of the place + She went to fill'd my soul with dread. +She, mixing with the people there, + Might come back alter'd, having caught +The foolish, fashionable air + Of knowing all, and feeling nought. +Or, giddy with her beauty's praise, + She'd scorn our simple country life, +Its wholesome nights and tranquil days. + And would not deign to be my Wife. +'My Wife,' 'my Wife,' ah, tenderest word! + How oft, as fearful she might hear, +Whispering that name of 'Wife,' I heard + The chiming of the inmost sphere. + +5 + +I pass'd the home of my regret. + The clock was striking in the hall, +And one sad window open yet, + Although the dews began to fall. +Ah, distance show'd her beauty's scope! + How light of heart and innocent +That loveliness which sicken'd hope + And wore the world for ornament! +How perfectly her life was framed; + And, thought of in that passionate mood, +How her affecting graces shamed + The vulgar life that was but good! + +6 + +I wonder'd, would her bird be fed, + Her rose-plots water'd, she not by; +Loading my breast with angry dread + Of light, unlikely injury. +So, fill'd with love and fond remorse, + I paced the Close, its every part +Endow'd with reliquary force + To heal and raise from death my heart. +How tranquil and unsecular + The precinct! Once, through yonder gate, +I saw her go, and knew from far + Her love-lit form and gentle state. +Her dress had brush'd this wicket; here + She turn'd her face, and laugh'd, with light +Like moonbeams on a wavering mere. + Weary beforehand of the night, +I went; the blackbird, in the wood + Talk'd by himself, and eastward grew +In heaven the symbol of my mood, + Where one bright star engross'd the blue. + + + +CANTO X--CHURCH TO CHURCH + + + +PRELUDES. + + +I.--THE JOYFUL WISDOM + +Would Wisdom for herself be woo'd, + And wake the foolish from his dream, +She must be glad as well as good, + And must not only be, but seem. +Beauty and joy are hers by right; + And, knowing this, I wonder less +That she's so scorn'd, when falsely dight + In misery and ugliness. +What's that which Heaven to man endears, + And that which eyes no sooner see +Than the heart says, with floods of tears, + 'Ah, that's the thing which I would be!' +Not childhood, full of frown and fret; + Not youth, impatient to disown +Those visions high, which to forget + Were worse than never to have known; +Not worldlings, in whose fair outside + Nor courtesy nor justice fails, +Thanks to cross-pulling vices tied, + Like Samson's foxes, by the tails; +Not poets; real things are dreams, + When dreams are as realities, +And boasters of celestial gleams + Go stumbling aye for want of eyes; +Not patriots or people's men, + In whom two worse-match'd evils meet +Than ever sought Adullam's den, + Base conscience and a high conceit; +Not new-made saints, their feelings iced, + Their joy in man and nature gone, +Who sing 'O easy yoke of Christ!' + But find 'tis hard to get it on; +Not great men, even when they're good; + The good man whom the time makes great, +By some disgrace of chance or blood, + God fails not to humiliate; +Not these: but souls, found here and there, + Oases in our waste of sin, +Where everything is well and fair, + And Heav'n remits its discipline; +Whose sweet subdual of the world + The worldling scarce can recognise, +And ridicule, against it hurl'd, + Drops with a broken sting and dies; +Who nobly, if they cannot know + Whether a 'scutcheon's dubious field +Carries a falcon or a crow, + Fancy a falcon on the shield; +Yet, ever careful not to hurt + God's honour, who creates success, +Their praise of even the best desert + Is but to have presumed no less; +Who, should their own life plaudits bring, + Are simply vex'd at heart that such +An easy, yea, delightful thing + Should move the minds of men so much. +They live by law, not like the fool, + But like the bard, who freely sings +In strictest bonds of rhyme and rule, + And finds in them, not bonds, but wings. +Postponing still their private ease + To courtly custom, appetite, +Subjected to observances, + To banquet goes with full delight; +Nay, continence and gratitude + So cleanse their lives from earth's alloy, +They taste, in Nature's common food, + Nothing but spiritual joy. +They shine like Moses in the face, + And teach our hearts, without the rod, +That God's grace is the only grace, + And all grace is the grace of God. + +II.--THE DEVICES. + +Love, kiss'd by Wisdom, wakes twice Love, + And Wisdom is, thro' loving, wise. +Let Dove and Snake, and Snake and Dove, + This Wisdom's be, that Love's device. + + +GOING TO CHURCH. + + +1 + +I woke at three; for I was bid + To breakfast with the Dean at nine, +And thence to Church. My curtain slid, + I found the dawning Sunday fine, +And could not rest, so rose. The air + Was dark and sharp; the roosted birds +Cheep'd, 'Here am I, Sweet; are you there?' + On Avon's misty flats the herds +Expected, comfortless, the day, + Which slowly fired the clouds above; +The cock scream'd, somewhere far away; + In sleep the matrimonial dove +Was crooning; no wind waked the wood, + Nor moved the midnight river-damps, +Nor thrill'd the poplar; quiet stood + The chestnut with its thousand lamps; +The moon shone yet, but weak and drear, + And seem'd to watch, with bated breath, +The landscape, all made sharp and clear + By stillness, as a face by death. + + 2 + +My pray'rs for her being done, I took + Occasion by the quiet hour +To find and know, by Rule and Book, + The rights of love's beloved power. + +3 + +Fronting the question without ruth, + Nor ignorant that, evermore, +If men will stoop to kiss the Truth, + She lifts them higher than before, +I, from above, such light required + As now should once for all destroy +The folly which at times desired + A sanction for so great a joy. + +4 + +Thenceforth, and through that pray'r, I trod + A path with no suspicions dim. +I loved her in the name of God, + And for the ray she was of Him; +I ought to admire much more, not less + Her beauty was a godly grace; +The mystery of loveliness, + Which made an altar of her face, +Was not of the flesh, though that was fair, + But a most pure and living light +Without a name, by which the rare + And virtuous spirit flamed to sight. +If oft, in love, effect lack'd cause + And cause effect, 'twere vain to soar +Reasons to seek for that which was + Reason itself, or something more. +My joy was no idolatry + Upon the ends of the vile earth bent, +For when I loved her most then I + Most yearn'd for more divine content. +That other doubt, which, like a ghost, + In the brain's darkness haunted me, +Was thus resolved: Him loved I most, + But her I loved most sensibly. +Lastly, my giddiest hope allow'd + No selfish thought, or earthly smirch; +And forth I went, in peace, and proud + To take my passion into Church; +Grateful and glad to think that all + Such doubts would seem entirely vain +To her whose nature's lighter fall + Made no divorce of heart from brain. + +5 + +I found them, with exactest grace + And fresh as Spring, for Spring attired; +And by the radiance in her face + I saw she felt she was admired; +And, through the common luck of love, + A moment's fortunate delay, +To fit the little lilac glove, + Gave me her arm; and I and they +(They true to this and every hour, + As if attended on by Time), +Enter'd the Church while yet the tower + Was noisy with the finish'd chime. + +6 + +Her soft voice, singularly heard + Beside me, in her chant, withstood +The roar of voices, like a bird + Sole warbling in a windy wood; +And, when we knelt, she seem'd to be + An angel teaching me to pray; +And all through the high Liturgy + My spirit rejoiced without allay, +Being, for once, borne clearly above + All banks and bars of ignorance, +By this bright spring-tide of pure love, + And floated in a free expanse, +Whence it could see from side to side, + The obscurity from every part +Winnow'd away and purified + By the vibrations of my heart. + + + +CANTO XI.--THE DANCE + + + +PRELUDES. + + +I.--THE DAUGHTER OF EVE. + +The woman's gentle mood o'erstept + Withers my love, that lightly scans +The rest, and does in her accept + All her own faults, but none of man's. +As man I cannot judge her ill, + Or honour her fair station less, +Who, with a woman's errors, still + Preserves a woman's gentleness; +For thus I think, if one I see + Who disappoints my high desire, +'How admirable would she be, + Could she but know how I admire!' +Or fail she, though from blemish clear, + To charm, I call it my defect; +And so my thought, with reverent fear + To err by doltish disrespect, +Imputes love's great regard, and says, + 'Though unapparent 'tis to me, +Be sure this Queen some other sways + With well-perceiv'd supremacy.' +Behold the worst! Light from above + On the blank ruin writes 'Forbear! +Her first crime was unguarded love, + And all the rest, perhaps, despair.' +Discrown'd, dejected, but not lost, + O, sad one, with no more a name +Or place in all the honour'd host + Of maiden and of matron fame, +Grieve on; but, if thou grievest right, + 'Tis not that these abhor thy state, +Nor would'st thou lower the least the height + Which makes thy casting down so great. +Good is thy lot in its degree; + For hearts that verily repent +Are burden'd with impunity + And comforted by chastisement. +Sweet patience sanctify thy woes! + And doubt not but our God is just, +Albeit unscathed thy traitor goes, + And thou art stricken to the dust. +That penalty's the best to bear + Which follows soonest on the sin; +And guilt's a game where losers fare + Better than those who seem to win. + +II.--AUREA DICTA. + +'Tis truth (although this truth's a star + Too deep-enskied for all to see), +As poets of grammar, lovers are + The fountains of morality. + +Child, would you shun the vulgar doom, + In love disgust, in death despair? +Know, death must come and love must come, + And so for each your soul prepare. + +Who pleasure follows pleasure slays; + God's wrath upon himself he wreaks; +But all delights rejoice his days + Who takes with thanks, and never seeks. + +The wrong is made and measured by + The right's inverted dignity. +Change love to shame, as love is high + So low in hell your bed shall be. + +How easy to keep free from sin! + How hard that freedom to recall! +For dreadful truth it is that men + Forget the heavens from which they fall. + +Lest sacred love your soul ensnare, + With pious fancy still infer +'How loving and how lovely fair + Must He be who has fashion'd her!' + +Become whatever good you see, + Nor sigh if, forthwith, fades from view +The grace of which you may not be + The subject and spectator too. + +Love's perfect blossom only blows + Where noble manners veil defect +Angels maybe familiar; those + Who err each other must respect. + +Love blabb'd of is a great decline; + A careless word unsanctions sense; +But he who casts Heaven's truth to swine + Consummates all incontinence. + +Not to unveil before the gaze + Of an imperfect sympathy +In aught we are, is the sweet praise + And the main sum of modesty. + + +THE DANCE. + + +1 + +'My memory of Heaven awakes! + She's not of the earth, although her light, +As lantern'd by her body, makes + A piece of it past bearing bright. +So innocently proud and fair + She is, that Wisdom sings for glee +And Folly dies, breathing one air + With such a bright-cheek'd chastity; +And though her charms are a strong law + Compelling all men to admire, +They go so clad with lovely awe + None but the noble dares desire. +He who would seek to make her his + Will comprehend that souls of grace +Own sweet repulsion, and that 'tis + The quality of their embrace +To be like the majestic reach + Of coupled suns, that, from afar, +Mingle their mutual spheres, while each + Circles the twin obsequious star; +And, in the warmth of hand to hand, + Of heart to heart, he'll vow to note +And reverently understand + How the two spirits shine remote; +And ne'er to numb fine honour's nerve, + Nor let sweet awe in passion melt, +Nor fail by courtesies to observe + The space which makes attraction felt; +Nor cease to guard like life the sense + Which tells him that the embrace of love +Is o'er a gulf of difference + Love cannot sound, nor death remove.' + +2 + +This learn'd I, watching where she danced, + Native to melody and light, +And now and then toward me glanced, + Pleased, as I hoped, to please my sight. + +3 + +Ah, love to speak was impotent, + Till music did a tongue confer, +And I ne'er knew what music meant, + Until I danced to it with her. +Too proud of the sustaining power + Of my, till then, unblemish'd joy. +My passion, for reproof, that hour + Tasted mortality's alloy, +And bore me down an eddying gulf; + I wish'd the world might run to wreck, +So I but once might fling myself + Obliviously about her neck. +I press'd her hand, by will or chance + I know not, but I saw the rays +Withdrawn, which did till then enhance + Her fairness with its thanks for praise. +I knew my spirit's vague offence + Was patent to the dreaming eye +And heavenly tact of innocence, + And did for fear my fear defy, +And ask'd her for the next dance. 'Yes.' + 'No,' had not fall'n with half the force. +She was fulfill'd with gentleness, + And I with measureless remorse; +And, ere I slept, on bended knee + I own'd myself, with many a tear, +Unseasonable, disorderly, + And a deranger of love's sphere; +Gave thanks that, when we stumble and fall, + We hurt ourselves, and not the truth; +And, rising, found its brightness all + The brighter through the tears of ruth. + +4 + +Nor was my hope that night made less, + Though order'd, humbled, and reproved; +Her farewell did her heart express + As much, but not with anger, moved. +My trouble had my soul betray'd; + And, in the night of my despair, +My love, a flower of noon afraid, + Divulged its fulness unaware. +I saw she saw; and, O sweet Heaven, + Could my glad mind have credited +That influence had to me been given + To affect her so, I should have said +That, though she from herself conceal'd + Love's felt delight and fancied harm, +They made her face the jousting field + Of joy and beautiful alarm. + + + +CANTO XII--THE ABDICATION. + + + +PRELUDES. + +I.--THE CHACE. + +She wearies with an ill unknown; + In sleep she sobs and seems to float, +A water-lily, all alone + Within a lonely castle-moat; +And as the full-moon, spectral, lies + Within the crescent's gleaming arms, +The present shows her heedless eyes + A future dim with vague alarms. +She sees, and yet she scarcely sees, + For, life-in-life not yet begun, +Too many are its mysteries + For thought to fix on any one. +She's told that maidens are by youths + Extremely honour'd and desired; +And sighs, 'If those sweet tales be truths, + What bliss to be so much admired!' +The suitors come; she sees them grieve; + Her coldness fills them with despair; +She'd pity if she could believe; + She's sorry that she cannot care. +But who now meets her on her way? + Comes he as enemy or friend, +Or both? Her bosom seems to say, + He cannot pass, and there an end. +Whom does he love? Does he confer + His heart on worth that answers his? +Or is he come to worship her? + She fears, she hopes, she thinks he is! +Advancing stepless, quick, and still, + As in the grass a serpent glides, +He fascinates her fluttering will, + Then terrifies with dreadful strides. +At first, there's nothing to resist; + He fights with all the forms of peace; +He comes about her like a mist, + With subtle, swift, unseen increase; +And then, unlook'd for, strikes amain + Some stroke that frightens her to death, +And grows all harmlessness again, + Ere she can cry, or get her breath. +At times she stops, and stands at bay; + But he, in all more strong than she, +Subdues her with his pale dismay, + Or more admired audacity. +She plans some final, fatal blow, + But when she means with frowns to kill, +He looks as if he loved her so, + She smiles to him against her will. +How sweetly he implies her praise! + His tender talk, his gentle tone, +The manly worship in his gaze, + They nearly make her heart his own. +With what an air he speaks her name; + His manner always recollects +Her sex, and still the woman's claim + Is taught its scope by his respects. +Her charms, perceived to prosper first + In his beloved advertencies, +When in her glass they are rehearsed, + Prove his most powerful allies. +Ah, whither shall a maiden flee, + When a bold youth so swift pursues, +And siege of tenderest courtesy, + With hope perseverant, still renews! +Why fly so fast? Her flatter'd breast + Thanks him who finds her fair and good; +She loves her fears; veil'd joys arrest + The foolish terrors of her blood; +By secret, sweet degrees, her heart, + Vanquish'd, takes warmth from his desire; +She makes it more, with hidden art, + And fuels love's late dreaded fire. +The generous credit he accords + To all the signs of good in her +Redeems itself; his praiseful words + The virtues they impute confer. +Her heart is thrice as rich in bliss, + She's three times gentler than before; +He gains a right to call her his, + Now she through him is so much more; +'Tis heaven where'er she turns her head; + 'Tis music when she talks; 'tis air +On which, elate, she seems to tread, + The convert of a gladder sphere! +Ah, might he, when by doubts aggrieved, + Behold his tokens next her breast, +At all his words and sighs perceived + Against its blythe upheaval press'd! +But still she flies. Should she be won, + It must not be believed or thought +She yields; she's chased to death, undone, + Surprised, and violently caught. + +II.--DENIED. + +The storm-cloud, whose portentous shade + Fumes from a core of smother'd fire, +His livery is whose worshipp'd maid + Denies herself to his desire. +Ah, grief that almost crushes life, + To lie upon his lonely bed, +And fancy her another's wife! + His brain is flame, his heart is lead. +Sinking at last, by nature's course, + Cloak'd round with sleep from his despair, +He does but sleep to gather force + That goes to his exhausted care. +He wakes renew'd for all the smart. + His only Love, and she is wed! +His fondness comes about his heart, + As milk comes, when the babe is dead. +The wretch, whom she found fit for scorn, + His own allegiant thoughts despise; +And far into the shining morn + Lazy with misery he lies. + +III.--THE CHURL. + +This marks the Churl: when spousals crown + His selfish hope, he finds the grace, +Which sweet love has for ev'n the clown, + Was not in the woman, but the chace. + + +THE ABDICATION. + + +1 + +From little signs, like little stars, + Whose faint impression on the sense +The very looking straight at mars, + Or only seen by confluence; +From instinct of a mutual thought, + Whence sanctity of manners flow'd; +From chance unconscious, and from what + Concealment, overconscious, show'd; +Her hand's less weight upon my arm, + Her lowlier mien; that match'd with this; +I found, and felt with strange alarm + I stood committed to my bliss. + + 2 + +I grew assured, before I ask'd, + That she'd be mine without reserve, +And in her unclaim'd graces bask'd, + At leisure, till the time should serve, +With just enough of dread to thrill + The hope, and make it trebly dear; +Thus loth to speak the word to kill + Either the hope or happy fear. + +3 + +Till once, through lanes returning late, + Her laughing sisters lagg'd behind; +And, ere we reach'd her father's gate, + We paused with one presentient mind; +And, in the dim and perfumed mist, + Their coming stay'd, who, friends to me, +And very women, loved to assist + Love's timid opportunity. + +4 + +Twice rose, twice died my trembling word; + The faint and frail Cathedral chimes +Spake time in music, and we heard + The chafers rustling in the limes. +Her dress, that touch'd me where I stood, + The warmth of her confided arm, +Her bosom's gentle neighbourhood, + Her pleasure in her power to charm; +Her look, her love, her form, her touch, + The least seem'd most by blissful turn, +Blissful but that it pleased too much, + And taught the wayward soul to yearn. +It was as if a harp with wires + Was traversed by the breath I drew; +And, oh, sweet meeting of desires, + She, answering, own'd that she loved too. + +5 + +Honoria was to be my bride! + The hopeless heights of hope were scaled +The summit won, I paused and sigh'd, + As if success itself had fail'd. +It seem'd as if my lips approach'd + To touch at Tantalus' reward, +And rashly on Eden life encroach'd, + Half-blinded by the flaming sword. +The whole world's wealthiest and its best, + So fiercely sought, appear'd when found, +Poor in its need to be possess'd, + Poor from its very want of bound. +My queen was crouching at my side, + By love unsceptred and brought low, +Her awful garb of maiden pride + All melted into tears like snow; +The mistress of my reverent thought, + Whose praise was all I ask'd of fame, +In my close-watch'd approval sought + Protection as from danger and blame; +Her soul, which late I loved to invest + With pity for my poor desert, +Buried its face within my breast, + Like a pet fawn by hunters hurt. + + + +BOOK II + + + + +THE PROLOGUE. + + + +1 + +Her sons pursue the butterflies, + Her baby daughter mocks the doves +With throbbing coo; in his fond eyes + She's Venus with her little Loves; +Her footfall dignifies the earth, + Her form's the native-land of grace, +And, lo, his coming lights with mirth + Its court and capital her face! +Full proud her favour makes her lord, + And that her flatter'd bosom knows. +She takes his arm without a word, + In lanes of laurel and of rose. +Ten years to-day has she been his. + He but begins to understand, +He says, the dignity and bliss + She gave him when she gave her hand. +She, answering, says, he disenchants + The past, though that was perfect; he +Rejoins, the present nothing wants + But briefness to be ecstasy. +He lands her charms; her beauty's glow + Wins from the spoiler Time new rays; +Bright looks reply, approving so + Beauty's elixir vitae, praise. +Upon a beech he bids her mark + Where, ten years since, he carved her name; +It grows there with the growing bark, + And in his heart it grows the same. +For that her soft arm presses his + Close to her fond, maternal breast; +He tells her, each new kindness is + The effectual sum of all the rest! +And, whilst the cushat, mocking, coo'd, + They blest the days they had been wed, +At cost of those in which he woo'd, + Till everything was three times said; +And words were growing vain, when Briggs, + Factotum, Footman, Butler, Groom, +Who press'd the cyder, fed the pigs, + Preserv'd the rabbits, drove the brougham, +And help'd, at need, to mow the lawns, + And sweep the paths and thatch the hay, +Here brought the Post down, Mrs. Vaughan's + Sole rival, but, for once, to-day, +Scarce look'd at; for the 'Second Book,' + Till this tenth festival kept close, +Was thus commenced, while o'er them shook + The laurel married with the rose. + +2 + +'The pulse of War, whose bloody heats + Sane purposes insanely work, +Now with fraternal frenzy beats, + And binds the Christian to the Turk, +And shrieking fifes' - + +3 + + But, with a roar, + In rush'd the Loves; the tallest roll'd +A hedgehog from his pinafore, + Which saved his fingers; Baby, bold, +Touch'd it, and stared, and scream'd for life, + And stretch'd her hand for Vaughan to kiss, +Who hugg'd his Pet, and ask'd his wife, + 'Is this for love, or love for this?' +But she turn'd pale, for, lo, the beast, + Found stock-still in the rabbit-trap, +And feigning so to be deceased, + And laid by Frank upon her lap, +Unglobed himself, and show'd his snout, + And fell, scatt'ring the Loves amain, +With shriek, with laughter, and with shout; + And, peace at last restored again, +The bard, who this untimely hitch + Bore with a calm magnanimous, +(The hedgehog rolled into a ditch, + And Venus sooth'd), proceeded thus: + + + +CANTO I.--ACCEPTED + + + +PRELUDES. + + +I.--THE SONG OF SONGS. + +The pulse of War, whose bloody heats + Sane purposes insanely work, +Now with fraternal frenzy beats, + And binds the Christian to the Turk, +And shrieking fifes and braggart flags, + Through quiet England, teach our breath +The courage corporate that drags + The coward to heroic death. +Too late for song! Who henceforth sings, + Must fledge his heavenly flight with more +Song-worthy and heroic things + Than hasty, home-destroying war. +While might and right are not agreed, + And battle thus is yet to wage, +So long let laurels be the meed + Of soldier as of poet sage; +But men expect the Tale of Love, + And weary of the Tale of Hate; +Lift me, O Muse, myself above, + And let the world no longer wait! + +II.--THE KITES. + +I saw three Cupids (so I dream'd), + Who made three kites, on which were drawn, +In letters that like roses gleam'd, + 'Plato,' 'Anacreon,' and 'Vaughan.' +The boy who held by Plato tried + His airy venture first; all sail, +It heav'nward rush'd till scarce descried, + Then pitch'd and dropp'd for want of tail. +Anacreon's Love, with shouts of mirth + That pride of spirit thus should fall, +To his kite link'd a lump of earth, + And, lo, it would not soar at all. +Last, my disciple freighted his + With a long streamer made of flowers, +The children of the sod, and this + Rose in the sun, and flew for hours. + +III.--ORPHEUS. + +The music of the Sirens found + Ulysses weak, though cords were strong; +But happier Orpheus stood unbound, + And shamed it with a sweeter song. +His mode be mine. Of Heav'n I ask, + May I, with heart-persuading might, +Pursue the Poet's sacred task + Of superseding faith by sight, +Till ev'n the witless Gadarene, + Preferring Christ to swine, shall know +That life is sweetest when it's clean. + To prouder folly let me show +Earth by divine light made divine; + And let the saints, who hear my word, +Say, 'Lo, the clouds begin to shine + About the coming of the Lord!' + +IV.--NEAREST THE DEAREST. + +Till Eve was brought to Adam, he + A solitary desert trod, +Though in the great society + Of nature, angels, and of God. +If one slight column counterweighs + The ocean, 'tis the Maker's law, +Who deems obedience better praise + Than sacrifice of erring awe. + +V.--PERSPECTIVE. + +What seems to us for us is true. + The planet has no proper light, +And yet, when Venus is in view, + No primal star is half so bright. + + +ACCEPTED. + + +1 + +What fortune did my heart foretell? + What shook my spirit, as I woke, +Like the vibration of a bell + Of which I had not heard the stroke? +Was it some happy vision shut + From memory by the sun's fresh ray? +Was it that linnet's song; or but + A natural gratitude for day? +Or the mere joy the senses weave, + A wayward ecstasy of life? +Then I remember'd, yester-eve + I won Honoria for my Wife. + +2 + +Forth riding, while as yet the day + Was dewy, watching Sarum Spire, +Still beckoning me along my way, + And growing every minute higher, +I reach'd the Dean's. One blind was down, + Though nine then struck. My bride to be! +And had she rested ill, my own, + With thinking (oh, my heart!) of me? +I paced the streets; a pistol chose, + To guard my now important life +When riding late from Sarum Close; + At noon return'd. Good Mrs. Fife, +To my, 'The Dean, is he at home?' + Said, 'No, sir; but Miss Honor is;' +And straight, not asking if I'd come, + Announced me, 'Mr. Felix, Miss,' +To Mildred, in the Study. There + We talk'd, she working. We agreed +The day was fine; the Fancy-Fair + Successful; 'Did I ever read +De Genlis?' 'Never.' 'Do! She heard + I was engaged.' 'To whom?' 'Miss Fry +Was it the fact?' 'No!' 'On my word?' + 'What scandal people talk'd!' 'Would I +Hold out this skein of silk.' So pass'd + I knew not how much time away. +'How were her sisters?' 'Well.' At last + I summon'd heart enough to say, +'I hoped to have seen Miss Churchill too.' + 'Miss Churchill, Felix! What is this? +I said, and now I find 'tis true, + Last night you quarrell'd! Here she is.' + +3 + +She came, and seem'd a morning rose + When ruffling rain has paled its blush; +Her crown once more was on her brows; + And, with a faint, indignant flush, +And fainter smile, she gave her hand, + But not her eyes, then sate apart, +As if to make me understand + The honour of her vanquish'd heart. +But I drew humbly to her side; + And she, well pleased, perceiving me +Liege ever to the noble pride + Of her unconquer'd majesty, +Once and for all put it away; + The faint flush pass'd; and, thereupon, +Her loveliness, which rather lay + In light than colour, smiled and shone, +Till sick was all my soul with bliss; + Or was it with remorse and ire +Of such a sanctity as this + Subdued by love to my desire? + + + +CANTO II.--THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. + + + +PRELUDES. + + +I.--THE CHANGED ALLEGIANCE. + +Watch how a bird, that captived sings, + The cage set open, first looks out, +Yet fears the freedom of his wings, + And now withdraws, and flits about, +And now looks forth again; until, + Grown bold, he hops on stool and chair, +And now attains the window-sill, + And now confides himself to air. +The maiden so, from love's free sky + In chaste and prudent counsels caged, +But longing to be loosen'd by + Her suitor's faith declared and gaged, +When blest with that release desired, + First doubts if truly she is free, +Then pauses, restlessly retired, + Alarm'd at too much liberty; +But soon, remembering all her debt + To plighted passion, gets by rote +Her duty; says, 'I love him!' yet + The thought half chokes her in her throat; +And, like that fatal 'I am thine,' + Comes with alternate gush and check +And joltings of the heart, as wine + Pour'd from a flask of narrow neck. +Is he indeed her choice? She fears + Her Yes was rashly said, and shame, +Remorse and ineffectual tears + Revolt from has conceded claim. +Oh, treason! So, with desperate nerve, + She cries, 'I am in love, am his;' +Lets run the cables of reserve, + And floats into a sea of bliss, +And laughs to think of her alarm, + Avows she was in love before, +Though has avowal was the charm + Which open'd to her own the door. +She loves him for his mastering air, + Whence, Parthian-like, she slaying flies; +His flattering look, which seems to wear + Her loveliness in manly eyes; +His smile, which, by reverse, portends + An awful wrath, should reason stir; +(How fortunate it is they're friends, + And he will ne'er be wroth with her!) +His power to do or guard from harm; + If he but chose to use it half, +And catch her up in one strong arm, + What could she do but weep, or laugh! +His words, which still instruct, but so + That this applause seems still implied, +'How wise in all she ought to know, + How ignorant of all beside!' +His skilful suit, which leaves her free, + Gives nothing for the world to name, +And keeps her conscience safe, while he, + With half the bliss, takes all the blame; +His clear repute with great and small; + The jealousy his choice will stir; +But ten times more than ten times all, + She loves him for his love of her. +How happy 'tis he seems to see + In her that utter loveliness +Which she, for his sake, longs to be! + At times, she cannot but confess +Her other friends are somewhat blind; + Her parents' years excuse neglect, +But all the rest are scarcely kind, + And brothers grossly want respect; +And oft she views what he admires + Within her glass, and sight of this +Makes all the sum of her desires + To be devotion unto his. +But still, at first, whatever's done, + A touch, her hand press'd lightly, she +Stands dizzied, shock'd, and flush'd, like one + Set sudden neck-deep in the sea; +And, though her bond for endless time + To his good pleasure gives her o'er, +The slightest favour seems a crime, + Because it makes her love him more. +But that she ne'er will let him know; + For what were love should reverence cease? +A thought which makes her reason so + Inscrutable, it seems caprice. +With her, as with a desperate town, + Too weak to stand, too proud to treat, +The conqueror, though the walls are down, + Has still to capture street by street; +But, after that, habitual faith, + Divorced from self, where late 'twas due, +Walks nobly in its novel path, + And she's to changed allegiance true; +And prizing what she can't prevent, + (Right wisdom, often misdeem'd whim), +Her will's indomitably bent + On mere submissiveness to him; +To him she'll cleave, for him forsake + Father's and mother's fond command! +He is her lord, for he can take + Hold of her faint heart with his hand. + +II.--BEAUTY. + +'Beauty deludes.' O shaft well shot, + To strike the mark's true opposite! +That ugly good is scorn'd proves not + 'Tis beauty lies, but lack of it. +By Heaven's law the Jew might take + A slave to wife, if she was fair; +So strong a plea does beauty make + That, where 'tis seen, discretion's there. +If, by a monstrous chance, we learn + That this illustrious vaunt's a lie, +Our minds, by which the eyes discern, + See hideous contrariety. +And laugh at Nature's wanton mood, + Which, thus a swinish thing to flout, +Though haply in its gross way good, + Hangs such a jewel in its snout. + +III.--LAIS AND LUCRETIA. + +Did first his beauty wake her sighs? + That's Lais! Thus Lucretia's known: +The beauty in her Lover's eyes + Was admiration of her own. + + +THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. + + +1 + +Oh, beating heart of sweet alarm, + Which stays the lover's step, when near +His mistress and her awful charm + Of grace and innocence sincere! +I held the half-shut door, and heard + The voice of my betrothed wife, +Who sang my verses, every word + By music taught its latent life; +With interludes of well-touch'd notes, + That flash'd, surprising and serene, +As meteor after meteor floats + The soft, autumnal stars between. +There was a passion in her tone, + A tremor when she touch'd the keys, +Which told me she was there alone, + And uttering all her soul at ease. +I enter'd; for I did not choose + To learn how in her heart I throve, +By chance or stealth; beyond her use, + Her greeting flatter'd me with love. + + 2 + +With true love's treacherous confidence, + And ire, at last to laughter won, +She spoke this speech, and mark'd its sense, + By action, as her Aunt had done. + +3 + +'"You, with your looks and catching air, + To think of Vaughan! You fool! You know, +You might, with ordinary care, + Ev'n yet be Lady Clitheroe. +You're sure he'll do great things some day! + Nonsense, he won't; he's dress'd too well. +Dines with the Sterling Club, they say; + Not commonly respectable! +Half Puritan, half Cavalier! + His curly hair I think's a wig; +And, for his fortune, why my Dear, + 'Tis not enough to keep a gig. +Rich Aunts and Uncles never die; + And what you bring won't do for dress: +And so you'll live on By-and-by, + Within oaten-cake and water-cress!" + +4 + +'I cried, but did not let her see. + At last she soften'd her dispraise, +On learning you had bought for me + A carriage and a pair of bays. +But here she comes! You take her in + To dinner. I impose this task +Make her approve my love; and win + What thanks from me you choose to ask!' + +5 + +'My niece has told you every word + I said of you! What may I mean? +Of course she has; but you've not heard + How I abused you to the Dean; - +Yes, I'll take wine; he's mad, like her; + And she WILL have you: there it ends! +And, now I've done my duty, Sir, + And you've shown common-sense, we're friends!' + +6 + +'Go, child, and see him out yourself,' + Aunt Maude said, after tea, 'and show +The place, upon that upper shelf, + Where Petrarch stands, lent long ago.' + +7 + +'These rose-leaves to my heart be press'd, + Honoria, while it aches for you!' +(The rose in ruin, from her breast, + Fell, as I took a fond adieu.) +'You must go now, Love!' 'See, the air + Is thick with starlight!' 'Let me tie +This scarf on. Oh, your Petrarch! There! + I'm coming, Aunt!' 'Sweet, Sweet!' 'Good-bye!' +'Ah, Love, to me 'tis death to part, + Yet you, my sever'd life, smile on!' +These "Good-nights," Felix, break my heart; + I'm only gay till you are gone!' +With love's bright arrows from her eyes, + And balm on her permissive lips, +She pass'd, and night was a surprise, + As when the sun at Quito dips. +Her beauties were like sunlit snows, + Flush'd but not warm'd with my desire. +Oh, how I loved her! Fiercely glows + In the pure air of frost the fire. +Who for a year is sure of fate! + I thought, dishearten'd as I went, +Wroth with the Dean, who bade me wait, + And vex'd with her, who seem'd content. +Nay, could eternal life afford + That tyranny should thus deduct +From this fair land, which call'd me lord, + A year of the sweet usufruct? +It might not and it should not be! + I'd go back now, and he must own, +At once, my love's compulsive plea. + I turn'd, I found the Dean alone. +'Nonsense, my friend; go back to bed! + It's half-past twelve!' 'July, then, Sir!' +'Well, come to-morrow,' at last he said, + 'And you may talk of it with her.' +A light gleam'd as I pass'd the stair. + A pausing foot, a flash of dress, +And a sweet voice. 'Is Felix there?' + 'July, Love!' 'Says Papa so?' 'Yes!' + + + +CANTO III.--THE COUNTRY BALL + + + +PRELUDES + + +I.--LOVE CEREMONIOUS + +Keep your undrest, familiar style + For strangers, but respect your friend, +Her most, whose matrimonial smile + Is and asks honour without end. +'Tis found, and needs it must so be, + That life from love's allegiance flags, +When love forgets his majesty + In sloth's unceremonious rags. +Let love make home a gracious Court; + There let the world's rude, hasty ways +Be fashion'd to a loftier port, + And learn to bow and stand at gaze; +And let the sweet respective sphere + Of personal worship there obtain +Circumference for moving clear, + None treading on another's train. +This makes that pleasures do not cloy, + And dignifies our mortal strife +With calmness and considerate joy, + Befitting our immortal life. + +II.--THE RAINBOW. + +A stately rainbow came and stood, + When I was young, in High-Hurst Park; +Its bright feet lit the hill and wood + Beyond, and cloud and sward were dark; +And I, who thought the splendour ours + Because the place was, t'wards it flew, +And there, amidst the glittering showers, + Gazed vainly for the glorious view. +With whatsoever's lovely, know + It is not ours; stand off to see, +Or beauty's apparition so + Puts on invisibility. + +III.--A PARADOX. + +To tryst Love blindfold goes, for fear + He should not see, and eyeless night +He chooses still for breathing near + Beauty, that lives but in the sight. + + +THE COUNTY BALL. + + +1 + +Well, Heaven be thank'd my first-love fail'd, + As, Heaven be thank'd, our first-loves do! +Thought I, when Fanny past me sail'd, + Loved once, for what I never knew, +Unless for colouring in her talk, + When cheeks and merry mouth would show +Three roses on a single stalk, + The middle wanting room to blow, +And forward ways, that charm'd the boy + Whose love-sick mind, misreading fate, +Scarce hoped that any Queen of Joy + Could ever stoop to be his mate. + +2 + +But there danced she, who from the leaven + Of ill preserv'd my heart and wit +All unawares, for she was heaven, + Others at best but fit for it. +One of those lovely things she was + In whose least action there can be +Nothing so transient but it has + An air of immortality. +I mark'd her step, with peace elate, + Her brow more beautiful than morn, +Her sometime look of girlish state + Which sweetly waived its right to scorn; +The giddy crowd, she grave the while, + Although, as 'twere beyond her will, +Around her mouth the baby smile + That she was born with linger'd still. +Her ball-dress seem'd a breathing mist, + From the fair form exhaled and shed, +Raised in the dance with arm and wrist + All warmth and light, unbraceleted. +Her motion, feeling 'twas beloved, + The pensive soul of tune express'd, +And, oh, what perfume, as she moved, + Came from the flowers in her breast! +How sweet a tongue the music had! + 'Beautiful Girl,' it seem'd to say, +'Though all the world were vile and sad, + Dance on; let innocence be gay.' +Ah, none but I discern'd her looks, + When in the throng she pass'd me by, +For love is like a ghost, and brooks + Only the chosen seer's eye; +And who but she could e'er divine + The halo and the happy trance, +When her bright arm reposed on mine, + In all the pauses of the dance! + +3 + +Whilst so her beauty fed my sight, + And whilst I lived in what she said, +Accordant airs, like all delight + Most sweet when noted least, were play'd; +And was it like the Pharisee + If I in secret bow'd my face +With joyful thanks that I should be, + Not as were many, but with grace +And fortune of well-nurtured youth, + And days no sordid pains defile, +And thoughts accustom'd to the truth, + Made capable of her fair smile? + +4 + +Charles Barton follow'd down the stair, + To talk with me about the Ball, +And carp at all the people there. + The Churchills chiefly stirr'd his gall: +'Such were the Kriemhilds and Isondes + You storm'd about at Trinity! +Nothing at heart but handsome Blondes! + 'Folk say that you and Fanny Fry--' +'They err! Good-night! Here lies my course, + Through Wilton.' Silence blest my ears, +And, weak at heart with vague remorse, + A passing poignancy of tears +Attack'd mine eyes. By pale and park + I rode, and ever seem'd to see, +In the transparent starry dark, + That splendid brow of chastity, +That soft and yet subduing light, + At which, as at the sudden moon, +I held my breath, and thought 'how bright!' + That guileless beauty in its noon, +Compelling tribute of desires + Ardent as day when Sirius reigns, +Pure as the permeating fires + That smoulder in the opal's veins. + + + +CANTO IV.--LOVE IN IDLENESS + + + +PRELUDES. + +I.--HONOUR AND DESERT. + +O Queen, awake to thy renown, + Require what 'tis our wealth to give, +And comprehend and wear the crown + Of thy despised prerogative! +I, who in manhood's name at length + With glad songs come to abdicate +The gross regality of strength, + Must yet in this thy praise abate, +That, through thine erring humbleness + And disregard of thy degree, +Mainly, has man been so much less + Than fits his fellowship with thee. +High thoughts had shaped the foolish brow, + The coward had grasp'd the hero's sword, +The vilest had been great, hadst thou, + Just to thyself, been worth's reward. +But lofty honours undersold + Seller and buyer both disgrace; +And favours that make folly bold + Banish the light from virtue's face. + +II.--LOVE AND HONOUR. + +What man with baseness so content, + Or sick with false conceit of right, +As not to know that the element + And inmost warmth of love's delight +Is honour? Who'd not rather kiss + A duchess than a milkmaid, prank +The two in equal grace, which is + Precedent Nature's obvious rank? +Much rather, then, a woman deck'd + With saintly honours, chaste and good, +Whose thoughts celestial things affect, + Whose eyes express her heavenly mood! +Those lesser vaunts are dimm'd or lost + Which plume her name or paint her lip, +Extinct in the deep-glowing boast + Of her angelic fellowship. + +III.--VALOUR MISDIRECTED. + +I'll hunt for dangers North and South, + To prove my love, which sloth maligns!' +What seems to say her rosy mouth? + 'I'm not convinced by proofs but signs.' + + +LOVE IN IDLENESS. + + +1 + +What should I do? In such a wife + Fortune had lavish'd all her store, +And nothing now seem'd left for life + But to deserve her more and more. +To this I vow'd my life's whole scope; + And Love said, 'I forewarn you now, +The Maiden will fulfill your hope + Only as you fulfil your vow.' + +2 + +A promised service, (task for days), + Was done this morning while she slept, +With that full heart which thinks no praise + Of vows which are not more than kept; +But loftier work did love impose. + And studious hours. Alas, for these, +While she from all my thoughts arose + Like Venus from the restless seas! + +3 + +I conn'd a scheme, within mind elate: + My Uncle's land would fall to me, +My skill was much in school debate, + My friends were strong in Salisbury; +A place in Parliament once gain'd, + Thro' saps first labour'd out of sight, +Far loftier peaks were then attain'd + With easy leaps from height to height; +And that o'erwhelming honour paid, + Or recognised, at least, in life, +Which this most sweet and noble Maid + Should yield to him who call'd her Wife. + +4 + +I fix'd this rule: in Sarum Close + To make two visits every week, +The first, to-day; and, save on those, + I nought would do, think, read, or speak, +Which did not help my settled will + To earn the Statesman's proud applause. +And now, forthwith, to mend my skill + In ethics, politics, and laws, +The Statesman's learning! Flush'd with power + And pride of freshly-form'd resolve, +I read Helvetius half-an-hour; + But, halting in attempts to solve +Why, more than all things else that be, + A lady's grace hath force to move +That sensitive appetency + Of intellectual good, call'd love, +Took Blackstone down, only to draw + My swift-deriving thoughts ere long +To love, which is the source of law, + And, like a king, can do no wrong; +Then open'd Hyde, where loyal hearts, + With faith unpropp'd by precedent, +Began to play rebellious parts. + O, mighty stir that little meant! +How dull the crude, plough'd fields of fact + To me who trod the Elysian grove! +How idle all heroic act + By the least suffering of love! +I could not read; so took my pen, + And thus commenced, in form of notes, +A Lecture for the Salisbury men, + With due regard to Tory votes: +'A road's a road, though worn to ruts; + They speed who travel straight therein; +But he who tacks and tries short cuts + Gets fools' praise and a broken shin--' +And here I stopp'd in sheer despair; + But, what to-day was thus begun, +I vow'd, up starting from my chair, + To-morrow should indeed be done; +So loosed my chafing thoughts from school, + To play with fancy as they chose, +And then, according to my rule, + I dress'd, and came to Sarum Close. + +5 + +Ah, that sweet laugh! Diviner sense + Did Nature, forming her, inspire +To omit the grosser elements, + And make her all of air and fire! + +6 + +To-morrow, Cowes' Regatta fell: + The Dean would like his girls to go, +If I went too. 'Most gladly.' Well, + I did but break a foolish vow! +Unless Love's toil has love for prize, + (And then he's Hercules), above +All other contrarieties + Is labour contrary to love. +No fault of Love's, but nature's laws! + And Love, in idleness, lies quick; +For as the worm whose powers make pause, + And swoon, through alteration sick, +The soul, its wingless state dissolved, + Awaits its nuptial life complete, +All indolently self-convolved, + Cocoon'd in silken fancies sweet. + + + +CANTO V.--THE QUEEN'S ROOM + + + +PRELUDES. + +I.--REJECTED. + +'Perhaps she's dancing somewhere now!' + The thoughts of light and music wake +Sharp jealousies, that grow and grow + Till silence and the darkness ache. +He sees her step, so proud and gay, + Which, ere he spake, foretold despair: +Thus did she look, on such a day, + And such the fashion of her hair; +And thus she stood, when, kneeling low, + He took the bramble from her dress, +And thus she laugh'd and talk'd, whose 'No' + Was sweeter than another's 'Yes.' +He feeds on thoughts that most deject; + He impudently feigns her charms, +So reverenced in his own respect, + Dreadfully clasp'd by other arms; +And turns, and puts his brows, that ache, + Against the pillow where 'tis cold. +If, only now his heart would break! + But, oh, how much a heart can hold. + +II.--RACHEL. + +You loved her, and would lie all night + Thinking how beautiful she was, +And what to do for her delight. + Now both are bound with alien laws! +Be patient; put your heart to school; + Weep if you will, but not despair; +The trust that nought goes wrong by rule + Should ease this load the many bear. +Love, if there's heav'n, shall meet his dues, + Though here unmatch'd, or match'd amiss; +Meanwhile, the gentle cannot choose + But learn to love the lips they kiss. +Ne'er hurt the homely sister's ears + With Rachel's beauties; secret be +The lofty mind whose lonely tears + Protest against mortality. + +III.--THE HEART'S PROPHECIES. + +Be not amazed at life; 'tis still + The mode of God with his elect +Their hopes exactly to fulfil, + In times and ways they least expect. + + +THE QUEEN'S ROOM. + + +1 + +There's nothing happier than the days + In which young Love makes every thought +Pure as a bride's blush, when she says + 'I will' unto she knows not what; +And lovers, on the love-lit globe, + For love's sweet sake, walk yet aloof, +And hear Time weave the marriage-robe, + Attraction warp and reverence woof. + +2 + +My Housekeeper, my Nurse of yore, + Cried, as the latest carriage went, +'Well, Mr, Felix, Sir, I'm sure + The morning's gone off excellent! +I never saw the show to pass + The ladies, in their fine fresh gowns, +So sweetly dancing on the grass, + To music with its ups and downs. +We'd such work, Sir, to clean the plate; + 'Twas just the busy times of old. +The Queen's Room, Sir, look'd quite like state. + Miss Smythe, when she went up, made bold +To peep into the Rose Boudoir, + And cried, "How charming! all quite new;" +And wonder'd who it could be for. + All but Miss Honor look'd in too. +But she's too proud to peep and pry. + None's like that sweet Miss Honor, Sir! +Excuse my humbleness, but I + Pray Heav'n you'll get a wife like her! +The Poor love dear Miss Honor's ways + Better than money. Mrs. Rouse, +Who ought to know a lady, says + No finer goes to Wilton House. +Miss Bagshaw thought that dreary room + Had kill'd old Mrs. Vaughan with fright; +She would not sleep in such a tomb + For all her host was worth a night! +Miss Fry, Sir, laugh'd; they talk'd the rest + In French; and French Sir's Greek to me; +But, though they smiled, and seem'd to jest, + No love was lost, for I could see +How serious-like Miss Honor was--' + 'Well, Nurse, this is not my affair. +The ladies talk'd in French with cause. + Good-day; and thank you for your prayer.' + +3 + +I loiter'd through the vacant house, + Soon to be her's; in one room stay'd, +Of old my mother's. Here my vows + Of endless thanks were oftenest paid. +This room its first condition kept; + For, on her road to Sarum Town, +Therein an English Queen had slept, + Before the Hurst was half pull'd down. +The pictured walls the place became: + Here ran the Brook Anaurus, where +Stout Jason bore the wrinkled dame + Whom serving changed to Juno; there, +Ixion's selfish hope, instead + Of the nuptial goddess, clasp'd a cloud; +And, here, translated Psyche fed + Her gaze on Love, not disallow'd. + +4 + +And in this chamber had she been, + And into that she would not look, +My Joy, my Vanity, my Queen, + At whose dear name my pulses shook! +To others how express at all + My worship in that joyful shrine? +I scarcely can myself recall + What peace and ardour then were mine; +And how more sweet than aught below, + The daylight and its duties done, +It felt to fold the hands, and so + Relinquish all regards but one; +To see her features in the dark, + To lie and meditate once more +The grace I did not fully mark, + The tone I had not heard before; +And from my pillow then to take + Her notes, her picture, and her glove, +Put there for joy when I should wake, + And press them to the heart of love; +And then to whisper 'Wife!' and pray + To live so long as not to miss +That unimaginable day + Which farther seems the nearer 'tis; +And still from joy's unfathom'd well + To drink, in dreams, while on her brows +Of innocence ineffable + Blossom'd the laughing bridal rose. + + + +CANTO VI.--THE LOVE LETTERS. + + + +PRELUDES. + +I.--LOVE'S PERVERSITY. + +How strange a thing a lover seems + To animals that do not love! +Lo, where he walks and talks in dreams, + And flouts us with his Lady's glove; +How foreign is the garb he wears; + And how his great devotion mocks +Our poor propriety, and scares + The undevout with paradox! +His soul, through scorn of worldly care, + And great extremes of sweet and gall, +And musing much on all that's fair, + Grows witty and fantastical; +He sobs his joy and sings his grief, + And evermore finds such delight +In simply picturing his relief, + That 'plaining seems to cure his plight; +He makes his sorrow, when there's none; + His fancy blows both cold and hot; +Next to the wish that she'll be won, + His first hope is that she may not; +He sues, yet deprecates consent; + Would she be captured she must fly; +She looks too happy and content, + For whose least pleasure he would die; +Oh, cruelty, she cannot care + For one to whom she's always kind! +He says he's nought, but, oh, despair, + If he's not Jove to her fond mind! +He's jealous if she pets a dove, + She must be his with all her soul; +Yet 'tis a postulate in love + That part is greater than the whole; +And all his apprehension's stress, + When he's with her, regards her hair, +Her hand, a ribbon of her dress, + As if his life were only there; +Because she's constant, he will change, + And kindest glances coldly meet, +And, all the time he seems so strange, + His soul is fawning at her feet; +Of smiles and simple heaven grown tired, + He wickedly provokes her tears, +And when she weeps, as he desired, + Falls slain with ecstasies of fears; +He blames her, though she has no fault, + Except the folly to be his; +He worships her, the more to exalt + The profanation of a kiss; +Health's his disease, he's never well + But when his paleness shames her rose; +His faith's a rock-built citadel, + Its sign a flag that each way blows; +His o'erfed fancy frets and fumes; + And Love, in him, is fierce, like Hate, +And ruffles his ambrosial plumes + Against the bars of time and fate. + +II.--THE POWER OF LOVE. + +Samson the Mighty, Solomon + The Wise, and Holy David all +Must doff their crowns to Love, for none + But fell as Love would scorn to fall! +And what may fallen spirits win, + When stripes and precepts cannot move? +Only the sadness of all sin, + When look'd at in the light of Love. + + +THE LOVE-LETTERS. + + +1 + +'You ask, Will admiration halt, + Should spots appear within my Sun? +Oh, how I wish I knew your fault, + For Love's tired gaze to rest upon! +Your graces, which have made me great, + Will I so loftily admire, +Yourself yourself shall emulate, + And be yourself your own desire. +I'll nobly mirror you too fair, + And, when you're false to me your glass, +What's wanting you'll by that repair, + So bring yourself through me to pass. +O dearest, tell me how to prove + Goodwill which cannot be express'd; +The beneficial heart of love + Is labour in an idle breast. +Name in the world your chosen part, + And here I vow, with all the bent +And application of my heart + To give myself to your content. +Would you live on, home-worshipp'd, thus, + Not proudly high nor poorly low? +Indeed the lines are fall'n to us + In pleasant places! Be it so. +But would you others heav'nward move, + By sight not faith, while you they admire? +I'll help with zeal as I approve + That just and merciful desire. +High as the lonely moon to view + I'll lift your light; do you decree +Your place, I'll win it; for from you + Command inspires capacity. +Or, unseen, would you sway the world + More surely? Then in gracious rhyme +I'll raise your emblem, fair unfurl'd + With blessing in the breeze of time. +Faith removes mountains, much more love; + Let your contempt abolish me +If ought of your devisal prove + Too hard or high to do or be.' + +2 + +I ended. 'From your Sweet-Heart, Sir,' + Said Nurse, 'The Dean's man brings it down.' +I could have kiss'd both him and her! + 'Nurse, give him that, with half-a-crown.' +How beat my heart, how paused my breath, + When, with perversely fond delay, +I broke the seal, that bore a wreath + Of roses link'd with one of bay. + +3 + +'I found your note. How very kind + To leave it there! I cannot tell +How pleased I was, or how you find + Words to express your thoughts so well. +The Girls are going to the Ball + At Wilton. If you can, DO come; +And any day this week you call + Papa and I shall be at home. +You said to Mary once--I hope + In jest--that women SHOULD be vain: +On Saturday your friend (her Pope), + The Bishop dined with us again. +She put the question, if they ought? + He turn'd it cleverly away +(For giddy Mildred cried, she thought + We MUST), with "What we must we may." +'Dear papa laugh'd, and said 'twas sad + To think how vain his girls would be, +Above all Mary, now she had + Episcopal authority. +But I was very dull, dear friend, + And went upstairs at last, and cried. +Be sure to come to-day, or send + A rose-leaf kiss'd on either side. +Adieu! I am not well. Last night + My dreams were wild: I often woke, +The summer-lightning was so bright; + And when it flash'd I thought you spoke.' + + + +CANTO VII.--THE REVULSION. + + + +PRELUDES + +I.--JOY AND USE. + +Can ought compared with wedlock be + For use? But He who made the heart +To use proportions joy. What He + Has join'd let no man put apart. +Sweet Order has its draught of bliss + Graced with the pearl of God's consent, +Ten times delightful in that 'tis + Considerate and innocent. +In vain Disorder grasps the cup; + The pleasure's not enjoy'd but spilt, +And, if he stoops to lick it up, + It only tastes of earth and guilt. +His sorry raptures rest destroys; + To live, like comets, they must roam; +On settled poles turn solid joys, + And sunlike pleasures shine at home. + +II.--'SHE WAS MINE.' + +'Thy tears o'erprize thy loss! Thy wife, + In what was she particular? +Others of comely face and life, + Others as chaste and warm there are, +And when they speak they seem to sing; + Beyond her sex she was not wise; +And there is no more common thing + Than kindness in a woman's eyes. +Then wherefore weep so long and fast, + Why so exceedingly repine! +Say, how has thy Beloved surpass'd + So much all others?' 'She was mine.' + + +THE REVULSION. + + +1 + +'Twas when the spousal time of May + Hangs all the hedge with bridal wreaths, +And air's so sweet the bosom gay + Give thanks for every breath it breathes, +When like to like is gladly moved, + And each thing joins in Spring's refrain, +'Let those love now who never loved; + Let those who have loved love again;' +That I, in whom the sweet time wrought, + Lay stretch'd within a lonely glade, +Abandon'd to delicious thought + Beneath the softly twinkling shade. +The leaves, all stirring, mimick'd well + A neighbouring rush of rivers cold, +And, as the sun or shadow fell, + So these were green and those were gold; +In dim recesses hyacinths droop'd, + And breadths of primrose lit the air, +Which, wandering through the woodland, stoop'd + And gather'd perfumes here and there; +Upon the spray the squirrel swung, + And careless songsters, six or seven. +Sang lofty songs the leaves among, + Fit for their only listener, Heaven. +I sigh'd, 'Immeasurable bliss + Gains nothing by becoming more! +Millions have meaning; after this + Cyphers forget the integer.' + +2 + +And so I mused, till musing brought + A dream that shook my house of clay, +And, in my humbled heart, I thought, + To me there yet may come a day +With this the single vestige seen + Of comfort, earthly or divine, +My sorrow some time must have been + Her portion, had it not been mine. +Then I, who knew, from watching life, + That blows foreseen are slow to fall, +Rehearsed the losing of a wife, + And faced its terrors each and all. +The self-chastising fancy show'd + The coffin with its ghastly breath; +The innocent sweet face that owed + None of its innocence to death; +The lips that used to laugh; the knell + That bade the world beware of mirth; +The heartless and intolerable + Indignity of 'earth to earth;' +At morn remembering by degrees + That she I dream'd about was dead; +Love's still recurrent jubilees, + The days that she was born, won, wed; +The duties of my life the same, + Their meaning for the feelings gone; +Friendship impertinent, and fame + Disgusting; and, more harrowing none, +Small household troubles fall'n to me, + As, 'What time would I dine to-day?' +And, oh, how could I bear to see + The noisy children at their play. +Besides, where all things limp and halt, + Could I go straight, should I alone +Have kept my love without default, + Pitch'd at the true and heavenly tone? +The festal-day might come to mind + That miss'd the gift which more endears; +The hour which might have been more kind, + And now less fertile in vain tears; +The good of common intercourse, + For daintier pleasures, then despised, +Now with what passionate remorse, + What poignancy of hunger prized! +The little wrong, now greatly rued, + Which no repentance now could right; +And love, in disbelieving mood, + Deserting his celestial height. +Withal to know, God's love sent grief + To make me less the world's, and more +Meek-hearted: ah, the sick relief! + Why bow'd I not my heart before? + + 3 + +'What,' I exclaimed, with chill alarm, + 'If this fantastic horror shows +The feature of an actual harm!' + And, coming straight to Sarum Close, +As one who dreams his wife is dead, + And cannot in his slumber weep, +And moans upon his wretched bed, + And wakes, and finds her there asleep, +And laughs and sighs, so I, not less + Relieved, beheld, with blissful start, +The light and happy loveliness + Which lay so heavy on my heart. + + + +CANTO VIII.--THE KOH-I-NOOR. + + + +PRELUDES + +I.--IN LOVE. + +If he's capricious she'll be so, + But, if his duties constant are, +She lets her loving favour glow + As steady as a tropic star; +Appears there nought for which to weep, + She'll weep for nought, for his dear sake; +She clasps her sister in her sleep; + Her love in dreams is most awake. +Her soul, that once with pleasure shook, + Did any eyes her beauty own, +Now wonders how they dare to look + On what belongs to him alone; +The indignity of taking gifts + Exhilarates her loving breast; +A rapture of submission lifts + Her life into celestial rest; +There's nothing left of what she was; + Back to the babe the woman dies, +And all the wisdom that she has + Is to love him for being wise. +She's confident because she fears; + And, though discreet when he's away, +If none but her dear despot hears, + She prattles like a child at play. +Perchance, when all her praise is said, + He tells the news, a battle won, +On either side ten thousand dead. + 'Alas!' she says; but, if 'twere known, +She thinks, 'He's looking on my face! + I am his joy; whate'er I do, +He sees such time-contenting grace + In that, he'd have me always so!' +And, evermore, for either's sake, + To the sweet folly of the dove, +She joins the cunning of the snake, + To rivet and exalt his love; +Her mode of candour is deceit; + And what she thinks from what she'll say +(Although I'll never call her cheat), + Lies far as Scotland from Cathay. +Without his knowledge he was won; + Against his nature kept devout; +She'll never tell him how 'twas done, + And he will never find it out. +If, sudden, he suspects her wiles, + And hears her forging chain and trap, +And looks, she sits in simple smiles, + Her two hands lying in her lap. +Her secret (privilege of the Bard, + Whose fancy is of either sex), +Is mine; but let the darkness guard + Myst'ries that light would more perplex! + + II.--LOVE THINKING. + +What lifts her in my thought so far + Beyond all else? Let Love not err! +'Tis that which all right women are, + But which I'll know in none but her. +She is to me the only Ark + Of that high mystery which locks +The lips of joy, or speaks in dark + Enigmas and in paradox; +That potent charm, which none can fly, + Nor would, which makes me bond and free, +Nor can I tell if first 'twas I + Chose it, or it elected me; +Which, when I look intentest, lo, + Cheats most mine eyes, albeit my heart, +Content to feel and not to know, + Perceives it all in every part; +I kiss its cheek; its life divine + Exhales from its resplendent shroud; +Ixion's fate reversed is mine, + Authentic Juno seems a cloud; +I feel a blessed warmth, I see + A bright circumference of rays, +But darkness, where the sun should be, + Fills admiration with amaze; +And when, for joy's relief, I think + To fathom with the line of thought +The well from which I, blissful, drink, + The spring's so deep I come to nought. + +III.--THE KISS. + +'I saw you take his kiss!' ''Tis true.' + 'O, modesty!' ''Twas strictly kept: +He thought me asleep; at least, I knew + He thought I thought he thought I slept.' + + +THE KOH-I-NOOR. + + +1 + +'Be man's hard virtues highly wrought, + But let my gentle Mistress be, +In every look, word, deed, and thought, + Nothing but sweet and womanly! +Her virtues please my virtuous mood, + But what at all times I admire +Is, not that she is wise or good, + But just the thing which I desire. +With versatility to sing + The theme of love to any strain, +If oft'nest she is anything, + Be it careless, talkative, and vain. +That seems in her supremest grace + Which, virtue or not, apprises me +That my familiar thoughts embrace + Unfathomable mystery.' + + 2 + +I answer'd thus; for she desired + To know what mind I most approved; +Partly to learn what she inquired, + Partly to get the praise she loved. + + 3 + +I praised her, but no praise could fill + The depths of her desire to please, +Though dull to others as a Will + To them that have no legacies. +The more I praised the more she shone, + Her eyes incredulously bright, +And all her happy beauty blown + Beneath the beams of my delight. +Sweet rivalry was thus begot; + By turns, my speech, in passion's style, +With flatteries the truth o'ershot, + And she surpass'd them with her smile. + + 4 + +'You have my heart so sweetly seiz'd, + And I confess, nay, 'tis my pride +That I'm with you so solely pleased, + That, if I'm pleased with aught beside, +As music, or the month of June, + My friend's devotion, or his wit, +A rose, a rainbow, or the moon, + It is that you illustrate it. +All these are parts, you are the whole; + You fit the taste for Paradise, +To which your charms draw up the soul + As turning spirals draw the eyes. +Nature to you was more than kind; + 'Twas fond perversity to dress +So much simplicity of mind + In such a pomp of loveliness! +But, praising you, the fancy deft + Flies wide, and lets the quarry stray, +And, when all's said, there's something left, + And that's the thing I meant to say.' +'Dear Felix!' 'Sweet, my Love!' But there + Was Aunt Maude's noisy ring and knock! +'Stay, Felix; you have caught my hair. + Stoop! Thank you!' 'May I have that lock?' +'Not now. Good morning, Aunt!' 'Why, Puss, + You look magnificent to-day.' +'Here's Felix, Aunt.' 'Fox and green goose! + Who handsome gets should handsome pay! +Aunt, you are friends!' 'Ah, to be sure! + Good morning! Go on flattering, sir; +A woman, like the Koh-i-noor, + Mounts to the price that's put on her.' + + + +CANTO IX. + + + +PRELUDES. + +I.--THE NURSLING OF CIVILITY. + +Lo, how the woman once was woo'd; + Forth leapt the savage from his lair, +And fell'd her, and to nuptials rude + He dragg'd her, bleeding, by the hair. +From that to Chloe's dainty wiles + And Portia's dignified consent, +What distance! Bat these Pagan styles + How far below Time's fair intent! +Siegfried sued Kriemhild. Sweeter life + Could Love's self covet? Yet 'tis snug +In what rough sort he chid his wife + For want of curb upon her tongue! +Shall Love, where last I leave him, halt? + Nay; none can fancy or forsee +To how strange bliss may time exalt + This nursling of civility. + +II.--THE FOREIGN LAND + +A woman is a foreign land, + Of which, though there he settle young, +A man will ne'er quite understand + The customs, politics, and tongue. +The foolish hie them post-haste through, + See fashions odd, and prospects fair, +Learn of the language, 'How d'ye do,' + And go and brag they have been there. +The most for leave to trade apply, + For once, at Empire's seat, her heart, +Then get what knowledge ear and eye + Glean chancewise in the life-long mart. +And certain others, few and fit, + Attach them to the Court, and see +The Country's best, its accent hit, + And partly sound its polity. + + III.--DISAPPOINTMENT + +'The bliss which woman's charms bespeak, + I've sought in many, found in none!' +'In many 'tis in vain you seek + What only can be found in one.' + + +THE FRIENDS. + + +1 + +Frank's long, dull letter, lying by + The gay sash from Honoria's waist, +Reproach'd me; passion spared a sigh + For friendship without fault disgraced. +How should I greet him? how pretend + I felt the love he once inspired? +Time was when either, in his friend, + His own deserts with joy admired; +We took one side in school-debate, + Like hopes pursued with equal thirst, +Were even-bracketed by Fate, + Twin-Wranglers, seventh from the First; +And either loved a lady's laugh + More than all music; he and I +Were perfect in the pleasant half + Of universal charity. + +2 + +From pride of likeness thus I loved + Him, and he me, till love begot +The lowliness which now approved + Nothing but that which I was not, +Blest was the pride of feeling so + Subjected to a girl's soft reign. +She was my vanity, and, oh, + All other vanities how vain! + +3 + +Frank follow'd in his letter's track, + And set my guilty heart at ease +By echoing my excuses back + With just the same apologies. +So he had slighted me as well! + Nor was my mind disburthen'd less +When what I sought excuse to tell + He of himself did first confess. + +4 + +Each, rapturous, praised his lady's worth; + He eloquently thus: 'Her face +Is the summ'd sweetness of the earth, + Her soul the glass of heaven's grace, +To which she leads me by the hand; + Or, briefly all the truth to say +To you, who briefly understand, + She is both heaven and the way. +Displeasures and resentments pass + Athwart her charitable eyes +More fleetingly than breath from glass, + Or truth from foolish memories; +Her heart's so touch'd with others' woes + She has no need of chastisement; +Her gentle life's conditions close, + Like God's commandments, with content, +And make an aspect calm and gay, + Where sweet affections come and go, +Till all who see her, smile and say, + How fair, and happy that she's so! +She is so lovely, true, and pure, + Her virtue virtue so endears, +That often, when I think of her, + Life's meanness fills mine eyes with tears--' +'You paint Miss Churchill! Pray go on--' + 'She's perfect, and, if joy was much +To think her nature's paragon, + 'Tis more that there's another such!' + +5 + +Praising and paying back their praise + With rapturous hearts, t'ward Sarum Spire +We walk'd, in evening's golden haze, + Friendship from passion stealing fire. +In joy's crown danced the feather jest, + And, parting by the Deanery door, +Clasp'd hands, less shy than words, confess'd + We had not been true friends before. + + + +CANTO X. + + + +PRELUDES. + +I.--FROST IN HARVEST + +The lover who, across a gulf + Of ceremony, views his Love, +And dares not yet address herself, + Pays worship to her stolen glove. +The gulf o'erleapt, the lover wed, + It happens oft, (let truth be told), +The halo leaves the sacred head, + Respect grows lax, and worship cold, +And all love's May-day promising, + Like song of birds before they pair, +Or flush of flowers in boastful Spring, + Dies out, and leaves the Summer bare. +Yet should a man, it seems to me, + Honour what honourable is, +For some more honourable plea + Than only that it is not his. +The gentle wife, who decks his board + And makes his day to have no night, +Whose wishes wait upon her lord, + Who finds her own in his delight, +Is she another now than she + Who, mistress of her maiden charms, +At his wild prayer, incredibly + Committed them to his proud arms? +Unless her choice of him's a slur + Which makes her proper credit dim, +He never enough can honour her + Who past all speech has honour'd him. + +II.--FELICITY + +To marry her and take her home! + The poet, painting pureness, tells +Of lilies; figures power by Rome; + And each thing shows by something else. +But through the songs of poets look, + And who so lucky to have found +In universal nature's book + A likeness for a life so crown'd! +Here they speak best who best express + Their inability to speak, +And none are strong, but who confess + With happy skill that they are weak. + +III.--MARRIAGE INDISSOLUBLE + +'In heaven none marry.' Grant the most + Which may by this dark word be meant, +Who shall forbid the eternal boast + 'I kiss'd, and kiss'd with her consent!' +If here, to Love, past favour is + A present boast, delight, and chain, +What lacks of honour, bond, and bliss, + Where Now and Then are no more twain! + + +THE EPITAPH. + + +1 + +'At Church, in twelve hours more, we meet! + This, Dearest, is our last farewell.' +'Oh, Felix, do you love me?' 'Sweet, + Why do you ask?' 'I cannot tell.' + +2 + +And was it no vain fantasy + That raised me from the earth with pride? +Should I to-morrow verily + Be Bridegroom, and Honoria Bride? +Should I, in simple fact, henceforth + Live unconditionally lord +Of her whose smile for brightest worth + Seem'd all too bountiful reward? +Incredible life's promise seem'd, + Or, credible, for life too great; +Love his own deity blasphemed, + And doff'd at last his heavenly state. +What law, if man could mount so high, + To further insolence set bars, +And kept the chaste moon in the sky, + And bade him not tread out the stars! + +3 + +Patience and hope had parted truce, + And, sun-like, Love obscured his ray +With dazzling mists, driven up profuse + Before his own triumphant way. +I thought with prayer how Jacob paid + The patient price of Rachel; them, +Of that calm grace Tobias said, + And Sarah's innocent 'Amen.' +Without avail! O'erwhelming wealth, + The wondrous gift of God so near, +Which should have been delight and health + Made heart and spirit sick and sere. +Until at last the soul of love, + That recks not of its own delight, +Awoke and bade the mists remove, + And then once more I breathed aright; +And I rehears'd my marriage vow, + And swore her welfare to prefer +To all things, and for aye as now + To live, not for myself, but her. +Forth, from the glittering spirit's peace + And gaiety ineffable, +Stream'd to the heart delight and ease, + As from an overflowing well; +And, orderly deriving thence + Its pleasure perfect and allow'd, +Bright with the spirit shone the sense, + As with the sun a fleecy cloud. +If now to part with her could make + Her pleasure greater, sorrow less, +I for my epitaph would take + 'To serve seem'd more than to possess.' +And I perceiv'd, (the vision sweet + Dimming with happy dew mine eyes), +That love and joy are torches lit + From altar-fires of sacrifice. + +4 + +Across the sky the daylight crept, + And birds grew garrulous in the grove, +And on my marriage-morn I slept + A soft sleep, undisturb'd by love. + + + +CANTO XI. + + + +PRELUDES. + +I.--PLATONIC LOVE. + +Right art thou who wouldst rather be + A doorkeeper in Love's fair house, +Than lead the wretched revelry + Where fools at swinish troughs carouse. +But do not boast of being least; + And if to kiss thy Mistress' skirt +Amaze thy brain, scorn not the Priest + Whom greater honours do not hurt. +Stand off and gaze, if more than this + Be more than thou canst understand, +Revering him whose power of bliss, + Angelic, dares to seize her hand, +Or whose seraphic love makes flight + To the apprehension of her lips; +And think, the sun of such delight + From thine own darkness takes eclipse. +And, wouldst thou to the same aspire, + This is the art thou must employ, +Live greatly; so shalt thou acquire + Unknown capacities of joy. + +II.--A DEMONSTRATION. + +Nature, with endless being rife, + Parts each thing into 'him' and 'her,' +And, in the arithmetic of life, + The smallest unit is a pair; +And thus, oh, strange, sweet half of me, + If I confess a loftier flame, +If more I love high Heaven than thee, + I more than love thee, thine I am; +And, if the world's not built of lies, + Nor all a cheat the Gospel tells, +If that which from the dead shall rise + Be I indeed, not something else, +There's no position more secure + In reason or in faith than this, +That those conditions must endure, + Which, wanting, I myself should miss. + +III.--THE SYMBOL. + +As if I chafed the sparks from glass, + And said, 'It lightens,' hitherto +The songs I've made of love may pass + For all but for proportion true; +But likeness and proportion both + Now fail, as if a child in glee, +Catching the flakes of the salt froth, + Cried, 'Look, my mother, here's the sea. +Yet, by the help of what's so weak, + But not diverse, to those who know, +And only unto those I speak, + May far-inferring fancy show +Love's living sea by coasts uncurb'd, + Its depth, its mystery, and its might, +Its indignation if disturb'd, + The glittering peace of its delight. + +IV.--CONSTANCY REWARDED. + +I vow'd unvarying faith, and she, + To whom in full I pay that vow, +Rewards me with variety + Which men who change can never know. + + +THE WEDDING. + + +1 + +Life smitten with a feverish chill, + The brain too tired to understand, +In apathy of heart and will, + I took the woman from the hand +Of him who stood for God, and heard + Of Christ, and of the Church his Bride; +The Feast, by presence of the Lord + And his first Wonder, beautified; +The mystic sense to Christian men; + The bonds in innocency made, +And gravely to be enter'd then, + For children, godliness, and, aid, +And honour'd, and kept free from smirch; + And how a man must love his wife +No less than Christ did love his Church, + If need be, giving her his life; +And, vowing then the mutual vow, + The tongue spoke, but intention slept. +'Tis well for us Heaven asks not how + We take this oath, but how 'tis kept. + +2 + +O, bold seal of a bashful bound, + Which makes the marriage-day to be, +To those before it and beyond, + An iceberg in an Indian sea! + +3 + +'Now, while she's changing,' said the Dean, + 'Her bridal for her travelling dress, +I'll preach allegiance to your queen! + Preaching's the thing which I profess; +And one more minute's mine! You know + I've paid my girl a father's debt, +And this last charge is all I owe. + She's yours; but I love more than yet +You can; such fondness only wakes + When time has raised the heart above +The prejudice of youth, which makes + Beauty conditional to love. +Prepare to meet the weak alarms + Of novel nearness; recollect +The eye which magnified her charms + Is microscopic for defect. +Fear comes at first; but soon, rejoiced, + You'll find your strong and tender loves, +Like holy rocks by Druids poised, + The least force shakes, but none removes. +Her strength is your esteem; beware + Of finding fault; her will's unnerv'd +By blame; from you 'twould be despair; + But praise that is not quite deserv'd +Will all her noble nature move + To make your utmost wishes tree. +Yet think, while mending thus your Love, + Of snatching her ideal too. +The death of nuptial joy is sloth: + To keep your mistress in your wife, +Keep to the very height your oath, + And honour her with arduous life. +Lastly, no personal reverence doff. + Life's all externals unto those +Who pluck the blushing petals off, + To find the secret of the rose. - +How long she's tarrying! Green's Hotel + I'm sure you'll like. The charge is fair, +The wines good. I remember well + I stay'd once, with her Mother, there. +A tender conscience of her vow + That Mother had! She's so like her!' +But Mrs. Fife, much flurried, now + Whisper'd, 'Miss Honor's ready, Sir.' + +4 + +Whirl'd off at last, for speech I sought, + To keep shy Love in countenance, +But, whilst I vainly tax'd my thought, + Her voice deliver'd mime from trance: +'Look, is not this a pretty shawl, + Aunt's parting gift.' 'She's always kind.' +'The new wing spoils Sir John's old Hall: + You'll see it, if you pull the blind.' + +5 + +I drew the silk: in heaven the night + Was dawning; lovely Venus shone, +In languishment of tearful light, + Swathed by the red breath of the sun. + + + +CANTO XII. HUSBAND AND WIFE + + + +PRELUDES. + +I.--THE MARRIED LOVER + +Why, having won her, do I woo? + Because her spirit's vestal grace +Provokes me always to pursue, + But, spirit-like, eludes embrace; +Because her womanhood is such + That, as on court-days subjects kiss +The Queen's hand, yet so near a touch + Affirms no mean familiarness, +Nay, rather marks more fair the height + Which can with safety so neglect +To dread, as lower ladies might, + That grace could meet with disrespect, +Thus she with happy favour feeds + Allegiance from a love so high +That thence no false conceit proceeds + Of difference bridged, or state put by; +Because, although in act and word + As lowly as a wife can be, +Her manners, when they call me lord, + Remind me 'tis by courtesy; +Not with her least consent of will, + Which would my proud affection hurt, +But by the noble style that still + Imputes an unattain'd desert; +Because her gay and lofty brows, + When all is won which hope can ask, +Reflect a light of hopeless snows + That bright in virgin ether bask; +Because, though free of the outer court + I am, this Temple keeps its shrine +Sacred to Heaven; because, in short, + She's not and never can be mine. + +II.--THE AMARANTH + +Feasts satiate; stars distress with height; + Friendship means well, but misses reach, +And wearies in its best delight, + Vex'd with the vanities of speech; +Too long regarded, roses even + Afflict the mind with fond unrest; +And to converse direct within Heaven + Is oft a labour in the breast; +Whate'er the up-looking soul admires, + Whate'er the senses' banquet be, +Fatigues at last with vain desires, + Or sickens by satiety; +But truly my delight was more + In her to whom I'm bound for aye +Yesterday than the day before + And more to-day than yesterday. + + +HUSBAND AND WIFE. + + +1 + +I, while the shop-girl fitted on + The sand-shoes, look'd where, down the bay, +The sea glow'd with a shrouded sun. + 'I'm ready, Felix; will you pay?' +That was my first expense for this + Sweet Stranger, now my three days' Wife. +How light the touches are that kiss + The music from the chords of life! + +2 + +Her feet, by half-a-mile of sea, + In spotless sand left shapely prints; +With agates, then, she loaded me; + (The lapidary call'd them flints); +Then, at her wish, I hail'd a boat, + To take her to the ships-of-war, +At anchor, each a lazy mote + Black in the brilliance, miles from shore. + +3 + +The morning breeze the canvas fill'd, + Lifting us o'er the bright-ridged gulf, +And every lurch my darling thrill'd + With light fear smiling at itself; +And, dashing past the Arrogant, + Asleep upon the restless wave +After its cruise in the Levant, + We reach'd the Wolf, and signal gave +For help to board; within caution meet, + My bride was placed within the chair, +The red flag wrapp'd about her feet, + And so swung laughing through the air. + +4 + +'Look, Love,' she said, 'there's Frederick Graham, + My cousin, whom you met, you know,' +And seeing us, the brave man came, + And made his frank and courteous bow, +And gave my hand a sailor's shake, + And said, 'You ask'd me to the Hurst: +I never thought my luck would make + Your wife and you my guests the first.' +And Honor, cruel, 'Nor did we: + Have you not lately changed your ship?' +'Yes: I'm Commander, now,' said he, + With a slight quiver of the lip. +We saw the vessel, shown with pride; + Took luncheon; I must eat his salt! +Parting he said, (I fear my bride + Found him unselfish to a fault), +His wish, he saw, had come to pass, + (And so, indeed, her face express'd), +That that should be, whatever 'twas, + Which made his Cousin happiest. +We left him looking from above; + Rich bankrupt! for he could afford +To say most proudly that his love + Was virtue and its own reward. +But others loved as well as he, + (Thought I, half-anger'd), and if fate, +Unfair, had only fashion'd me + As hapless, I had been as great. + +5 + +As souls, ambitious, but low-born, + If raised past hope by luck or wit, +All pride of place will proudly scorn, + And live as they'd been used to it, +So we two wore our strange estate: + Familiar, unaffected, free, +We talk'd, until the dusk grew late, + Of this and that; but, after tea, +As doubtful if a lot so sweet + As ours was ours in very sooth, +Like children, to promote conceit, + We feign'd that it was not the truth; +And she assumed the maiden coy, + And I adored remorseless charms, +And then we clapp'd our hands for joy, + And ran into each others arms. + + + +THE EPILOGUE. + + + +I + +'Ah, dearest Wife, a fresh-lit fire + Sends forth to heaven great shows of fume, +And watchers, far away, admire; + But when the flames their power assume, +The more they burn the less they show, + The clouds no longer smirch the sky, +And then the flames intensest glow + When far-off watchers think they die. +The fumes of early love my verse + Has figured--' 'You must paint the flame!' +'Twould merit the Promethean curse! + But now, Sweet, for your praise and blame.' +'You speak too boldly; veils are due + To women's feelings.' 'Fear not this! +Women will vow I say not true, + And men believe thine lips they kiss.' +I did not call you "Dear" or "Love," + 'I think, till after Frank was born.' +'That fault I cannot well remove; + The rhymes'--but Frank now blew his horn, +And Walter bark'd, on hands and knees, + At Baby in the mignonette, +And all made, full-cry, for the trees + Where Felix and his Wife were set. +Again disturb'd, (crickets have cares!) + True to their annual use they rose, +To offer thanks at Evening Prayers + In three times sacred Sarum Close. + +2 + +Passing, they left a gift of wine + At Widow Neale's. Her daughter said: +'O, Ma'am, she's sinking! For a sign, + She cried just now, of him that's dead, +"Mary, he's somewhere close above, + Weeping and wailing his dead wife, +With forceful prayers and fatal love + Conjuring me to come to life. +A spirit is terrible though dear! + It comes by night, and sucks my breath, +And draws me with desire and fear." + Ah, Ma'am, she'll soon be his in death!' + +3 + +Vaughan, when his kind Wife's eyes were dry, + Said, 'This thought crosses me, my Dove; +If Heaven should proffer, when we die, + Some unconceiv'd, superior love, +How take the exchange without despair, + Without worse folly how refuse?' +But she, who, wise as she was fair, + For subtle doubts had simple clues, +Said, 'Custom sanctifies, and faith + Is more than joy: ah, how desire +In any heaven a different path, + Though, found at first, it had been higher? +Yet love makes death a dreadful thought! + Felix, at what a price we live!' +But present pleasures soon forgot + The future's dread alternative; +For, as became the festal time, + He cheer'd her heart with tender praise, +And speeches wanting only rhyme + To make them like his winged lays. +He discommended girlhood. 'What + For sweetness like the ten-years' wife, +Whose customary love is not + Her passion, or her play, but life? +With beauties so maturely fair, + Affecting, mild, and manifold, +May girlish charms mo more compare + Than apples green with apples gold. +Ah, still unpraised Honoria, Heaven, + When you into my arms it gave, +Left nought hereafter to be given + But grace to feel the good I have.' + + 4 + +Her own and manhood's modesty + Made dumb her love, but, on their road, +His hand in hers felt soft reply, + And like rejoinder found bestow'd; +And, when the carriage set them down, + 'How strange,' said he, ''twould seem to meet, +When pacing, as we now this town, + A Florence or a Lisbon Street, +That Laura or that Catherine, who, + In the remote, romantic years, +From Petrarch or Camoens drew + Their songs and their immortal tears!' +But here their converse had its end; + For, crossing the Cathedral Lawn, +There came an ancient college-friend, + Who, introduced to Mrs. Vaughan, +Lifted his hat, and bow'd and smiled. + And fill'd her kind large eyes with joy, +By patting on the cheek her child, + With, 'Is he yours, this handsome boy?' + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg eText The Angel in the House + diff --git a/old/anghs10.zip b/old/anghs10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9aea215 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/anghs10.zip |
