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THE DEAN’S CONSENT
THE LADIES rose. I held the door, | |
| And sigh’d, as her departing grace | |
| Assur’d me that she always wore | |
| And heart as happy as her face; | |
| And, jealous of the winds that blew, | 5 |
| I dreaded, o’er the tasteless wine, | |
| What fortune momently might do | |
| To hurt the hope that she ’d be mine. | |
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| Towards my mark the Dean’s talk set: | |
| He praised my “Notes on Abury,” | 10 |
| Read when the Association met | |
| At Sarum; he was pleas’d to see | |
| I had not stopp’d, as some men had, | |
| At Wrangler and Prize Poet; last, | |
| He hop’d the business was not bad | 15 |
| I came about: then the wine pass’d. | |
| |
| A full glass prefaced my reply: | |
| I lov’d his daughter, Honor; I told | |
| My estate and prospects; might I try | |
| To win her? At my words so bold | 20 |
| 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 by and by. Yes, his good will | 25 |
| 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 | 30 |
| 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 | 35 |
| Consent and opportunity. | |
| |
| My chance, he hop’d, 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. | 40 |
| Girls love to see the men in whom | |
| They invest their vanities admir’d; | |
| Besides, where goodness is, there room | |
| For good to work will be desir’d. | |
| ’T was so with one now pass’d away; | 45 |
| And what she was at twenty-two, | |
| Honor was now; and he might say | |
| Mine was a choice I could not rue. | |
| |
| He ceas’d, and gave his hand. He had won | |
| (And all my heart was in my word) | 50 |
| 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 | 55 |
| 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, | 60 |
| As, through the flowery mazes sweet, | |
| Fronting the wind that flutter’d blithe, | |
| And lov’d her shape, and kiss’d her feet, | |
| Shown to their insteps proud and lithe, | |
| She approach’d, all mildness and young trust, | 65 |
| And ever her chaste and noble air | |
| Gave to love’s feast its choicest gust, | |
| A vague, faint augury of despair. | |
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HONORIA’S SURRENDER
From little signs, like little stars, | |
| Whose faint impression on the sense | 70 |
| 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 | 75 |
| Concealment, overconscious, show’d; | |
| Her hand’s less weight upon my arm, | |
| Her lovelier mien; that match’d with this; | |
| I found, and felt with strange alarm, | |
| I stood committed to my bliss. | 80 |
| |
| I grew assur’d, 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 | 85 |
| The hope, and make it trebly dear; | |
| Thus loth to speak the word to kill | |
| Either the hope or happy fear. | |
| |
| Till once, through lanes returning late, | |
| Her laughing sisters lagg’d behind; | 90 |
| And, ere we reach’d her father’s gate, | |
| We paus’d with one presentient mind; | |
| And, in the dim and perfum’d mist, | |
| Their coming stay’d, who, friends to me, | |
| And very women, lov’d to assist | 95 |
| Love’s timid opportunity. | |
| |
| 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. | 100 |
| Her dress, that touch’d me where I stood, | |
| The warmth of her confided arm, | |
| Her bosom’s gentle neighborhood, | |
| Her pleasure in her power to charm; | |
| Her look, her love, her form, her touch, | 105 |
| The least seem’d most by blissful turn, | |
| Blissful but that it pleas’d too much, | |
| And taught the wayward soul to yearn. | |
| It was as if a harp with wires | |
| Was travers’d by the breath I drew; | 110 |
| And, oh, sweet meeting of desires, | |
| She, answering, own’d that she lov’d too. | |
| |
| Honoria was to be my bride! | |
| The hopeless heights of hope were scal’d; | |
| The summit won, I paus’d and sigh’d, | 115 |
| 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. | 120 |
| 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. | |
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| My queen was crouching at my side, | 125 |
| 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, | 130 |
| In my close-watch’d approval sought | |
| Protection as from danger and blame; | |
| Her soul, which late I lov’d to invest | |
| With pity for my poor desert, | |
| Buried its face within my breast, | 135 |
| Like a pet fawn by hunters hurt. | |
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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; | 140 |
| 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 | 145 |
| Which can with safety so neglect | |
| To dread, as lower ladies might, | |
| That grace could meet with disrespect, | |
| Thus she with happy favor feeds | |
| Allegiance from a love so high | 150 |
| 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, | 155 |
| Remind me ’t is 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; | 160 |
| 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 | 165 |
| I am, this Temple keeps its shrine | |
| Sacred to Heaven; because, in short, | |
| She ’s not and never can be mine. | |
| |
| Feasts satiate; stars distress with height; | |
| Friendship means well, but misses reach, | 170 |
| 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 with Heaven | 175 |
| Is oft a labor 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; | 180 |
| 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. | |
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