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.