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.’