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.’