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.’