Angel in the House | Page 6

so simply, subtly sweet,
My deepest rapture does her wrong.
Yet is it now my chosen task

To sing her worth as Maid and Wife;
Nor happier post than this I ask,
To live her laureate all my life.
On wings of love uplifted free,
And by her gentleness made great,
I'll teach how noble man should be
To match with such a lovely mate;
And then in her may move the
more
The woman's wish to be desired,
(By praise increased), till both shall
soar,
With blissful emulations fired.
And, as geranium, pink, or rose
Is thrice itself through power of art,
So may my happy skill disclose
New fairness even in her fair heart;
Until that churl shall nowhere be
Who bends not, awed, before the throne
Of her affecting majesty,
So meek, so far unlike our own;
Until (for who may hope too much
From her who wields the powers of love?)
Our lifted lives at last shall
touch
That happy goal to which they move;
Until we find, as darkness rolls
Away, and evil mists dissolve,
That nuptial contrasts are the poles
On which the heavenly spheres revolve.
II.--Love at Large.
Whene'er I come where ladies are,
How sad soever I was before,
Though like a ship frost-bound and far

Withheld in ice from the ocean's roar,
Third-winter'd in that dreadful
dock,
With stiffen'd cordage, sails decay'd,
And crew that care for calm and
shock
Alike, too dull to be dismay'd,
Yet, if I come where ladies are,
How sad soever I was before,
Then is my sadness banish'd far,
And I am like that ship no more;
Or like that ship if the ice-field
splits,
Burst by the sudden polar Spring,
And all thank God with their
warming wits,
And kiss each other and dance and sing,
And hoist fresh sails, that
make the breeze
Blow them along the liquid sea,
Out of the North, where life did
freeze,
Into the haven where they would be.
III.--Love and Duty.
Anne lived so truly from above,
She was so gentle and so good,
That duty bade me fall in love,
And 'but for that,' thought I, 'I should!'
I worshipp'd Kate with all my
will,
In idle moods you seem to see
A noble spirit in a hill,
A human touch about a tree.
IV.--A Distinction.

The lack of lovely pride, in her
Who strives to please, my pleasure numbs,
And still the maid I most
prefer
Whose care to please with pleasing comes.
MARY AND MILDRED.
1
One morning, after Church, I walk'd
Alone with Mary on the lawn,
And felt myself, howe'er we talk'd,
To grave themes delicately drawn.
When she, delighted, found I
knew
More of her peace than she supposed,
Our confidences heavenwards
grew,
Like fox-glove buds, in pairs disclosed.
Our former faults did we
confess,
Our ancient feud was more than heal'd,
And, with the woman's
eagerness
For amity full-sign'd and seal'd,
She, offering up for sacrifice
Her heart's reserve, brought out to show
Some verses, made when she
was ice
To all but Heaven, six years ago;
Since happier grown! I took and
read
The neat-writ lines. She, void of guile,
Too late repenting, blush'd,
and said,

I must not think about the style.
2
'Day after day, until to-day,
Imaged the others gone before,
The same dull task, the weary way,
The weakness pardon'd o'er and o'er,
'The thwarted thirst, too faintly felt,
For joy's well-nigh forgotten life,
The restless heart, which, when I
knelt,
Made of my worship barren strife.
'Ah, whence to-day's so sweet release,
This clearance light of all my care,
This conscience free, this fertile
peace,
These softly folded wings of prayer,
'This calm and more than conquering love,
With which nought evil dares to cope,
This joy that lifts no glance
above,
For faith too sure, too sweet for hope?
'O, happy time, too happy change,
It will not live, though fondly nurst!
Full soon the sun will seem as
strange
As now the cloud which seems dispersed.'
3

She from a rose-tree shook the blight;
And well she knew that I knew well
Her grace with silence to requite;
And, answering now the luncheon bell,
I laugh'd at Mildred's laugh,
which made
All melancholy wrong, its mood
Such sweet self-confidence
display'd,
So glad a sense of present good.
4
I laugh'd and sigh'd: for I confess
I never went to Ball, or Fete,
Or Show, but in pursuit express
Of my predestinated mate;
And thus to me, who had in sight
The happy chance upon the cards,
Each beauty blossom'd in the light
Of tender personal regards;
And, in the records of my breast,
Red-letter'd, eminently fair,
Stood sixteen, who, beyond the rest,
By turns till then had been my care:
At Berlin three, one at St. Cloud,
At Chatteris, near Cambridge, one,
At Ely four, in London two,
Two at Bowness, in Paris none,
And, last and best, in Sarum three;
But dearest of the whole fair troop,
In judgment of the moment, she
Whose daisy eyes had learn'd to droop.
Her very faults my fancy
fired;

My loving will, so thwarted,