Victories of Love | Page 7

your arms about me fold,?Against this loneliness and cold!
VI. FROM MRS. GRAHAM.
The folly of young girls! They doff?Their pride to smooth success, and scoff?At far more noble fire and might?That woo them from the dust of fight
But, Frederick, now the storm is past,?Your sky should not remain o'ercast.?A sea-life's dull, and, oh, beware?Of nourishing, for zest, despair.?My Child, remember, you have twice?Heartily loved; then why not thrice,?Or ten times? But a wise man shuns?To cry 'All's over,' more than once.?I'll not say that a young man's soul?Is scarcely measure of the whole?Earthly and Heavenly universe,?To which he inveterately prefers?The one beloved woman. Best?Speak to the senses' interest,?Which brooks no mystery nor delay:?Frankly reflect, my Son, and say,?Was there no secret hour, of those?Pass'd at her side in Sarum Close,?When, to your spirit's sick alarm,?It seem'd that all her marvellous charm?Was marvellously fled? Her grace?Of voice, adornment, movement, face?Was what already heart and eye?Had ponder'd to satiety;?Amid so the good of life was o'er,?Until some laugh not heard before,?Some novel fashion in her hair,?Or style of putting back her chair,?Restored the heavens. Gather thence?The loss-consoling inference.
Yet blame not beauty, which beguiles,?With lovely motions and sweet smiles,?Which while they please us pass away,?The spirit to lofty thoughts that stay?And lift the whole of after-life,?Unless you take the vision to wife,?Which then seems lost, or serves to slake?Desire, as when a lovely lake?Far off scarce fills the exulting eye?Of one athirst, who comes thereby,?And inappreciably sips?The deep, with disappointed lips.?To fail is sorrow, yet confess?That love pays dearly for success!?No blame to beauty! Let's complain?Of the heart, which can so ill sustain?Delight. Our griefs declare our fall,?But how much more our joys! They pall?With plucking, and celestial mirth?Can find no footing on the earth,?More than the bird of paradise,?Which only lives the while it flies.
Think, also, how 'twould suit your pride?To have this woman for a bride.?Whate'er her faults, she's one of those?To whom the world's last polish owes?A novel grace, which all who aspire?To courtliest custom must acquire.?The world's the sphere she's made to charm,?Which you have shunn'd as if 'twere harm.?Oh, law perverse, that loneliness?Breeds love, society success!?Though young, 'twere now o'er late in life?To train yourself for such a wife;?So she would suit herself to you,?As women, when they marry, do.?For, since 'tis for our dignity?Our lords should sit like lords on high,?We willingly deteriorate?To a step below our rulers' state;?And 'tis the commonest of things?To see an angel, gay with wings,?Lean weakly on a mortal's arm!?Honoria would put off the charm?Of lofty grace that caught your love,?For fear you should not seem above?Herself in fashion and degree,?As in true merit. Thus, you see,?'Twere little kindness, wisdom none,?To light your cot with such a sun.
VII. FROM FREDERICK.
Write not, my Mother, her dear name?With the least word or hint of blame.?Who else shall discommend her choice,?I giving it my hearty voice??Wed me? Ah, never near her come?The knowledge of the narrow home!?Far fly from her dear face, that shows?The sunshine lovelier than the rose,?The sordid gravity they wear?Who poverty's base burthen bear!?(And all are poor who come to miss?Their custom, though a crown be this.)?My hope was, that the wheels of fate,?For my exceeding need, might wait,?And she, unseen amidst all eyes,?Move sightless, till I sought the prize,?With honour, in an equal field.?But then came Vaughan, to whom I yield?With grace as much as any man,?In such cause, to another can.?Had she been mine, it seems to me?That I had that integrity?And only joy in her delight -?But each is his own favourite?In love! The thought to bring me rest?Is that of us she takes the best.
'Twas but to see him to be sure?That choice for her remain'd no more!?His brow, so gaily clear of craft;?His wit, the timely truth that laugh'd?To find itself so well express'd;?His words, abundant yet the best;?His spirit, of such handsome show?You mark'd not that his looks were so;?His bearing, prospects, birth, all these?Might well, with small suit, greatly please;?How greatly, when she saw arise?The reflex sweetness of her eyes?In his, and every breath defer?Humbly its bated life to her;?Whilst power and kindness of command.?Which women can no more withstand?Than we their grace, were still unquell'd,?And force and flattery both compell'd?Her softness! Say I'm worthy. I?Grew, in her presence, cold and shy.?It awed me, as an angel's might?In raiment of reproachful light.?Her gay looks told my sombre mood?That what's not happy is not good;?And, just because 'twas life to please,?Death to repel her, truth and ease?Deserted me; I strove to talk,?And stammer'd foolishness; my walk?Was like a drunkard's; if she took?My arm, it stiffen'd, ached, and shook:?A likely wooer! Blame her not;?Nor ever say, dear Mother, aught?Against that perfectness which is?My strength, as once it was my bliss.
And do not chafe at social rules.?Leave that to