The Angel in the House
He comes about her like a mist,
With subtle, swift, unseen increase;
And then, unlook’d for, strikes amain
Some stroke that frightens her to death,
And grows all harmlessness again,
Ere she can cry, or get her breath.
At times she stops, and stands at bay;
But he, in all more strong than she,
Subdues her with his pale dismay,
Or more admired audacity.
She plans some final, fatal blow,
But when she means with frowns to kill,
He looks as if he loved her so,
She smiles to him against her will.
How sweetly he implies her praise!
His tender talk, his gentle tone,
The manly worship in his gaze,
They nearly make her heart his own.
With what an air he speaks her name;
His manner always recollects
Her sex, and still the woman’s claim
Is taught its scope by his respects.
Her charms, perceived to prosper first
In his beloved advertencies,
When in her glass they are rehearsed,
Prove his most powerful allies.
Ah, whither shall a maiden flee,
When a bold youth so swift pursues,
And siege of tenderest courtesy,
With hope perseverant, still renews!
Why fly so fast? Her flatter’d breast
Thanks him who finds her fair and good;
She loves her fears; veil’d joys arrest
The foolish terrors of her blood;
By secret, sweet degrees, her heart,
Vanquish’d, takes warmth from his desire;
She makes it more, with hidden art,
And fuels love’s late dreaded fire.
The generous credit he accords
To all the signs of good in her
Redeems itself; his praiseful words
The virtues they impute confer.
Her heart is thrice as rich in bliss,
She’s three times gentler than before;
He gains a right to call her his,
Now she through him is so much more;
’Tis heaven where’er she turns her head;
’Tis music when she talks; ’tis air
On which, elate, she seems to tread,
The convert of a gladder sphere!
Ah, might he, when by doubts aggrieved,
Behold his tokens next her breast,
At all his words and sighs perceived
Against its blythe upheaval press’d!
But still she flies. Should she be won,
It must not be believed or thought
She yields; she’s chased to death, undone,
Surprised, and violently caught.
II.
_Denied_.
The storm-cloud, whose portentous shade
Fumes from a core of smother’d fire,
His livery is whose worshipp’d maid
Denies herself to his desire.
Ah, grief that almost crushes life,
To lie upon his lonely bed,
And fancy her another’s wife!
His brain is flame, his heart is lead.
Sinking at last, by nature’s course,
Cloak’d round with sleep from his despair,
He does but sleep to gather force
That goes to his exhausted care.
He wakes renew’d for all the smart.
His only Love, and she is wed!
His fondness comes about his heart,
As milk comes, when the babe is dead.
The wretch, whom she found fit for scorn,
His own allegiant thoughts despise;
And far into the shining morn
Lazy with misery he lies.
III.
_The Churl_.
This marks the Churl: when spousals crown
His selfish hope, he finds the grace,
Which sweet love has for ev’n the clown,
Was not in the woman, but the chace.
THE ABDICATION.
1
From little signs, like little stars,
Whose faint impression on the sense
The very looking straight at mars,
Or only seen by confluence;
From instinct of a mutual thought,
Whence sanctity of manners flow’d;
From chance unconscious, and from what
Concealment, overconscious, show’d;
Her hand’s less weight upon my arm,
Her lowlier mien; that match’d with this;
I found, and felt with strange alarm
I stood committed to my bliss.
2
I grew assured, before I ask’d,
That she’d be mine without reserve,
And in her unclaim’d graces bask’d,
At leisure, till the time should serve,
With just enough of dread to thrill
The hope, and make it trebly dear;
Thus loth to speak the word to kill
Either the hope or happy fear.
3
Till once, through lanes returning late,
Her laughing sisters lagg’d behind;
And, ere we reach’d her father’s gate,
We paused with one presentient mind;
And, in the dim and perfumed mist,
Their coming stay’d, who, friends to me,
And very women, loved to assist
Love’s timid opportunity.
4
Twice rose, twice died my trembling word;
The faint and frail Cathedral chimes
Spake time in music, and we heard
The chafers rustling in the limes.
Her dress, that touch’d me where I stood,
The warmth of her confided arm,
Her bosom’s gentle neighbourhood,
Her pleasure in her power to charm;
Her look, her love, her form, her touch,
The least seem’d most by blissful turn,
Blissful but that it pleased too much,
And taught the wayward soul to yearn.
It was as if a harp with wires
Was traversed by the breath I drew;
And, oh, sweet meeting of desires,
She, answering, own’d that she loved too.
5
Honoria was to be my bride!
The hopeless heights of hope were scaled
The summit won, I paused and sigh’d,
As if success itself had fail’d.
It seem’d as if my lips approach’d
To touch at Tantalus’ reward,
And rashly on Eden life encroach’d,
Half-blinded by the flaming sword.
The whole world’s wealthiest and its best,
So fiercely sought, appear’d when found,
Poor in its need to be possess’d,
Poor from its very want of bound.
My queen was crouching at my side,
By love unsceptred and brought low,
Her awful garb of maiden pride
All melted into tears like snow;
The mistress of my reverent thought,
Whose praise was all I ask’d of fame,
In my close-watch’d approval sought
Protection as from danger and blame;
Her soul, which late I loved to invest
With pity for my poor desert,
Buried its face within my breast,
Like a pet fawn by hunters hurt.
Book II.
THE PROLOGUE.
1
HER sons pursue the butterflies,
Her baby daughter mocks the doves
With throbbing coo; in his fond eyes
She’s Venus with her little Loves;
Her footfall dignifies the earth,
Her form’s the native-land of grace,
And, lo, his coming lights with mirth
Its court and capital her face!
Full proud her favour makes her lord,
And that her flatter’d bosom knows.
She takes his arm without a word,
In lanes of laurel and of rose.
Ten years to-day has she been his.
He but begins to understand,
He says, the dignity and bliss
She gave him when she gave her hand.
She, answering, says, he disenchants
The past, though that was perfect; he
Rejoins, the present nothing wants
But briefness to be ecstasy.
He lands her charms; her beauty’s glow
Wins from the spoiler Time new rays;
Bright looks reply, approving so
Beauty’s elixir vitæ, praise.
Upon a beech he bids her mark
Where, ten years since, he carved her name;
It grows there with the growing bark,
And in his heart it grows the same.
For that her soft arm presses his
Close to her fond, maternal breast;
He tells her, each new kindness is
The effectual sum of all the rest!
And, whilst the cushat, mocking, coo’d,
They blest the days they had been wed,
At cost of those in which he woo’d,
Till everything was three times said;
And words were growing vain, when Briggs,
Factotum, Footman, Butler, Groom,
Who press’d the cyder, fed the pigs,
Preserv’d the rabbits, drove the brougham,
And help’d, at need, to mow the lawns,
And sweep the paths and thatch the hay,
Here brought the Post down, Mrs. Vaughan’s
Sole rival, but, for once, to-day,
Scarce look’d at; for the ‘Second Book,’
Till this tenth festival kept close,
Was thus commenced, while o’er them shook
The laurel married with the rose.
2
‘The pulse of War, whose bloody heats
Sane purposes insanely work,
Now with fraternal frenzy beats,
And binds the Christian to the Turk,
And shrieking fifes’—
3
But, with a roar,
In rush’d the Loves; the tallest roll’d
A hedgehog from his pinafore,
Which saved his fingers; Baby, bold,
Touch’d it, and stared, and scream’d for life,
And stretch’d her hand for Vaughan to kiss,
Who hugg’d his Pet, and ask’d his wife,
‘Is this for love, or love for this?’
But she turn’d pale, for, lo, the beast,
Found stock-still in the rabbit-trap,
And feigning so to be deceased,
And laid by Frank upon her lap,
Unglobed himself, and show’d his snout,
And fell, scatt’ring the Loves amain,
With shriek, with laughter, and with shout;
And, peace at last restored again,
The bard, who this untimely hitch
Bore with a calm magnanimous,
(The hedgehog rolled into a ditch,
And Venus sooth’d), proceeded thus:
CANTO I.
Accepted.
PRELUDES.
I.
_The Song of Songs_.
THE pulse of War, whose bloody heats
Sane purposes insanely work,
Now with fraternal frenzy beats,
And binds the Christian to the Turk,
And shrieking fifes and braggart flags,
Through quiet England, teach our breath
The courage corporate that drags
The coward to heroic death.
Too late for song! Who henceforth sings,
Must fledge his heavenly flight with more
Song-worthy and heroic things
Than hasty, home-destroying war.
While might and right are not agreed,
And battle thus is yet to wage,
So long let laurels be the meed
Of soldier as of poet sage;
But men expect the Tale of Love,
And weary of the Tale of Hate;
Lift me, O Muse, myself above,
And let the world no longer wait!
II.
_The Kites_.
I saw three Cupids (so I dream’d),
Who made three kites, on which were drawn,
In letters that like roses gleam’d,
‘Plato,’ ‘Anacreon,’ and ‘Vaughan.’
The boy who held by Plato tried
His airy venture first; all sail,
It heav’nward rush’d till scarce descried,
Then pitch’d and dropp’d for want of tail.
Anacreon’s Love, with shouts of mirth
That pride of spirit thus should fall,
To his kite link’d a lump of earth,
And, lo, it would not soar at all.
Last, my disciple freighted his
With a long streamer made of flowers,
The children of the sod, and this
Rose in the sun, and flew for hours.
III.
_Orpheus_.
The music of the Sirens found
Ulysses weak, though cords were strong;
But happier Orpheus stood unbound,
And shamed it with a sweeter song.
His mode be mine. Of Heav’n I ask,
May I, with heart-persuading might,
Pursue the Poet’s sacred task
Of superseding faith by sight,
Till ev’n the witless Gadarene,
Preferring Christ to swine, shall know
That life is sweetest when it’s clean.
To prouder folly let me show
Earth by divine light made divine;
And let the saints, who hear my word,
Say, ‘Lo, the clouds begin to shine
About the coming of the Lord!’
IV.
_Nearest the Dearest_.
Till Eve was brought to Adam, he
A solitary desert trod,
Though in the great society
Of nature, angels, and of God.
If one slight column counterweighs
The ocean, ’tis the Maker’s law,
Who deems obedience better praise
Than sacrifice of erring awe.