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 FAITHFUL FOR EVER. 
 
 COVENTRY PATMORE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the ANGEL IN THE HOUSE." 
 
 Of love that never found his earthly close. 
 What sequel ? 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 
 
 M DCCC LXI.
 
 AUTHOR S EDITION. 
 
 Ciinibr'klgc : 
 Printed by Welch, Bigclow, & Co.
 
 F3 
 
 BOOK I. 
 HONORI A
 
 I. 
 
 FREDERICK GRAHAM TO HIS MOTHER.
 
 FREDERICK GRAHAM TO HIS 
 MOTHER. 
 
 1\/r OTHER, I fmile at your alarms! 
 ^^^ Againfl my Wiltfhire Coufins' 
 
 charms 
 I 'm fhielded by a prior fpell. 
 The fever, love, as I 've heard tell. 
 Like other nurfery maladies, 
 Is never badly taken twice. 
 Have you forgotten Charlotte Hayes, 
 My playmate in the pleafant days 
 At Knatchley, and her fifter, Anne; 
 The twins, fo made on the fame plan. 
 That one wore blue, the other white,
 
 8 Honoria. 
 
 To mark them to their father's sight ; 
 And how, at Knatchley harvefting. 
 You bade me kifs her in the ring, 
 Like Anne and all the others ? You, 
 That never of my ficknefs knew. 
 Will laugh, yet had I the difeafe, 
 And gravely, if the figns are thefe : 
 
 As, ere the Spring has any power, 
 The almond branch all turns to flower. 
 Though not a leaf is out, fo (lie 
 The bloom of life provoked in me. 
 And, hard till then and felhlh, I 
 Was thenceforth naught but fandlity 
 And fervice ; life was mere delight 
 In being wholly good and right. 
 As file was ; juft, without a flur; 
 Honouring myfelf no lefs than her; 
 Obeying, in the lonelieft place, 
 Ev'n to the flighteft gefture, grace, 
 Allured that one {^^ fair, fo true,
 
 Frederick Graham to his Mother. 9 
 
 Somehow he ferved that was fo too. 
 For me, hence weak towards the weak, 
 No more the unnefted blackbird's fhriek 
 Startled the light-leaved wood ; on high 
 Wander'd the gadding butterfly, 
 Unfcared by my flung cap ; the bee. 
 Rifling the hollyhock in glee. 
 Was no more trapp'd with his own flower, 
 And for his honey flain. Her power, 
 From great things even to the grafs 
 Through which the unfenced footways 
 
 pafs. 
 Was law, and that which keeps the law, 
 Cherubic gayety and awe ; 
 Day was her doing, fo the lark 
 Had reafon for his fong ; the dark 
 In anagram innumerous fpelt 
 Her name with ftars that throbb'd and felt ; 
 'T was the fad fummit of delight 
 To wake and weep for her at night ;
 
 lo Honor ia. 
 
 She turn'd to triumph or to Ihame 
 
 The ilfue of eiich childifli game ; 
 
 The heart would come into my throat 
 
 At rofebuds ; howfoe'er remote, 
 
 In oppolition or confent, 
 
 Each thing, or perfon, or event. 
 
 Or feeming neutral howfoe'er. 
 
 All, in the live, eledric air. 
 
 Awoke, took afpe6t, and confelT'd 
 
 In her a centre of unreft, 
 
 Yea, flocks and ftones within me bred 
 
 Anxieties of joy and dread. 
 
 O, bright, apocalyptic fky 
 O'erarching childhood ! Far and nigh 
 Myftery and obfcuration none, 
 Yet nowhere any moon or fun! 
 What reafon for thefe fighs ? What hope, 
 Daunting with its audacious fcope 
 The difconcerted heart, affe(fls 
 Thcfc ceremonies and rcfpedts ?
 
 Frederick Graham to his Mother. 1 1 
 
 Why ftratagems in everything ? 
 Why, why not kifs her in the ring ? 
 'T is nothing ftrange that warriors bold, 
 Whofe fierce, forecafling eyes behold 
 The city they defire to fack, 
 Humbly begin their proud attack 
 By delving ditches two miles off. 
 Aware how the fair place would scofF 
 At hafty wooing ; but, O child. 
 Why thus approach thy playmate mild ! 
 One morning, when it flufh'd my 
 thought 
 That what in me fuch wonder wrought 
 Was call'd, in men and women, love, 
 And, fick with vanity thereof, 
 I, faying loud, " I love her," told 
 My fecret to myfelf, behold 
 A crifis in my myftery ! 
 For, fuddenly, I feem'd to be 
 Whirl'd round, and bound with fhowers 
 of threads.
 
 1 2 Ho?ioria. 
 
 As when the furious fpider flieds 
 
 Captivity upon the fly. 
 
 To ftill his buzzing till he die ; 
 
 Only, with me, the bonds that flew. 
 
 Enfolding, thrill'd me through and 
 
 through 
 With blifs beyond aught heaven can have. 
 And pride to call myfelf her flave. 
 
 A long, green flip of wilder'd land. 
 With Knatchley Wood on either hand, 
 Sunder'd our home from hers. This day 
 Joy was mine as I went that way. 
 I stretch'd my arms to the flcy, and fprang 
 O'er the elafl:ic fod, and fang 
 " I love her, love her ! " to an air 
 Which with the words came, then and 
 
 there ; 
 And even now, when I would know 
 All was not always dull and low, 
 I whiflilc a turn of the fwcet fl:rain 
 Love taught me in that lonely lane.
 
 Frederick Graham to his Mother. 1 3 
 
 Such glories fade, with no more mark 
 Than when the funfet turns to dark. 
 They die, the rapture and the grace 
 Ineffable, nor leave a trace. 
 Except fometimes (lince joy is joy, 
 In fick or fane, in man or boy) 
 A heart which, having felt no lefs 
 Than pure and perfect happinefs. 
 Is duly dainty of delight ; 
 A patient, poignant appetite 
 For pleafures that exceed fo much 
 The poor things which the world calls 
 
 fuch. 
 That, when thefe tempt it, then you may 
 The lion with a wifp of hay. 
 
 That Charlotte, whom I fcarcely knew 
 From Anne but by her ribbons blue. 
 Was loved, Anne lefs than look'd at, fhows 
 That liking ftill by favour goes ! 
 This Love is a divinity.
 
 14 Honor ia. 
 
 And holds his high eleftion free 
 Of human merit ; or, let 's fay, 
 A child by ladies call'd to play, 
 But carelefs of their becks and wiles, 
 Till, feeing one who fits and fmiles 
 Like any elfe, yet only charms. 
 He cries to come into her arms. 
 Then, for my Coufins, fear me not ! 
 None ever loved becaufe he ought. 
 Fatal were elfe this graceful house. 
 So full of light from ladies' brows. 
 There 's Mary ; Heaven in her appears 
 Like funlhine through the fliower's laft 
 
 tears ; 
 Mildred 's of Earth, but gayer far 
 Than moft men's thoughts of Heaven are; 
 But, for Honoria, Heaven and Earth 
 Seal'd amity in her fweet birth. 
 The noble Girl! With whom she talks 
 She knights tirll with her fmile ; (lie walks,
 
 Frederick Graha?)i to his Mother. 15 
 
 Stands, dances, to fuch fweet efFed: 
 
 Alone fhe feems to go eredl. 
 
 The brighteft and the chafteft brow 
 
 Rules o'er a cheek which feems to fhow 
 
 That love, as a mere vague fufpenfe 
 
 Of apprehenfive innocence. 
 
 Perturbs her heart ; love without aim 
 
 Or objed:, like the holy flame 
 
 That in the Veftals' Temple glow'd, 
 
 Without the image of a god. 
 
 And this fimplicity moft pure 
 
 She fets off with no lefs a lure 
 
 Of culture, nobly ikill'd to raife 
 
 The power, the pride, and mutual praife 
 
 Of human perfonality 
 
 Above the common fort fo high 
 
 It makes fuch homely fouls as mine 
 
 Wonder how brightly life may fhine. 
 
 Ah, how you 'd love her ! Even in drefs 
 
 She makes the common mode exprefs.
 
 1 6 . Honor ia. 
 
 New knowledge of what 's fit fo well 
 
 'T is virtue gayly vifible ! 
 
 Nay, but her filken flifli to me 
 
 Were more than all morality, 
 
 But that the old, fweet, feverous ill 
 
 Has left me mafter of my will.
 
 II 
 
 MRS. GRAHAM TO FREDERICK.
 
 MRS. GRAHAM TO FREDERICK. 
 
 A >TY deareft Child, Honoria fways 
 
 A double power, through Char- 
 lotte Hayes ! 
 In minds to firft-love's memory pledged 
 The fecond Cupid's born full-fledged. 
 The Churchills came, laft Spring, to Spa, 
 And ftay'd with me a week. I faw. 
 And own I trembled for the day 
 When you fhould fee that beauty, gay 
 And pure as apple-blooms, that (how 
 Outfide a bluih and inlide fnow ; 
 That high and touching elegance 
 Which even your raptures fcarce enhance.
 
 20 Honor ia. 
 
 Ah, hafte from her enchanting fide ! 
 No friend for you, far lefs a bride. 
 But, warning from a hope fo wild, 
 I wrong you. Yet this know, my child : 
 He that but lends his heart to hear 
 The mufic of a foreign fphere, 
 Is thenceforth lonely, and for all 
 His days like one who treads the Wall 
 Of China, and on this hand fees 
 Cities and their civilities. 
 And on the other lions. Well, 
 (Your ralh reply I thus foretell,) 
 Good is the knowledge of what 's fair. 
 Though bought with temporal defpair. 
 Yes, good for one, but not for two ! 
 Will it content your wife that you 
 Should pine for love, in love's embrace, 
 Becaufc you 've known a prouder grace ; 
 Difturb with inward fighs your reft, 
 Becaufe, though good, (lie 's not the beft ;
 
 Mrs. Graham to Frederick. 21 
 
 Her acSts of fondnefs almoft iliun, 
 Becaufe they are handfomer meant than 
 
 done ? 
 You would, you think, be juft and kind. 
 And keep your counfel ! You will find 
 You cannot fuch a fecret keep. 
 'T will out, like murder, in your fleep ; 
 A touch will tell it, though, for pride. 
 She may her bitter knowledge hide ; 
 And, whilft (he accepts love's make- 
 believe. 
 You'll twice defpife what you'd deceive. 
 
 For your fake I am glad to hear 
 You fail fo foon. I fend you, dear, 
 A trifling prefent ; 't will fupply 
 Your Salifbury cofts. You have to buy 
 Almoft an outfit for this cruife ! 
 But many are good enough to ufe 
 Again, among the things you fend 
 To give away. My maid fhall mend
 
 2 2 Hofioria. 
 
 And let vou have them back. Adieu ! 
 Tell me of all you are and do. 
 I know, thank God, whate'er it be, 
 'T will need no veil 'twixt you and me.
 
 III. 
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER.
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 ^ I ^HE multitude of voices blythe 
 
 Of early day, the hiffing fcythe 
 Athwart the dew drawn and withdrawn, 
 The noify peacock on the lawn, 
 Thefe, and the fun's eye-gladding gleam. 
 This morning, chafed the fweetefl dream 
 That e'er fhed penitential grace 
 On life's forgetful commonplace ; 
 Yet 't was no fweeter than the fpell 
 To which I woke to fay farewell. 
 
 Noon finds me ninety miles removed 
 From her who mult not be beloved ; 
 And us the whole fea foon fliall part.
 
 26 Ho?ioria. 
 
 Heaving for aye without a heart ! 
 But why, dear mother, warn nie lb r 
 I love Mils Churchill ? Ah, no, no ! 
 I view, enchanted, from afar. 
 And love her as I love a flar. 
 For, not to fpeak of colder fear. 
 Which keeps my fancy calm, I hear. 
 Under her life's gay progrefs hurl'd, 
 The wheels of the preponderant world. 
 Set iliarp with fwords that fool to Hay 
 Who blunders from a poor byway. 
 To covet beauty with a crown 
 Of earthly blefhng added on ; 
 And file 's fo much, it feems to me. 
 Beyond all women womanly, 
 I dread to think how he fliould fare 
 Who came lb near as to defpair. 
 
 No more of this ! Dear mother, pleafe 
 To fend my books to Plymouth. Thefe, 
 When I go hence, fliall turn all hours
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 27 
 
 To profit, and amend my powers. 
 I 've time on board to fill my poft, 
 And yet make up iov fchooling loft 
 Through young fea-fervice. They all 
 
 fpeak 
 German and French ; and thefe, with 
 
 Greek, 
 Which Dodlor Churchill thought I knew. 
 And Hiftory, which I'm ill in too, 
 Will ftop a gap I fomewhat dread. 
 After the happy life I 've led 
 Among my coufins ; and 't will be 
 To abridge the fpace from them to me. 
 
 Yonder the fullen vefiel rides 
 Where my obfcure condition hides. 
 Waves feud to ihore againft the wind. 
 That flings the fprinkling furf behind ; 
 In port the bickering pennons fhow 
 Which way the fhips would gladly go ; 
 Through Edgecumbe Park the rooted trees
 
 28 Honor ia. 
 
 Are tofling, recklefs, in the breeze ; 
 On top of Edgecumbe's firm-fet tower, 
 As foils, not foibles, of its power. 
 The light vanes do themfelves adjuft 
 To every veering of the guft : 
 By me alone may naught be given 
 To guidance of the airs of heaven ? 
 In battle or peace, in calm or ftorm. 
 Should I my daily tafk perform, 
 (Better a thoufand times for love,) 
 Who {liould my fecret foul reprove ! 
 
 Mother, I 've ftriven to conceal, 
 Yes, from myfelf, how much I feel ; 
 In vain. With tears my fight is dull, 
 My coufm makes my heart fo full. 
 Her happy beauty makes a man 
 Long to lay down his life ! How can 
 Aught to itfelf feem thus enough, 
 When I have fo much need thereof! 
 Bleft is her place ! blifsful is (lie ;
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 29 
 
 And I, departing, feem to be 
 Like the ftrange waif that comes to run 
 A few days flaming near the fun, 
 And carries back, through boundlefs night, 
 Its lefTening memory of light. 
 O, my dear mother ! ♦ I confefs 
 To a weak grief of homeleflhefs, 
 Unfelt, fave once, before. 'T is years 
 Since fuch a fhower of girhfh tears 
 Difgraced me ! But this wretched Inn, 
 At Plymouth, is fo full of din, 
 Talkings and trampings to and fro. 
 And then my fhip, to which I go 
 To-night, is no more home. I dread. 
 As flrange, the life I long have led ; 
 And as, when firfl: I went to fchool. 
 And found the horror of a rule. 
 Which only afk'd to be obey'd, 
 I lay and wept, of dawn afraid. 
 And thought, with burfting heart, of one
 
 30 Honor ia. 
 
 Who, from her Httle, wayward fon. 
 
 Required obedience, but above 
 
 Obedience ftill regarded love, 
 
 So change I that enchanting place. 
 
 The abode of innocence and grace 
 
 And gayety without* reproof, 
 
 For the black gun-deck's lowering roof. 
 
 Blind and inevitable law. 
 
 Which makes light duties burdens, awe 
 
 Which is not reverence, laughters gain'd 
 
 At coft of purities profaned. 
 
 And whatfoever moft may ftir 
 
 Remorfeful paliion towards her. 
 
 Whom to behold is to depart 
 
 From all defeat of life and heart. 
 
 By her inftru(5ted what may be 
 rhe joy of true fociety. 
 Frightful is folitude; yet 'tis. 
 Compared with fuch infeftment, blifs. 
 
 But, mother, I shall go on shore,
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 31 
 
 And fee my Coufin yet once more ! 
 
 'T were wild to hope for her, you fay ? 
 
 I 've torn and caft thofe words away. 
 
 Surely there 's hope ! For life 't is well 
 
 Love without hope's impoffible ; 
 
 So, if I love, it is that hope 
 
 Is not outfide the outer fcope 
 
 Of fancy. You fpeak truth : this hour, 
 
 I muft relift, or lofe the power. 
 
 What ! and, when fome short months are 
 
 o'er. 
 Be ncft much other than before ? 
 Decline the high, harmonious fphere 
 In which I 'm held, but while fhe's dear ? 
 In unrefpediive peace forget 
 Thofe eyes for which my own are wet 
 With that delicious, fruitful dew 
 Which, check'd, will never flow anew .? 
 For daily life's dull, fenfelefs mood. 
 Slay the fharp nerves of gratitude.
 
 3 2 Honor ia. 
 
 And fweet allegiance, which I owe. 
 Whether she cares for me or no ? 
 Nay, Mother, I, forewarn'd, prefer 
 To want for all in wanting her. 
 
 For all ? Love's beft is not bereft 
 Ever from him to w^hom is left 
 The truft that God will not deceive 
 His creature, fafliion'd to believe 
 The prophecies of pure defire. 
 Not lofs, not death, my love shall tire. 
 A myftery does my heart foretell ; 
 Nor do I prefs the oracle • 
 
 For explanations. Leave me alone, 
 And let in mc love's will be done.
 
 IV. 
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER.
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 T^ASHION'D by Heaven and by art 
 So is (he, that flie makes the heart 
 Ache and o'erflow with tears, that grace 
 So wonderful fhould have for place 
 The unworthy earth ! To fee her fmile, 
 As ignorant of her hap the while, 
 And walk this howling wafte of fin. 
 As only knowing the heaven within. 
 Is fweet, and does for pity ftir 
 Paffion to be her minifter ; 
 Wherefore laft night I lay awake. 
 And faid, " Ah, Lord ! for thy love's fake. 
 Give not this darling child of thine
 
 36 Honor ia. 
 
 To care lefs reverent than mine ! " 
 And, as true faith was in my word, 
 I trult, I truft that I was heard. 
 
 The waves, this morning, fped to land. 
 And (liouted hoarfe to touch the ftrand. 
 Where Spring, that goes not out to fea, 
 Lay laughing in her lovely glee ; 
 And, fo, my life was funlit fpray 
 And tumult, as, once more to-day, 
 For long farewell did I draw near 
 My Coufm defperately dear. 
 Faint, fierce, the truth that hope was 
 
 none 
 Gleam'd like the lightning in the fun ; 
 Yet, hope I had, and joy thereof! 
 The father of love is hope, (though love 
 Lives orphan'd on, when hope is dead,) 
 And, out of my immediate dread 
 And crifis of the coming hour. 
 Did hope itfelf draw fudden power.
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 37 
 
 So the hot-brooding ftorm, in Spring, 
 Makes all the birds begin to fing. 
 
 Mother, your forefight did not err : 
 I've loft the world, and not won her. 
 And yet, ah, laugh not, when you think 
 What cup of life I fought to drink ! 
 The bold, faid I, have climb'd to blifs 
 Abfurd, impoffible, as this. 
 With naught to help them but fo great 
 A heart it fafcinates their fate. 
 If ever Heaven back'd man's delire. 
 Mine, being fmirchlefs altar-fire, 
 Muft come to pafs, and it will be 
 That llie will wait, when flie fliall fee. 
 This evening, how I go to get 
 By means unknown I know not yet 
 Quite what, but ground whereon to ftand. 
 And plead more plainly for her hand ! 
 
 While thus I raved, and caft in hope 
 A fuperftitious horofcope.
 
 38 Honor ia. 
 
 I reach'd the Dean's. The woman faid, 
 " Mifs Churchill's out." " Had (he been 
 
 dead," 
 I cried, " 't were much the fame to me, 
 Who go, this very night, to fea." 
 " Nay, fir, flie 's only gone to prayer ; 
 And here Ihe comes, acrofs the Square." 
 (O, but to be the unbanifhed fod 
 She daily treads, all bright from God !) 
 
 And now, though fomething in her face 
 Portended " No ! " with fuch a grace 
 It burthen'd me with thankfulnefs. 
 Nothing was credible but " Yes ! " 
 Therefore, through time's clofe prefTure 
 
 bold, 
 I praifed niyfelf, and boaftful told 
 My deeds at Acre, ftrained the chance 
 I had of honour and advance 
 In war to come ; and would not fee 
 Sad filencc meant "What's this to me!"
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 39 
 
 When half my precious hour was gone. 
 She rofe to greet a Mr. Vaughan ; 
 And, as the image of the moon 
 Breaks up, within fome ftill lagoon 
 That feels the foft wind fuddenly, 
 Or tide frefli flowing from the fea, 
 And turns to giddy flames that go 
 Over the water to and fro. 
 Thus, when he took her hand to-night, 
 Her lovely gravity of light 
 Was fcattered into many fmiles 
 And flattering weaknefs. Hope beguiles 
 No more my heart, dear Mother. He, 
 By jealous looks, o'erhonour'd me ! 
 
 With naught to do, and fondly fain 
 To hear her flnging once again, 
 I fl:ay'd, and turn'd her mufic o'er ; 
 Then came flie with me to the door. 
 " Deareft Honoria," I faid, 
 (By my defpair familiar made,)
 
 40 Hojioria. 
 
 " Heaven blefs you ! " O, to have back 
 
 then ftepp'd, 
 And fall'n upon her neck, and wept, 
 And faid, " My friend, I owe you all 
 I am, and have, and hope for. Call 
 For fome poor fervice ; let me prove 
 To you, or him here whom you love. 
 My duty. Any folemn talk, 
 For life's whole courfe, is all I afk ! " 
 Then flie muft furely have wept too. 
 And faid, " My friend, what can you 
 
 do ? " 
 And I iliould have replied, " I '11 pray 
 For you and him three times a day, 
 And, all day, morning, noon, and night. 
 My Jife fliall be fo high and right 
 That never Saint yet fcaled the ftairs 
 Of heaven with more availing prayers!" 
 But this, (and, as good God fliall blefs 
 Somehow my end, I '11 do no less,)
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 41 
 
 I had no right to fpeak. Oh, Ihame, 
 So rich a love, fo poor a claim ! 
 
 My Mother, now my only friend, 
 Farewell. The fchool-books which you 
 
 fend 
 I fhall not want, and fo return. 
 Give them away, or fell, or burn. 
 Addrefs to Malta. Would I might 
 But be your little Child to-night. 
 And feel your arms about me fold, 
 Againft this lonelinefs and cold !
 
 V. 
 
 MRS. GRAHAM TO FREDERICK.
 
 MRS. GRAHAM TO FREDERICK. 
 
 1\ /T Y own dear Child, Honoria's choice 
 
 Shows what fhe is, and I rejoice 
 You did not win her. Felix Vaughan 
 Preferr'd to you ? My faith is gone 
 In her line fenfe ! And, thus, you fee 
 You were too good for her ! Ah, me. 
 The folly of thefe girls : they doff 
 Their pride to fleek fuccefs, and feoff 
 At far more noble fire and might 
 That woo them from the duft of fight ! 
 
 But now. Dear, lince the ftorm is pafl. 
 Your fky fliould not remain o'ercaft. 
 A fea life's dull, and, fo, beware
 
 46 Ho?io?'ia. 
 
 Of noLirilhing, for zeft, defpair. 
 Remember, Frederick, this makes twice 
 You 've been in love ; then why not thrice, 
 Or ten times ? But a wife man lliuns 
 To fay "All's over" more than once. 
 Religion, duty, books, work, friends, 
 Are anodynes, if not amends. 
 I 'II not urge that a young man's foul 
 Is fcarce the meafure of the whole 
 Earthly and heavenly univerfe, 
 To which he inveterately prefers 
 The one beloved woman. Beft 
 Speak to the fenfes' intereft. 
 Which brooks no myflery nor delay : 
 Frankly refled:, my Son, and fay. 
 Was there no fecret hour, of thofe 
 PafT'd at her fide in Sarum Clofe, 
 When, to your fpirit's fick alarm. 
 It feem'd that all her marvellous charm 
 Was marvelloufly fled ? The caufe
 
 Mrs. Graha?ji to Frederick. 47 
 
 'T is like you fought not. This it was : 
 It happen'd, for that hour, her grace 
 Of voice, adornment, pofture, face 
 Was what already heart and eye 
 Had ponder'd to fatiety ; 
 And fo the good of life was o'er. 
 Until fome laugh not heard before. 
 Some novel fafliion in her hair. 
 Or ftyle of putting back her chair, 
 Reftored the heavens. Gather thence 
 The lofs-confoling inference ! 
 
 I blame not beauty. It beguiles. 
 With lovely motions and fweet fmiles. 
 Which while they pleafe us pafs away, 
 The fpirit to lofty thoughts that ftay. 
 And lift the whole of after-life, 
 Unlefs you take the thing to wife. 
 Which then feems naught, or ferves to 
 
 flake 
 Defire, as when a lovely lake
 
 48 Honor ia. 
 
 Far ofi" fcarce fills the exulting eye 
 Of one athirlt, who comes thereby, 
 And inappreciably lips 
 The deep, with disappointed lips. 
 To fail is forrow, yet confefs 
 That love pays dearly for fuccefs ! 
 I blame not beauty, but complain 
 Of the heart, which can {<.) ill fuftain 
 Delight. Our griefs declare our Fall, 
 But how much more our joys ! They pall 
 With plucking, and celeftial mirth 
 Can find no footing on the earth. 
 More than the bird of paradife, 
 Which only lives the while it files. 
 
 Think, alfo, how 't would fuit your 
 pride 
 To have this woman for a bride. 
 Whate'cr her faults, Ihe's one of thofe 
 To whom tJic world's laft polifli owes 
 A further grace, which all \N'ho afpire
 
 Mrs. Graham to Frederick. 49 
 
 To courtlieft cuftom muft acquire. 
 The world 's her duty and her fphere ; 
 But you have ftill been lonely, Dear. 
 (Oh, law perverfe, that lonelinefs 
 Breeds love, fociety fuccefs !) 
 Though young, 'twere now o'er late in 
 
 life 
 To train yourfelf for fuch a wife ; 
 So fhe would fit herfelf to you. 
 As women, when they marry, do. 
 For, fmce 't is for their dignity 
 Their lords fliould fit like lords on high. 
 They willingly deteriorate 
 To a ftep below their rulers' ftate ; 
 And 't is the commoneft of things 
 To fee an angel, gay with wings. 
 Lean weakly on a mortal's arm ! 
 Honoria would put off the charm 
 Of cultured grace that caught your love. 
 For fear you Ihould not feem above 
 4
 
 50 Hojioria. 
 
 Herfelf in fliiliion and degree, 
 As in true merit. Thus, you fee, 
 'T were little kindnels, wil'dom none. 
 To light your barn with fuch a fun.
 
 VI. 
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER.
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 T~AEAR Mother, do not write her name 
 With the leaft word or hint of blame. 
 Who elfe fhall difcommend her choice, 
 I giving it my hearty voice ? 
 She marry me ? I loved too well 
 To think it good or poffible. 
 Ah, never near her beauties come 
 The buiinefs of the narrow home ! 
 Far fly from her dear face, that fhows 
 The funfliine lovelier than the rofe. 
 The fordid gravity they wear 
 Who poverty's bafe burthen bear ! 
 (And they are poor who comef to mifs
 
 54 HoTioria. 
 
 Their cuftom, though a crown be this.) 
 
 My hope was, that the wheels of fate, 
 
 For my exceeding need, might wait, 
 
 And Ihe, unfeen amidll: all eyes. 
 
 Move lightlef^, till I fought the prize, 
 
 With honour, in an equal field. 
 
 But then came Vaughan, to whom I yield 
 
 With ffrace as much as any man. 
 
 In such caufe, to another can. 
 
 Had Ihe been mine, it feems 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 reft 
 
 Is that of us (he takes the beft. 
 
 'T was but to fee him to be fure 
 That choice for her remain'd no more ! 
 His brow, fo gayly clear of craft ; 
 His wit, the timely trutli that laugh'd 
 To find itlcH fo well exprell 'd ;
 
 Frederick to his Mother. ^^ 
 
 His words, abundant yet the best ; 
 His fpirit, of fuch handfome fhow 
 You law not that his looks were fo ; 
 His bearing, profpedts, birth, all thefe 
 Might well, with fmall fuit, greatly pleafe ; 
 How greatly, when fhe faw arife 
 The reflex fweetnefs of her eyes 
 In his, and every breath defer 
 Humbly its bated life to her ; 
 Whilft power and kindnefs of command. 
 Which women can no more withftand 
 Than we their grace, were ftill unquell'd. 
 And force and flattery both compell'd 
 Her foftnefs ! Say I 'm worthy. I 
 Grew, in her prefence, cold and fhy. 
 It awed me, as an angel's might 
 In raiment of reproachful light. 
 Her gay looks told my fombre mood 
 That what 's not happy is not good ; 
 And, jufl; becaufe 't was life to pleafe,
 
 56 Honor ia. 
 
 Death to repel her, truth and eafe 
 Deferted me ; I flrove to talk. 
 And ftammered fooliflinefs ; my walk 
 Was like a drunkard's ; once (lie took 
 My arm ; it ftiffen'd, ached, and lliook ; 
 I guelT'd her thought, and could have 
 
 dropp'd ; 
 The ftreams of life within me ftopp'd. 
 A likely wooer ! Blame her not ; 
 Nor ever fay, dear Mother, aught 
 Againft that perfed:nefs which is 
 My ftrength, as once it was my blifs. 
 
 Nor let us chafe at focial rules. 
 Leave that to poets and to fools. 
 Clay graffs and clods conceive the rofe. 
 So bafc ftill fathers beft. Life owes 
 Itfclf to bread ; enough thereof 
 And eafy days condition love ; 
 And, highly train'd, love's rofes thrive, 
 No more pale, fccntlefs petals five,
 
 Frederick to his Mother. ^j 
 
 Which moiften the confiderate eye 
 To fee what hafte they make to die. 
 But heavens of brightnefs and perfume. 
 Which, month by month, renew the bloom 
 Of art-born graces, when the year 
 In all the natural grove is fere. 
 
 Thank God, I partly can defcry 
 The meaning of humanity ! 
 In fight of him who fees it float 
 As many an ifolated mote 
 In accidental light or dark. 
 And wants the inftrudted fenfe to mark 
 Its method, and the ear to hear 
 The moving mufic of its fphere. 
 What wonder if his private lofs 
 Seems an intolerable crofs. 
 Not to be fufFer'd, in mere awe 
 Of what he calls the world's cold law ? 
 But he who once, with joy of foul, 
 Has had the vifion of the whole,
 
 58 Honoria. 
 
 Though to the wringing of his heart, 
 Will never more prefer the part. 
 Blame none, then ! Bright let he the air 
 About mv lonelv cloud of care. 
 
 " Religion, duty, books, work, friends : " 
 'T is good advice, but there it ends. 
 I 'm fick for what they have not got. 
 Send no more books ; they help me not. 
 I 'm hurt, and find no filve for that 
 In gofpels of the cricket-bat 
 Or anvil ; and, for zoophytes. 
 And alga:", and Italian rights, 
 Myfelf and every foul I fee 
 Are nearer, dearer myftery, 
 And fubjed: to my proper will. 
 To fome extent, for good or ill. 
 And, as for work. Mother, I find 
 The lite t)l man is in his mind, 
 (Though, truft the ftrains the fafliion 
 ftrums.
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 59 
 
 It feems 't is rather in his thumbs !) 
 
 To work is well, nay, labour is, 
 
 They fay, the bread of fouls. If 't is, 
 
 We do not worfliip corn and yeaft ; 
 
 Indeed, they fcarcely make a feaft ! 
 
 Bread's needful, but the rule ftands fo 
 
 That needful moft is oft mofl: low. 
 
 I ad: my calling, yet there 's ftill 
 
 A void which duty cannot fill. 
 
 What though the inaugural hour of right 
 
 Comes ever with a keen delight ! 
 
 Little relieves the labour's heat. 
 
 Or crowns the labour when complete ; 
 
 And life, in fad, is not lefs dull 
 
 For being very dutiful. 
 
 " The flately homes of England," lo, 
 
 " How beautiful they ftand ! " They owe 
 
 How much to me and fuch as me 
 
 Their beauty of fecurity ! 
 
 But who can long a low work mend
 
 6o Honor ia. 
 
 By looking to a lofty end ? 
 And let me, fince 't is truth, confefs 
 The want's not tilled by godlinefs. 
 God is a tower without a ftair. 
 And His perfe(5tion love's defpair. 
 'T is he fliall judge me when I die ; 
 He fuckles with the hiffing fly 
 The fpider ; gazes patient down, 
 Whilft rapine grips the helplefs town. 
 His vaft love holds all this and more. 
 In confternation I adore ! 
 Nor can I eafe this aching gulf 
 With friends, the pictures of myfelf. 
 
 Then marvel not that I recur 
 From each and all of thefe to her. 
 For more of heaven than her have I 
 No fenfitive capacity. 
 Had I but her, ah, what the gain 
 Of owning aught but that domain ! 
 Nay, heaven's extent, however much,
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 6i 
 
 Cannot be more than many fuch ; 
 And, fhe being mine, fhould God to me 
 Say, " Lo ! my Child, I give to thee 
 All heaven befides," what could I then, 
 But, as a child, to Him complain 
 That, whereas my dear Father gave 
 A little fpace for me to have 
 In his great garden, now, o'erbleft, 
 I 've that, indeed, but all the reft. 
 Which, fomehow, makes it feem I 've got 
 All but my only cared-for plot. 
 Enough was that for my weak hand 
 To tend, my heart to underftand. 
 
 Oh, the fick thought, 'twixt her and me 
 There 's nothing, and the weary fea !
 
 VII. 
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER.
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 IVyT OTHER, in fcarcely two hours more 
 
 I fet my foot on Englifh fhore, 
 Two years untrod ! and, ftrange to tell. 
 Nigh mifT'd, through laft night's ftorm. 
 
 There fell 
 A man from the fhrouds, that roar'd to 
 
 quench 
 Even the billows' blaft and drench. 
 None elfe but me was by to mark 
 His loud cry in the louder dark, 
 Dark, fave when lightning Ihow'd the 
 
 deeps 
 Standing about in ftony heaps. 
 5
 
 66 HoTioria. 
 
 No time for choice ! A fortunate flafli 
 Flamed as he rofe ; a dizzy fplafli, 
 A ftrange, inopportune delight 
 Of mounting with the billowy might, 
 And falling, with a thrill again 
 Of pleafure (hot from feet to brain, 
 And both paced deck, ere any knew 
 Our peril. Round us prefT'd the crew. 
 "Your duty was to let him drown," 
 The Captain faid, and feign'd a frown ; 
 But wonder fill'd the eyes of moft. 
 As if the man who had loved and loft 
 Honoria dared no more than that ! 
 
 My days have elfe been ftale and flat. 
 This life's, at beft, if juftly fcann'd, 
 A tedious walk by the other's ftrand. 
 With, here and there caft up, a piece 
 Of coral or of ambergris. 
 Which boafted of abroad, we ignore 
 The burthen of the barren (liore.
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 67 
 
 Often might I my letters fill 
 
 With how the nerves refufe to thrill ; 
 
 How, throughout doubly-darken'd days, 
 
 I cannot recoiled: her face ; 
 
 How to my heart her name to tell 
 
 Is beating on a broken bell ; 
 
 And, to fill up the abhorrent gulf. 
 
 Scarce loving her, I hate myfelf. 
 
 Yet, latterly, with ftrange delight. 
 Rich tides have rifen in the night, 
 And fweet dreams chafed the fancies denfe 
 Of waking life's dull fomnolence. 
 I fee her as I knew her, grace 
 Already glory in her face ; 
 I move about, I cannot reft. 
 For the proud brain and joyful breaft 
 I have of her. Or elfe I float 
 The pilot of an idle boat. 
 Alone with fun, and fky, and fea. 
 And her, the fourth fimplicity.
 
 68 Honor i a. 
 
 Or Mildred, to fome queftion, cries, 
 (Her merry mifchief in her eyes,) 
 " The Ball, oh, Frederick will go ; 
 Honoria will be there ! " and, lo. 
 As moijfture fweet my feeing blurs 
 To hear my name fo link'd with hers, 
 A mirror joins, by guilty chance, 
 Either's averted, watchful glance ! 
 Or with me, in the Ball-Room's blaze. 
 Her brilliant mildnefs thrids the maze ; 
 Our thoughts are lovely, and each word 
 Is mufic in the mulic heard. 
 And all things feem but parts to be 
 Of one perfiftent harmony. 
 By which I 'm made divinely bold ; 
 The fecret, which ilie knows, is told ; 
 And, laughing with a lofty blifs 
 Of innocent accord, we kifs ; 
 About her neck my pleafure weeps ; 
 Againfl: my lip the filk vein leaps;
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 69 
 
 Then fays an Angel, " Day or night, 
 If yours you feek, not her delight, 
 Although by fome ftrange witchery 
 It feems you kifs her, 't is not (he ; 
 But whilft you languifh at the fide 
 Of a fair-foul phantafmal bride. 
 Surely a dragon and ftrong tower 
 Guard the true lady in her bower." 
 And I fay, " Dear my Lord, Amen ! " 
 And the true lady kifs again. 
 Or elfe fome wafteful malady 
 Devours her fhape and dims her eye ; 
 No charms are left, where all were rife, 
 Except her voice, which is her life. 
 Wherewith flie, for her foolifh fear. 
 Says trembling, " Do you love me. Dear ? " 
 And I reply, "Ah, Sweet, I vow 
 I never loved but half till now." 
 She turns her face to the wall at this. 
 And fays, " Go, Love, 't is too much blifs."
 
 70 Honoria. 
 
 And then a fudden pulfe is fent 
 About the founding firmament 
 In fmitings as of filver bars ; 
 The bright diforder of the ftars 
 Is folved by mufic ; far and near. 
 Through infinite diftindtions clear, 
 Their two-fold voices' deeper tone 
 Thunders the Name which all things 
 
 own, 
 And each ecftatic treble dwells 
 On one whereof none other tells ; 
 And we, fublimed to fong and fire. 
 Take order in the wheeling quire. 
 Till from the throbbing fphere I ftart. 
 Waked by the beating of my heart. 
 Such dreams as thefe come night by 
 
 night, 
 Difturbing day with their delight. 
 Portend they nothing ? Who can tell ! 
 God yet may do fome miracle.
 
 Frederick to his Mother. ji 
 
 'Tis now two years, and fhe's not wed, 
 Or you would know ! He may be dead. 
 Or mad and wooing fome one elfe. 
 And file, much moved that nothing quells 
 My conftancy, or, merely wroth 
 With fuch a wretch, accept my troth 
 To fpite him ; or her beauty 's gone, 
 (And that 's my dream !) and this vile 
 
 Vaughan 
 Takes her releafe ; or tongues malign. 
 Convincing all men's ears but mine. 
 Have fmirch'd her : ah, 't would move 
 
 her, fure. 
 To find I only worfhipp'd more ! 
 Nay, now I think, haply amifs 
 I read her words and looks, and his. 
 That night ! Did not his jealoufy 
 Show — Good my God, and can it be 
 That I, a modefl fool, all bleft. 
 Nothing of fuch a heaven gueff'd ?
 
 72 Honor ia. 
 
 Oh, cnance too frail, yet frantic fweet. 
 To-morrow fees me at her feet ! 
 
 Yonder, at laft, the glad fea roars 
 Along the facred Englifli fliores ! 
 There lies the lovely land I know, 
 Where men and women lordliefl: grow ; 
 There peep the roofs where more than 
 
 kings 
 Poftpone ftate cares to country things, 
 And many a gay queen fimply tends 
 The babes on whom the world depends ; 
 There curls the wanton cottage fmoke 
 Of him that drives but bears no yoke ; 
 There laughs the realm where low and 
 
 high 
 Are lieges to fociety. 
 And life has all too wide a fcope. 
 Too free a profped: for its hope. 
 For any private good or ill, 
 Except didionour, quite to fill !
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 73 
 
 Pojiscript. Since this was penn'd, I read 
 That " Mr. Vaughan, on Tuefday, wed 
 The beautiful Mifs Churchill." So 
 That's over; and to-morrow I go 
 To take up my new poft on board 
 The Wolf, my peace at laft reftored. 
 For all the fhowering tears that foak 
 This paper. Grief is now the cloak 
 I fold about me to prevent 
 The deadly chill of a content 
 With any near or diftant good. 
 Except the exad: beatitude 
 Which love has fliown to my defire. 
 You'll point to "other joys and higher." 
 I hate and difavow all blifs 
 As none for me which is not this. 
 Think not I blafphemoufly cope 
 With God's decrees, and cafl off hope. 
 How, when, and where can mine fucceed ? 
 I '11 truft He knows who made my need !
 
 VIII. 
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER.
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 T THOUGHT the worfl had brought 
 
 me balm, 
 'T was but the tempeft's central calm. 
 Vague finkings of the heart aver 
 That dreadful wrong has come to her, 
 And o'er this whim I brood and doat. 
 And learn its agonies by rote. 
 As if I loved it, early and late 
 I make familiar with my fate, 
 And feed, with fafcinated will. 
 On very dregs of finifh'd ill. 
 I think, fhe's near him now, alone. 
 With wardfliip and protedtion none ;
 
 78 Honor ia. 
 
 Alone, perhaps, in the hindering ftrefs 
 ^ Of airs that clafp him with her drefs, 
 They wander whifpering by the wave ; 
 And haply now, in fome fea-cave 
 Where the fait fand is rarely trod. 
 They laugh, they kifs. O God ! O God ! 
 Bafenefs of men ! Purfuit being o'er, 
 Doubtlefs the Lover feels no more 
 The awful heaven of fuch a Bride, 
 But, lounging, let's her pleafe his pride 
 With fondnefs, guerdons her carefs 
 With little names, and twifts a trefs 
 Round idle fingers. If 't is fo. 
 Why then I 'm happier of the two ! 
 Better, for lofty lofs, like pain. 
 Than low content with lofty gain. 
 Poor, foolifli Dove, to truft from me 
 Her happinefs and dignity ! 
 
 Thus, all day long till frightful night 
 I fear flic's harm'd by his delight.
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 79 
 
 And when I lay me down at even 
 'Tis Hades lit with neighbouring Heaven. 
 There comes a fmile acutely fweet 
 Out of the picturing dark ; I meet 
 The ancient franknefs of her gaze, 
 That fimple, bold, and living blaze 
 Of great good-will and innocence. 
 And perfedl joy proceeding thence ! 
 Ah ! made for Earth's delight, yet fuch 
 The mid-fea air's too grofs to touch. 
 At thought of which, the foul in me 
 Is as the bird that bites a bee. 
 And darts abroad on frantic wing. 
 Tailing the honey and the fting ; 
 And, moaning where all round me deep 
 Amidfl: the moaning of the deep, 
 I ftart at midnight from my bed — 
 And have no right to ftrike him dead. 
 
 What world is this that I am in. 
 Where chance turns fan6tity to fin !
 
 8o Honor ia. 
 
 'T is crime henceforward to defire 
 The only good, the facred fire 
 Of all the univerfe is hell ! 
 I hear a Voice that argues well : 
 "The Heaven hard has fcorn'd your cry ; 
 Fall down and worlliip me, and I 
 Will give you peace ; go and profane 
 This pangful love, fo pure, fo vain. 
 And thereby win forgetfulnefs 
 And pardon of the fpirit's excefs. 
 Which foar'd too nigh that jealous Heaven 
 Ever, fave thus, to be forgiven. 
 No Gofpel has come down that cures 
 With better gain a lofs like yours. 
 Be pious ! Give the beggar pelf. 
 And love your neighbour as yourfelf ! 
 You, \\'lu) yet love, though all is o'er. 
 And Ihe'll ne'er be your neighbour more 
 With foul wliich can in pity fmile 
 That aught with fuch a mcafure vile
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 81 
 
 As felf (hould be at all named * love ! ' 
 Your fand:ity the priefts reprove, 
 Your cafe of grief they wholly mifs. 
 The Man of Sorrows names not this ! 
 * The years,' they fay, * graft love divine 
 On the lopp'd Hock of love like thine, 
 The wild tree dies not, but converts.' 
 So be it ;• but the lopping hurts. 
 The graff takes tardily ! Men ftanch 
 Meantime with earth the bleeding branch. 
 There 's nothing heals one woman's lofs. 
 And lightens life's eternal crofs 
 With intermiffion of found reft. 
 Like lying in another's breaft. 
 The cure is, to your thinking, low ! 
 Is not life all, henceforward, fo ? " 
 
 111 Voice, at leaft thou calm'ft my mood ; 
 I '11 lleep ! But, as I thus conclude. 
 The intrufions of her grace difpel 
 The comfortable glooms of hell. 
 6
 
 8 2 Honor ia. 
 
 A wonder ! Ere thefe lines were dried, 
 Vaughan and my Love, his three-days* 
 
 Bride, 
 Became my guefts. I look'd, and, lo ! 
 In beauty foft as is the fnow 
 And powerful as the avalanche. 
 She lit the deck. The Heav'n-fent chance ! 
 She fmiled, furprifed. They came to 
 
 fee 
 The fliip, not thinking to meet me. 
 At infinite diftance file's my day! 
 What then to him ? Howbeit they fay 
 'T is not (o funny in the fun 
 But men miirht live cool lives thereon !' 
 
 All 's well ; for I have feen arife 
 That reflex fweetnefs of her eyes 
 In his, and watch'd his breath defer 
 Humbly its bated life to her. 
 His 'wife. Dear Love, file's fafe in his 
 Devotion ; and the thought of this.
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 83 
 
 Though more than ever I admire. 
 Removes her out of my defire. 
 
 They bade adieu ; I faw them go 
 Acrofs the fea ; and now I know 
 The ultimate hope I relied on, 
 The hope beyond the grave, is gone, 
 The hope that, in the heavens high. 
 At laft it fliould appear that I 
 Loved moft, and fo, by claim divine. 
 Should have her, in the heavens, for mine, 
 According to fuch nuptial fort 
 As may fublift in the holy court. 
 Where, if there are all kinds of joys 
 To exhauft the multitude of choice 
 In many manfions, then there are 
 Loves perfonal and particular, 
 Confpicuous in the glorious fky 
 Of univerfal charity. 
 As Hefper in the funrife. Now 
 I 've feen them, I believe their vow
 
 84 Honor ia. 
 
 Immortal ; and the dreadful thought, 
 That he lefs honour'd than he ought 
 Her fandtity, is laid to reft. 
 And, bleffing them, I too am bleft. 
 My good-will, as a fpringing air, 
 Unclouds a beauty in defpair ; 
 , I ftand beneath the fky's pure cope 
 Unburthen'd even by a hope ; 
 And peace unfpeakable, a joy 
 Which hope would deaden and deftroy. 
 Like funfliine fills the airy gulf 
 Left by the vanidiing of felf. 
 That I have known her ; that ftie moves 
 Somewhere all-graceful ; that flie loves, 
 And is belov'd, and that (lie's fo 
 Moft happy ; and to heaven will go, 
 Where I may meet with her, (yet this 
 I count but adventitious blifs,) 
 And that the full, celcftial weal 
 Of all flrall fcnfitively feel
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 85 
 
 The partnerfliip and work of each, 
 And, thus, my love and labour reach 
 Her region, there the more to blefs 
 Her laft, confummate happinefs. 
 Is guerdon up to the degree 
 Of that alone true loyalty 
 Which, facrificing, is not nice 
 About the terms of facrifice. 
 But offers all, with fmiles that fay, 
 'T were nothing if 't were not for aye !
 
 BOOK II. 
 JAN E.
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 I. 
 
 MRS. GRAHAM TO FREDERICK.
 
 { 
 
 I
 
 MRS. GRAHAM TO FREDERICK. 
 
 T WEEP for your great grief, dear Boy, 
 
 And not lefs for your lofty joy. 
 You wanted her, my Son, for wife. 
 With the fierce need of life in life ! 
 That nobler paffion of an hour 
 Was rather prophecy than power ; 
 And nature, from fuch ftrefs unbent. 
 Recurs to deep difcouragement. 
 Truft not fuch peace yet ; eafy breath. 
 In hot difeafes, argues death ; 
 And taftelelTnefs within the mouth 
 Worfe fever fhows than heat or drouth. 
 Wherefore take timely warning. Dear,
 
 92 ^ane. 
 
 Againft a novel danger near. 
 
 Beware left that "ill Voice" once more 
 
 Should plead, not vainly as before. 
 
 Wed not one woman, O my Son, 
 
 Becaufe you love another one ! 
 
 Oft, with a disappointed man. 
 
 The firft who cares to win him can ; 
 
 For, after love's heroic ftrain. 
 
 Which tired the heart and brought no 
 
 gain. 
 He feels confoled, relieved, and eafed 
 To meet with her who can be pleafed 
 To proffer kindnefs, and compute 
 His acquiefcence for purfuit ; 
 Who troubles not his lonely mood ; 
 Afks naught for love but gratitude ; 
 And, as it were, will let him wxxp 
 Himfclt witliin her arms to lleep. 
 Ah, defperate folly ! (Though, we know, 
 Who wed through love wed moftly fo.)
 
 Mrs. Graham to Frederick. 93 
 
 Before all elfe, when wed you do. 
 See that the woman equals you, 
 Nor ru{h, from having loved too high. 
 Into a worfe humility. 
 Whofe Child, whofe Coujin are you ? Wait 
 Until this blaft fhall well abate ! 
 Though love may feem to have wreck'd 
 
 your life. 
 Look to the falvage ; take no wife 
 Who to your ilooping feels flie owes 
 Her name ; fuch debts make bofom-foes. 
 
 A poor eftate's a foolifh plea 
 For marrying to a bafe degree. 
 A gentlewoman's twice as cheap. 
 As well as pleafanter, to keep. 
 Nor think grown women can be train'd, 
 Or, if they could, that much were gain'd ; 
 For never was a man's heart caught 
 By graces he himfelf had taught. 
 And fancy not 't is in the might
 
 94 Jane. 
 
 Of man to do without delight ; 
 For fliould you in her nothing find 
 To exhilarate the higher mind, 
 Your foul will clog its ufelefs wings 
 With wickednefs of lawful things, 
 And vampire pleafure fwift deftroy 
 Even the memory of joy. 
 So let no man, in defperate mood. 
 Wed a dull girl becaufe file's good. • 
 All virtues in his wife foon dim. 
 Except the power of pleafing him, 
 Which may fmall virtue be, or none ! 
 
 I know, my juft and tender Son, 
 To whom the dangerous grace is given 
 That fcorns a good which is not heaven; 
 My Child, who ufed to fit and figh 
 Under the bright, ideal fky, 
 And pafs, to fpare the 'farmer's wheat. 
 The poppy and the meadow-fweet ! 
 He would not let his wife's heart ache
 
 Mrs. Gra/iam to Frederick. 95 
 
 For what was mainly his miflake ; 
 But, having err'd fo, all his force 
 Would fix upon the hard right courfe. 
 
 I fee you with a vulgar wife ! 
 Or one abforb'd in future life, 
 And in this tranfitory place 
 Contented with the means of grace ; 
 Uncultured, fay, yet good and true. 
 And therefore inward fair, and, through 
 The veils which inward beauty fwathe. 
 All lovely to the eye of faith ! 
 Ah, that 's foon fagged ; faith falls away. 
 Without the ceremonial ftay 
 Of outward lovelinefs and awe. 
 The weightier matters of the law 
 She pays ; mere mint and cumin not ; 
 And, in the road that fhe was taught. 
 She treads, and takes for granted ftilj 
 Nature's immedicable ill ; 
 So never wears within her eyes
 
 96 'Jane. 
 
 A falfe report of paradife. 
 Nor ever modulates her mirth 
 With vain compaffion of the earth, 
 Which made a certain happier face 
 Affe6ting, and a gayer grace 
 With pathos deHcately edged ! 
 Yet, though flie be not privileged 
 To unlock for you your heart's delight, 
 (Her keys being gold, but not the right,) 
 On lower levels flie may do ! 
 Her joy is more in loving you 
 Than being loved, and flie commands 
 All tendernefs flie underfl:ands. 
 It is but when you proffer more, 
 The yoke weighs heavy and chafes fore. 
 It's weary work enforcing love 
 On one who has enough thereof, 
 / And honour on the lowlihead 
 Of ignorance ! Befides, you dread. 
 In Leah's arms, to meet the eyes 
 
 I
 
 Mrs. Graham to Frederick. 97 
 
 Of Rachel fomewhere in the fkies. 
 And both return, alike relieved, 
 To life lefs loftily conceived. 
 Alas, alas ! 
 
 Then wait the mood 
 In which a woman may be woo'd 
 Whofe thoughts and habits are too high 
 For honour to be flattery ; 
 And fuch would furely not allow 
 The fuit that you could proffer now. 
 Her equal yoke would fit with eafe ; 
 It might, with wearing, even pleafe, 
 (Not with a better word to move 
 The indignant loyalty of love !) 
 She would not mope when you were 
 
 gay, 
 
 For want of knowing aught to fay ; 
 Nor vex you with unhandfome w.afte 
 Of thoughts ill-timed and words ill- 
 placed ; 
 7
 
 98 ^ane. 
 
 Nor hold fmall things for duties fmall, 
 (This brands ill-breeding moft of all,) 
 But, gilding ufes with delight, 
 And comprehending nature right. 
 Would mend or veil each weaker part 
 With fome fweet fupplement of art. 
 Nor would file bring you up a brood 
 Of ftrangers bound to you by blood. 
 Boys of a meaner moral race. 
 Girls with their mother's evil grace. 
 But not her right to fometimes find 
 Her critic paft his judgment kind ; 
 Nor, unaccuftom'd to refpecfl. 
 Which men, where 't is not claim'd, 
 
 negled:. 
 Confirm you felfifli and morofe. 
 And flowly by contagion grofs ; 
 But, glad and able to receive 
 The honour you would long to give, 
 Would haiK-n on to jufiify
 
 Mrs. Graham to Frederick. 99 
 
 Your hope of her, however high, 
 Whilft you would happily incur 
 Compullion to keep up with her. 
 
 Paft price is fuch a woman, yet 
 Not rare, nor hard for you to get ; 
 And fuch, in marrying, yields fo much 
 It could not lefs than greatly touch 
 The heart of him who call'd her Bride, 
 With tendernefs, and manly pride. 
 And foft, protedive, fond regard. 
 And thoughts to make no duty hard. 
 
 Your love was wild, (but none the lefs 
 Praife be to love, whofe wild excefs 
 Reveals the honour and the height 
 Of life, and the fupreme delight 
 In ftore for all but him who lies 
 Content in mediocrities !) 
 To wed with one lefs loved may be 
 Part of divine expediency. 
 Many men cannot love ; more yet
 
 I oo 'Jane. 
 
 Cannot love fuch as they can get, 
 Who ftill fliould marry, and do, and find 
 Comfort of heart and peace of mind 
 More than when love-fick fpirits dull 
 The force of manhood mafterful, 
 Which woman's foftneifes require, 
 And women ever moft admire. 
 
 1
 
 II. 
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER.
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 'VT'OUR letter, Mother, bears the date 
 Of fix months back, and comes too 
 late. 
 My Love, pail all conceiving loft, 
 A change feem'd good, at any coft. 
 From lonely, ftupid, filent grief. 
 Vain, objed:lefs, beyond relief. 
 And like a fea-fog fettled denfe 
 On fancy, feeling, thought, and fenfe. 
 I grew fo idle, fo defpifed 
 Myfelf, my powers, by her unprized ; 
 Honouring my poft, but nothing more ; 
 And lying, when I lived on fliore.
 
 1 04 "Jane, 
 
 So late of mornings ; fliarp tears ftream'd 
 For fuch flight caufe, — if only gleam'd, 
 Remotely, forrowfully bright, 
 On clouded eves at fea, the light 
 Of Englifli headlands in the fun, — 
 That foon I deem'd 't were better done 
 To lay this poor, complaining wraith 
 Of unreciprocated faith ; 
 And fo, with heart ftill bleeding quick, 
 But ftrengthen'd by the comfort lick 
 Of knowing that JJie could not care, 
 I turn'd my back on my defpair ; 
 And told our chaplain's daughter, Jane, — 
 A dear, good Girl, who faw my pain, 
 And fpoke as if fhe pitied me, — 
 How glad and thankful I fliould be 
 If fome kind woman, not above 
 Myfelf in rank, would give her love 
 To one that knew not how to woo. 
 Whereat fhe, witliout more ado.
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 105 
 
 Blufh'd, fpoke of love return'd, and clofed 
 With what I meant to have propofed. 
 And, truft me, Mother, I and Jane 
 Suit one another well. My gain 
 Is very great in this good wife, 
 To whom I'm bound, for natural life. 
 By hearty faith, yet croffing not 
 My faith towards — I know not what ! 
 As to the ether is the air. 
 Is her good to Honoria's fair ; 
 One place is full of both, yet each 
 Lies quite beyond the other's reach 
 And recognition. Star and ftar, 
 Rays croffing, clofer rivals are, 
 Sequefter'd in their feparate fpheres. 
 And now, except fome cafual tears. 
 The old grief lives not. If you fay. 
 Am I contented ? Yea and nay ! 
 For what's bafe but content to grow 
 With lefs good than the beft we know ?
 
 1 06 'Jane. 
 
 But think me not from lenfe withdnw^n 
 
 By paflion for a hope that 's gone. 
 
 So far as to forget how much 
 
 A woman is, as merely fuch, 
 
 To man's affection. What is beft. 
 
 In each, belongs to all the reft ; 
 
 And though, in marriage, quite to kifs 
 
 And half to love the cuftom is, 
 
 'T is fuch diihonour, ruin bare, 
 
 The foul's interior defpair. 
 
 And life between two troubles tolT'd, 
 
 To me, who think not with the moft ; 
 
 Whatever 't would have been before 
 
 My Coufin's time, 't is now fo fore 
 
 A treafon to the abiding throne 
 
 Of that fweet love which I have known, 
 
 I cannot live fo, and I bend 
 
 My mind perforce to comprehend 
 
 That He who gives command to love 
 
 Does not require a thing above
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 1 07 
 
 The ftrength he gives. The higheft de- 
 gree 
 Of the hardeft grace, humiUty ; 
 The ftep t'wards heaven the lateft trod. 
 And that which makes us moft Hke God, 
 And us much more than God behoves. 
 Is, to be humble in our loves. 
 Henceforth forever therefore I 
 Renounce all partiality 
 Of pailion. Subjed: to control 
 Of that perfpedlive of the foul 
 Which God himfelf pronounces good. 
 Confirming claims of neighbourhood. 
 And giving man, for earthly life. 
 The clofeft neighbour in a wife, 
 I '11 ferve all. Jane be much more dear 
 Than others as fhe's much more near ! 
 
 Is one unlovable, and would 
 We love him, let us do him good ! 
 How eafy, then, the effect to raife
 
 io8 y. 
 
 aiie. 
 
 Where naught's amifs but homely ways. 
 I love her, love her ! Sweet tears come 
 Of this my felf-will's martyrdom ; 
 And fweet tears are love's teft, for love 
 Is naught without the joy thereof. 
 Yet, not to lie for God, 't is true 
 That 'twas another joy I knew 
 When freighted was my heart with fire 
 Of fond, irrational delire 
 For fafcinating, female charms, 
 And hopelefs heaven in two white arms. 
 "There's nothing half fo fweet in life," 
 As the old fong fays ; and I nor wife 
 Nor Heaven affront, if I profefs. 
 That care for heaven with me were lefs 
 But that I 'm utterly imbued 
 With faith of all Earth's good renew'd 
 In realms where no fliort-coming pains 
 Expectance, and dear love difdains 
 Time's treafon, and the gathering drofs,
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 109 
 
 And lafts forever in the glofs 
 Of melting. 
 
 All the bright paft feems. 
 Now, but a vifion in my dreams, 
 Which fliows, albeit the dreamer wakes, 
 The flandard of right life. Life aches 
 To be therewith conform'd ; but, oh ! 
 The world 's fo ftolid, dark, and low ! 
 That and the mortal element 
 Forbid its beautiful intent. 
 And, like the unborn butterfly. 
 It feels the wings, and wants the fky. 
 
 But perilous is the lofty mood 
 Which cannot pull with lowly good ! 
 Right life, for me, is life that wends 
 By lowly ways to lofty ends. 
 I well perceive, at length, that hafte 
 T'wards heaven itfelf is only wafte • 
 And thus I dread the impatient fpur 
 Of aught that fpeaks too plain of Her.
 
 1 1 o y^'^^- 
 
 There's little here that ftory tells ; 
 But mufic talks of nothing elfe. 
 Therefore, when mufic breathes, I fay, 
 (And bufier urge my tafk,) Away ! 
 Thou art the voice of one I knew. 
 But what thou fay'fi: is not yet true ; 
 Thou art the voice of her I loved, 
 And I would not be vainly moved. 
 
 Thus love, which did from death fet 
 free 
 All things, now dons death's mockery. 
 And takes its place with things that are 
 But little noted. Do not mar 
 For me your peace ! My health is high. 
 The proud poiTefilon of mine eye 
 Departed, I am much like one 
 Who had by haughty cuftom grown 
 To think gilt rooms, and fpacious grounds, 
 Horfes, and carriages, and hounds. 
 Fine linen, and an eider bed
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 1 1 1 
 
 As much his need as daily bread. 
 
 And honour of men as much or more ; 
 
 Till, ftrange misfortune fmiting fore. 
 
 His pride all goes to pay his debts, 
 
 A lodging anywhere he gets. 
 
 And takes his wife and child thereto 
 
 Weeping, and other relics few, 
 
 Allow'd, by them that feize his pelf. 
 
 As precious only to himfelf. 
 
 But, foon, kind compenfations, all 
 
 Unlook'd for, eafe his cruel fall ; 
 
 The fun ftill fhines ; the country green 
 
 Has many riches, poorly feen 
 
 From blazon'd coaches ; grace at meat 
 
 Goes well with thrift in what they eat ; 
 
 And there's amends for much bereft 
 
 In better thanks for much that's left. 
 
 For Jane, dear Mother, what at firfl 
 You'll fee in her is all the worfl. 
 I '11 fay, at once, in outward make.
 
 1 1 2 'Jane. 
 
 She is not fair enough to wake 
 
 The wifli for fair. She bears the bell. 
 
 However, where no others dwell ; 
 
 And features fomewhat plainly fet. 
 
 And homely manners, leave her yet 
 
 The crowning boon and most exprefs 
 
 Of Heaven's inventive tendernefs, 
 
 A woman. But I do her wrong, 
 
 Letting the world's eyes guide my tongue ! 
 
 For, fince 't was for my peace, I 've grown 
 
 More learned in my tafte, and own 
 
 A fort of handfomenefs that pays 
 
 No homage to the hourly gaze. 
 
 And dwells not on the arch'd brow's 
 
 height 
 And lids which foftly lodge the light, 
 Nor in the pure field of the cheek 
 Flowers, though the foul be ftill to feek; 
 But (liows as fits that folemn place 
 Whereof the window is the face :
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 1 1 3 
 
 Blanknefs and leaden outlines mark 
 What time the Church within is dark ; 
 Yet view it on a Sunday night, 
 Or fome occalion elfe for light, 
 And each ungainly line is feen 
 Some fpecial chara6ter to mean 
 Of Saint or Prophet, and the whole 
 Blank window is a living fcroll. 
 
 Her knowledge and converiing powers. 
 You'll find, are poor. The clock, for 
 
 hours. 
 Loud clicking on the mantel-fhelf, 
 Has all the talking to itfelf. 
 But to and fro her needle runs 
 Twice, while the clock is ticking once ; 
 And, when a wife is well in reach. 
 Not filence feparates, but fpeech ; 
 And I, contented, read, or fmoke 
 And idly think, or idly ftroke 
 The winking cat, or watch the fire, 
 8
 
 1 1 4 'J^^^^' 
 
 In focicil peace that does not tire ; 
 Until, at eafeful end of day, 
 She moves, and puts her work away, 
 And, faying " How cold 't is," or " How 
 
 warm," 
 Or fomething elfe as little harm. 
 Comes, ufed to finding, kindly preff'd, 
 A woman's welcome to my breaft, 
 With all the great advantage clear 
 Of none elfe having been fo near. 
 
 But fometimes, (how fliall I deny !) 
 There falls, with her thus fitting by, x 
 
 Dejection, and a chilling fliade. 
 Remember'd pleafures, as they fade. 
 Salute me, and, in fading, grow. 
 Like footprints in the thawing fnow. 
 I feel opprelf'd beyond my force 
 With foolilh envy and remorfe. 
 I love this woman, but I might 
 Have loved fume elfe with more delight ; 
 
 I
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 1 1 5 
 
 And ftrange it feems of God that He 
 Should make a vain* capacity. 
 
 Such times of ignorant relapfe, 
 'T is well fhe does not talk, perhaps. 
 The dream, the disfcontent, the doubt. 
 To fome injuftice flaming out. 
 Were 't elfe, might leave us both to moan 
 A kind tradition overthrow^n. 
 And daw^ning promife once more dead 
 In the pernicious lowlihead 
 Of not afpiring to be fair. 
 And what am I that I fhould dare 
 Difpute with God, who moulds one clay 
 To honour and fhame, and wills to pay 
 With equal wages them that delve 
 About his vines one hour or twelve !
 
 III. 
 
 JANE TO MRS. GRAHAM.
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 JANE TO MRS. GRAHAM. 
 
 T^EAR Mother-in-Law, dear Fred 
 
 (you've heard 
 I've married him) fends love, and word 
 He hopes you'll come and fee us foon. 
 Dear Fred w^ill be on leave all June, 
 And, for a week, or even more. 
 We Ihall be very glad I 'm fure. 
 Dear Fred faid / muft write. He thought 
 It feem'd fo difrefped:ful not. 
 I'm fure that's the lafi thing I'd be 
 To dear Fred's relatives. Both he 
 And I are well, dear Mrs. Graham, 
 And truft fincerely you're the fame.
 
 1 20 y^^^''- 
 
 The houfe is rather fmall we've got, 
 But dear Fred fays that yours is not 
 So large by half; fo you'll not mind. 
 
 If you can't leave your Maid behind, 
 Who, Fred fays, always goes with you, 
 I '11 manage fomehow for her too. 
 
 You've heard of Uncle John, no doubt. 
 My choice, when tirft he found it out, 
 Difpleafed him, till he faw dear Fred, 
 Who, you'll be glad, he thinks well-bred. 
 And an extremely nice young man. 
 When I told Uncle John our plan 
 About you, of his own accord 
 He faid, ** Well, Jane, you can't afford 
 To hire a vehicle, my Dear ; 
 So, while your Mother-in-Law is here, 
 I '11 fend my carriage every day. 
 The turnpikes won't be much to pay." 
 That's the kind fort of man, you know! 
 I feci quite furc you'll like him io.
 
 ''jane to Mrs. Graham. 121 
 
 He's well aware your family. 
 Though you're not rich, is very high. 
 And therefore he will not neglect, 
 Though rich himfelf, all due refpedl. 
 
 I 've heard of your dear daughter Grace, 
 Who died. I hope to fill her place. 
 You mull: not think, now Fred has got 
 A clofer tie, that you will not 
 Be loved jufl like you ufed to be. 
 For my part, I am glad to fee 
 Affedion. When I have but faid 
 Your name, I've known him turn quite 
 
 red. 
 If I bewail our nature's taint. 
 He fays he has feen a faultlefs Saint. 
 Of courfe that 's you. I think there 's none 
 More kind and juft than your dear Son, 
 Yet, between lis, Fred's worldly frame 
 Muft grieve ycu much, dear Mrs. Graham ; 
 Who are, I 'm fure, from all I 've heard.
 
 122 Jane. 
 
 A vefTel chofen of the Lord. 
 
 But I have hopes of him ; for, oh, 
 
 How can we ever furely know 
 
 But that the very darkeft place 
 
 May be the fcene of faving grace, 
 
 Which foftens even hearts of ftone ! 
 
 Commending you now to the Throne 
 
 Of Mercy, I remain in all. 
 
 Dear Mrs. Graham, excufe this fcrawl, 
 
 In greateft hafte, but ftill the fame. 
 
 Your moft affectionate Jane Graham.
 
 IV. 
 
 LADY CLITHEROE TO MARY CHURCHILL.
 
 LADY CLITHEROE TO MARY 
 CHURCHILL. 
 
 T'VE dreadful news, my Sifter dear ! 
 
 Frederick has married, as we hear, 
 Some awful girl. This fad: we get 
 From Mr. Barton, whom we met 
 At Abury once. He ufed to know. 
 At Race and Hunt, Lord Clitheroe, 
 Who did not keep him up, of course. 
 And yet he writes, (could tafte be worfe!) 
 And tells John he had " feen Fred 
 
 Graham, 
 Commander of the Wolf, — the fame 
 The Mefs call'd Jofeph, — with his Wife
 
 1 26 y^^^^- 
 
 Under his arm." He lays his Hfe, 
 " The fellow married her for love. 
 For there was nothing elfe to move. 
 H. is her Shibboleth. 'T is faid 
 Her Mother was a Kitchen-Maid." 
 
 Poor Fred ! What ivill Honoria fay ? 
 She thought fo highly of him. Pray 
 Tell it her gently, for I 'm fure 
 That, in her heart, flie liked him more 
 Than all her Coufins. I 've no right, 
 I know you hold, to truft my fight ; 
 But Frederick's ftate could not be hid ! 
 And Felix, coming when he did. 
 Was lucky ; for Honoria, too. 
 Was almoft gone. How warm (lie grew 
 On "worldlinefs," when once I faid 
 I fancied that in love poor Fred 
 Had taltcs much better than his means ! 
 His hand was worthy of a Queen's, 
 Said (lie, and adiually Hied tears
 
 Lady CUtheroe to Mary Churchill. 1 27 
 
 The night he left us for two years. 
 And fobb'd, when afk'd the caufe to tell, 
 That " Frederick look'd fo miferable." 
 He did look very dull, no doubt. 
 But fuch things girls don't cry about. 
 
 What weathercocks men always prove ! 
 You're quite right not to fall in love. 
 / never did, and, truth to tell, 
 I don't think it refped:able. 
 The man can't underfland it, too ! 
 He likes to be in love with you. 
 But fcarce knows how, if you love him. 
 Poor fellow ! When it's woman's whim 
 To ferve her hufband night and day. 
 The kind foul lets her have her way. 
 So, if you wed, as foon you fhould. 
 Be felfifh for your hufband's good ! 
 Happy the men who relegate 
 Their pleafures, vanities, and flate 
 To us. Their nature feems to be
 
 128 Jane. 
 
 To enjoy themfelves by deputy, 
 
 For, feeking their own benefit, 
 
 Dear, what a mefs they make of it ! 
 
 A man will work his bones away, 
 
 If but his wife will only play ; 
 
 He does not mind how much he's teafed, 
 
 So that his plague looks always pleafed 
 
 And never thanks her, while he lives, 
 
 For anything, but what he gives ! 
 
 It's hard to manage men, we hear ! 
 
 Believe me, nothing's eafier, Dear. 
 
 The moft important ftep by far 
 
 Is finding what their colours are. 
 
 The next is, not to let them know 
 
 The reafon why they love us fo. 
 
 The indolent droop of a blue fliawl. 
 
 Or gray filk's fluctuating fall, 
 
 Covers the multitude of fins 
 
 In me ; your hufband, Love, might wince 
 
 At azure, and be wild at flate.
 
 Lady Clitheroe to Mary Churchill. 1 29 
 
 And yet do well with chocolate. 
 Of courfe you'd let him fancy he 
 Adored you for your piety ! 
 
 There, now I 've faid enough, my Dear 
 To make you hate me for a year. 
 You need not write to tell me fo. 
 Yours fondly, Mildred Clitheroe.
 
 V. 
 
 JANE TO HER MOTHER.
 
 JANE TO HER MOTHER. 
 
 TAEAR Mother, Frederick's all, and 
 ^"^ more, 
 
 A great deal, than you fay, I 'm fure ; 
 And, as you write, of courfe I fee 
 How glad and thankful I fhould be 
 For fuch a hufband. Yet, to tell 
 The truth, I am fo miferable ! 
 There furely muft be fome miftake. 
 What could he fee in me to take 
 His fancy ! I remember, though. 
 He never faid he loved me. No, 
 I 'm no more fit for Frederick's wife 
 Than Queen of England. If my life
 
 1 34 'Jane. 
 
 Could ferve his very flighteft whim, 
 I'm fure I'd give it up for him 
 With pleafure ; but what Jliall I do ! 
 I find that he's fo great and true 
 That everything feems falfe and wrong 
 I 've done and thought my whole life long ; 
 And fo, though he is often kind. 
 And never really crofs, my mind 
 Is all fo dull and dead with fear 
 That Yes and No, when he is near. 
 Is much as I can fay. He's quite 
 Unlike what moft would call polite. 
 And yet, when firft I faw him come 
 To tea in Aunt's fine drawing-room, 
 He made me feel fo common. Oh, 
 How dreadful if he thinks me fo ! 
 It's no ufe trying to behave 
 To him. His eye, fo kind and grave, 
 Sees through and through me ! Could 
 not you,
 
 yane to her Mother. 135 
 
 Without his knowing that I knew, 
 
 Afk him to fcold me now and then ? 
 
 Mother, it 's fuch a weary ftrain 
 
 The way he has of treating me. 
 
 As if 't was fomething fine to be 
 
 A woman ; and appearing not 
 
 To notice any faults I Ve got, 
 
 But leaving me to mend, or bear 
 
 The guilt unblamed. I 'm quite aware. 
 
 Of courfe, he knows I 'm plain, and fmall. 
 
 Stupid, and ignorant, and all 
 
 Awkward and mean. As Frederick thefe, 
 
 I fee the beauty which he fees 
 
 When often he looks ftrange awhile. 
 
 And recollects me with a fmile. 
 
 I wifh he had that fancied Wife, 
 
 With me for Maid, now ! all my life 
 
 To drefs her out for him, and make 
 
 Her beauty lovelier for his fake. 
 
 To have her rate me till I cried ;
 
 136 'J^^^' 
 
 Then fee her feated by his lide, 
 
 And driven off proudly to the Ball ; 
 
 Then to ftay up for her, whilft all ■ 
 
 The fervants were afleep ; and hear ■ 
 
 At dawn the carriage rolling near, 
 
 And let them in ; and hear her laugh. 
 
 And boaft he faid that none was half 
 
 So beautiful, and that the Queen, 
 
 Who danced with him the firft, had feen 
 
 And noticed her, and afk'd who was 
 
 That lady in the golden gauze i 
 
 And then to go to bed, and lie 
 
 In a fort of heavenly jealoufy, 
 
 Until 't was broad day, and I gueff'd 
 
 She flept, nor knew how (lie was bleff'd. 
 
 Mother, I look and feel io ill ; 
 And foon I {hall be uglier ftill. 
 You know. But I have heard that men 
 Never think women ugly then. 
 Pray write and tell me if that's true.
 
 "Jane to her Mother. 137 
 
 And pardon me for teaiing you 
 About my filly feelings fo. 
 
 Pleafe, Mother, never let him know 
 A word of what I write. I 'd not 
 Complain, but for the fear I 've got 
 Of going wild, as I 've heard tell 
 Of fome one fhut up in a cell, 
 With no one elfe to talk to. He, 
 Finding that he was loved by me 
 The moft, might think himfelf to blame; 
 And I ihould almoft die for fhame. 
 
 When I get up, — that's now at feven. 
 And 't is not light, — my heart 's like 
 
 heaven 
 At times ; for I 've a foolifh whim 
 That Fred loves me as I love him. 
 And, though I 'm neither fair nor wife. 
 Love, fomehow, makes a woman nice. 
 But daylight makes the glafs refled: 
 The fadt ; and then I recoiled:
 
 ■38 7 
 
 ane. 
 
 That often in the night things feem 
 Which are not, though we do not dream. 
 If being good would ferve — but oh ! 
 The thought's ridiculous, you know. 
 Why, I myfelf, I never could 
 See what's in women's being good. 
 They've nothing in the world to do 
 But as it's juft their nature to. 
 Now, when the men, you know, do right. 
 They have to try with all their might. 
 They 're fo much nobler ! As for us. 
 We don't defervc the leaft the fufs 
 They make about us. 
 
 Mother, mind 
 You muft not think that he's unkind. 
 Why, I would rather Frederick 
 Should hate me, beat me with a ftick. 
 Than ftop at home all day and coo. 
 As Aunt likes Uncle John to do. 
 I 'm never prouder, after all.
 
 'Jane to her Mother. 139 
 
 Than when he ftands, fo ftern and tall, 
 Before the fire. With bufy lives, 
 Men can't love like their idle wives ! 
 And, oh, how dull, whilft they were out. 
 Had women naught to cry about !
 
 VI. 
 
 DR. CHURCHILL TO FREDERICK.
 
 1
 
 DR. CHURCHILL TO FRED- 
 ERICK. 
 
 TAEAR Nephew, we have heard your 
 
 news 
 From ftrangers ! Be afTured we ufe 
 Not Hghtly to relax our love 
 Where once 't is bound ; and I approve 
 Your reafons, whatfoe'er they be, 
 For filence. Yield no lefs to me 
 For faying I wifh, with all my heart. 
 Your happinefs, and on the part 
 Of Mary, who is ftill at home. 
 Whenever you may choofe to come 
 And bring your Wife, you both will find 
 A welcome coufinly and kind.
 
 144- Jane. 
 
 As an old man, a relative, 
 And churchman, I make free to give 
 My bleffing, burthen'd with the truth 
 For want of which the fragile youth 
 Of wedlock fuffers fhocks and fears. 
 That fwell the heart with needlefs tears. 
 I'll not fuppofe that rareft chance 
 Has fall'n which makes a month's ro- 
 mance. 
 Few, if 't were known, wed whom they 
 
 would ; 
 And this, like all God's laws, is good. 
 For naught 's fo fad the whole world o'er 
 As much love which has once been more. 
 Glorious for warmth and light is love; 
 But worldly things in the rays thereof 
 Extend their fliadows, every one 
 Falfe as the image which the fun 
 At noon or eve dwarfs or protradts. 
 A perilous lamp to light men's adls !
 
 Dr. Churchill to Frederick. 145 
 
 By Heaven's kind, impartial plan, 
 Well wived is he that's truly man. 
 If but the woman 's womanly. 
 As fure I am your choice mufl be. 
 Luft of the eyes and pride of life 
 Perhaps ihe 's not. The better wife ! 
 If it be thus, if you have known 
 (As who has not ?) fome heavenly one 
 Whom the dull background of defpair 
 Help'd to fhow forth fupremely fair ; 
 If Memory, ftill remorfeful, fhapes 
 Young Paffion bringing Efchol grapes 
 To travellers in the Wildernefs, 
 This truth will make regret the lefs : 
 Mighty in love as graces are, 
 God's ordinance is mightier far ; 
 And he who is but juft and kind 
 And patient, fliall for guerdon find. 
 Before long, that the body's bond 
 Is all elfe utterly beyond 
 10
 
 1 46 'J^ne. 
 
 In power of love to adlualize 
 The foul's bond which it fignifies, 
 And even to deck a wife with grace 
 External in the form and face. 
 A five years' wife and not yet fair ? 
 Blame let the man, not Nature, bear ! 
 For as the fun, warming a bank 
 Where laft year's grafs droops gray and 
 
 dank. 
 Evokes the violet, bids difclofe 
 In yellow crowds the frefli primrofe, 
 And foxglove hang her flufliing head. 
 So vernal love, where all feems dead. 
 Makes beauty abound. 
 
 Nor was that naught, 
 That trance of joy beyond all thought. 
 The vifion, in one, of womanhood ; 
 But for all women holding good ! 
 Should marriage fuch a prologue want, 
 'T were fordid and mofl: ignorant
 
 Dr. Churchill to Frederick. 1 47 
 
 Profanity ; but, having this, 
 'T is honour now, and future bhfs. 
 Life, as a child, is put to play 
 Love's fimple gamut day by day. 
 If on this humble tafk he dwells. 
 Not flying off to fomething elfe, 
 But as the Mafter bids, devotes 
 To thefe few oft-repeated notes. 
 His practice, till fuch comes to be 
 His fubtle, fmooth celerity 
 That from his eafy hand they are flung 
 Like bead-rows by a touch unftrung. 
 The Mafl:er, after many days. 
 Beyond hope fpeaks, "Now go thy ways ; 
 And, in thy fafe and finifh'd art. 
 Take, with the chime of heaven, thy 
 part.
 
 VII. 
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER.
 
 i 
 
 I
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 1\/T OTHER, on my returning home 
 Laft night, I went to my wife's 
 room. 
 Who, whifpering me that our alarms 
 Were over, put into my arms 
 Your Grandfon. And I give you joy 
 Of what, I 'm told, is a fine boy. 
 Their notion that he's juft like me 
 Is neither fa6l nor flattery ! 
 To you I '11 own the little wight 
 Fill'd me, unfatherly, with fright. 
 So grim it gazed, and out of the fky 
 There came, minute, remote, the cry.
 
 1 5 2 'Jane. 
 
 Piercing, of original pain. 
 I put the wonder back to Jane, 
 Who proffer'd, as in kindly courfe. 
 Untried amends for ftrange divorce. 
 It guefT'd at once, by great good luck, 
 The clever baby, how to fuck ! 
 Yet Jane's delight feem'd dafli'd, that I, 
 Of ftrangers ftill by nature fliy. 
 Was not familiar quite fo foon 
 With her fmall friend of many a moon. 
 But when the new-made Mother fmiled, 
 She feem'd herfelf a little child, 
 Dwelling at large beyond the law 
 By which, till then, I judged and faw, 
 And that fond glow which (lie felt ll:ir 
 For it, fuffufed my heart for her ; 
 To whom, from the weak babe, and thence 
 To mc, an influent innocence, 
 Happy, reparative of life. 
 Came, and flic was indeed my wife,
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 153 
 
 As there lovely with love fhe lay. 
 
 Brightly contented all the day 
 
 To hug her fleepy little boy 
 
 In the reciprocated joy 
 
 Of touch, the childifh fenfe of love. 
 
 Ever inquilitive to prove 
 
 Its ftrange pofTeffion, and to know 
 
 If the eyes' report be really fo. 
 
 She wants his name to be like mine. 
 But I demur, at twenty-nine. 
 To being call'd " Old Frederick." 
 Her father's, Richard, would be "Dick; " 
 So John has now been fix'd upon. 
 After her childlefs Uncle John, 
 Who owns the Grimlley Powder-Mill, 
 And, perhaps, may put him in his Will. 
 'Tis alfo fettled, fince the mind, 
 As Jane has heard, may be refined. 
 In babyhood, by fights that lull 
 The fenfes with the Beautiful,
 
 1 54 "Jane. 
 
 That John muft be refined at once. 
 No fault of ours if he 's a dunce ! 
 She covets, in the (hower-bath's place, 
 A marble image of a Grace, 
 Or, if that cofts too much, a caft ; 
 But we are both agreed, at laft, 
 'Twill do to pin a certain (hawl, 
 Too gay to wear, againfl: the wall, 
 And let him learn to kick and coo 
 At lovely ftripes of red and blue. 
 And, fince Nurfe fays that, now-a-days. 
 Boys learn, at fchool, fuch wicked ways, 
 Our John 's to be brought up at home. 
 Nor mufl: he take to fea, but fome 
 Lefs perilous and reftlefs life, 
 Which will not part him from his wife ; 
 The Law might give his talents play ! 
 It's clear he's clever from the way 
 He looks about, and frowns, and winks, 
 Which Hunvs that he obferves and thinks.
 
 VIII. 
 
 JANE TO MRS. GRAHAM.
 
 JANE TO MRS. GRAHAM. 
 
 TAEAR Mother, — fuch, if you'll al- 
 ^ low. 
 
 In /ovey not /aw, I '11 call you now, — 
 I hope you're well. I write to fay 
 Frederick has got, befides his pay, 
 A good appointment in the Docks ; 
 Alfo to thank you for the frocks 
 And fhoes for baby. I, D. v., 
 Shall wean him foon. Fred goes to fea 
 No more. I am fo glad ; becaufe. 
 Though kinder hufband never was. 
 He feems ftill kinder to become 
 The more he flays with me at home.
 
 158 7^'^^- 
 
 When we've been parted, I fee plain 
 He's dull till he gets ufed again 
 To marriage. Do not tell him, though; 
 I would not have him know I know, 
 For all the world. 
 
 How good of you 
 Not, as I 've heard fome mothers do, 
 To hate his wife ! I try to mind 
 All your advice ; but fometimes find 
 I do not well know how. I thought 
 To take it about drefs ; fo bought 
 A gay new bonnet, gown, and fliawl ; 
 But Frederick was not pleafed at all ; 
 For, though he fmiled, and faid, " How 
 
 fmart ! " 
 I feel, you know, what's in his heart. 
 But I (liall learn ! I fancied long 
 That care in drefs was very wrong, 
 Till Frederick, in his ftartling way 
 When I began to blame, one day,
 
 'Jane to Mrs. Graham. 159 
 
 The Admiral's wife, becaufe we hear 
 She fpends two hoi^rs, or fomething near, 
 In dreffing, took her part, and faid 
 How all things deck themfelves that wed ; 
 How birds and plants grow fine to pleafe 
 Each other in their marriages ; 
 And how (which certainly is true — 
 It never ftruck me — did it you ?) 
 Drefs was, at firft. Heaven's ordinance. 
 And has much Scripture countenance. 
 For Eliezer, we are told, 
 Adorn'd with jewels and with gold 
 Rebecca. In the Pfalms, again, 
 How the King's Daughter drelT'd ! And, 
 
 then, 
 The Good Wife in the Proverbs, (he 
 Made herfelf clothes of tapeftry. 
 Purple, and filk : and there's much more 
 I had not thought about before ! 
 It's ftrange how well Fred underllands
 
 1 60 'Jane. 
 
 A Book I don't fee in his hands 
 At all, except at Church. 
 
 Do you know. 
 Since Baby came, he loves me fo ! 
 I 'm really ufeful, now, to Fred ; 
 And none could do fo well inftead. 
 It's nice to fancy, if I died. 
 He'd mifs me from the Darling's fide ! 
 Alfo, there's fomething now, you fee. 
 On which we talk, and quite agree ; 
 On which, without pride too, I can 
 Hope I am wifer than a man. 
 I fhould be happy now, if quite 
 Convinced that Frederick was right 
 About religion ; but he's odd. 
 And very feldom fpeaks of God ; 
 And, though I truft his prayers are faid, 
 Becaufe he goes fo late to bed, 
 I doubt his calling. Glad to find 
 A text adapted to his mind.
 
 'Jajie to Mrs. Graham. i6i 
 
 I £how'd him Thirty-three and four 
 
 Of Chapter feven, firft of Cor., 
 
 Which feems to allow, in Man and Wife, 
 
 A little worldlinefs of life. 
 
 He fmiled, and faid that he knew all 
 
 Such things as that without Saint Paul ! 
 
 And once he faid, when I with pain 
 
 Had got him jufl to read Romaine, 
 
 " Men's creeds fhould not their hopes 
 
 condemn. 
 Who wait for heaven to come to them 
 Are little like to go to heaven, 
 If logic's not the devil's leaven ! " 
 I cried at fuch a wicked joke, 
 And he, furprifed, went out to fmoke. 
 
 But to judge him is not for me. 
 Who lin myfelf fo dreadfully 
 As half to doubt if I fhould care 
 To go to heaven, and he not there. 
 He muji be right ; and I dare fay 
 II
 
 1 6 2 'Jane. 
 
 I foon Ihall underftand his way. 
 To other things, once ftrange, I 've grown 
 Accultom'd, nay, to hke. I own 
 'T was long before I grew well ufed 
 To fit, while Frederick read or mufed 
 For hours, and fcarcely fpoke. When he. 
 For all that, held the door to me. 
 Picked up my handkerchief, and rofe 
 To fet my chair, with other (liovvs 
 Of honour, fuch as men, 't is true. 
 To fweethearts and tine ladies do. 
 It almoft feem'd an unkind jefl: ; 
 But now I like thefe ways the bell. 
 They fomehow help to make me good ; 
 And I don't mind his quiet mood. 
 If Frederick does feem dull awhile, 
 There \s Baby. You (liould fee him fmile! 
 I 'm pretty and nice to him, fweet Pet, 
 And he will learn no better yet ; 
 And when he 's big and wife, you know.
 
 'Jane to Mrs. Graham. 163 
 
 There'll be new babes to think me fo, 
 Indeed, now little Johnny makes 
 A bufier time of it, and takes 
 Our thoughts off one another more, 
 I 'm happy as need be, I 'm fure !
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 BOOK III. 
 RACH EL.
 
 I. 
 
 JANE TO MRS. GRAHAM.
 
 I
 
 JANE TO MRS. GRAHAM. 
 
 TAEAR Mrs. Graham, the fever's pafl, 
 ^^^ And we're all well. I, in my lafl, 
 Forgot to fay that, while \ was on, 
 A lady, call'd Honoria Vaughan, 
 One of Fred's Salifbury Coulins, came. 
 Had I, fhe afk'd me, heard her name ? 
 'T was that Honoria, no doubt. 
 Whom Fred would fometimes talk about 
 And fpeak to, when his nights were bad, 
 And io I told her that I had. 
 She look'd fo beautiful and kind ! 
 And fb much like the wife my mind 
 Was fond of picturing for Fred,
 
 1 70 Rachel. 
 
 Thofe wretched years we firft were wed, 
 Before I guelT'd, or ufe could prove, 
 The fort of things my hufband loved ; 
 And how juft living with me was. 
 In fome ftrange way, the dearefl: caufe 
 For liking, and, inftead of charms, 
 Was being accuftom'd to my arms ; 
 And even how my getting ill. 
 And nervous, crofs, and uglier ftill. 
 And bringing him all kinds of care, 
 AfFcd:ed him like growing fair ; 
 And how, by his brave fingers prelf'd. 
 The bliftcr, that would burn my breaft 
 And only make his own to fmart, 
 Drew the proud flefh from either's heart; 
 And fo, for all indignities 
 Of life in health and in difeafe. 
 His friendlinefs got more and more ! 
 
 Ot this great joy to make cjuite fure, 
 I aik'd once, (when he could not fee,)
 
 'Jane to Mrs. Graha?n. 171 
 
 Why fuch things made him fond of me ? 
 He kiff'd me and faid, the honour due 
 To the weaker velTel furely grew 
 With the vefTel's weaknefs ! 
 
 I'll go on. 
 However, about Mrs. Vaughan. 
 Viiiting, yefterday, fhe faid. 
 The Admiral's Wife, fhe learn'd that 
 
 Fred 
 Was very ill ; fhe begg'd to be. 
 If pofTible, of ufe to me. 
 What could fhe do ? Laft year, Fred's 
 
 Aunt 
 Died, leaving her, who had not a want. 
 Her fortune. Half was his, fhe thought ; 
 But Fred, fhe knew, would ne'er be 
 
 brought 
 To take his rights at fecond-hand ! 
 Yet fomething might, flie hoped, be 
 
 plann'd
 
 172 Rachel. 
 
 With me, which even Frederick, 
 
 As favour done to her, would Hke. 
 
 What did I think of putting John 
 
 To fchool and college ? Mr. Vaughan, 
 
 When John was old enough, could give 
 
 Preferment to her relative, 
 
 In Government or Church. I faid 
 
 I felt quite fure that deareft Fred 
 
 Would be fo thankful. Would we come, 
 
 And make ourfelves, then, quite at home. 
 
 Next month, at High-Hurft .? Change 
 
 of air 
 Both he and I fliould need, and there 
 At leifure we could talk, and fix 
 Our plans, as John was nearly fix. 
 
 It feemed fo rude to think and doubt, 
 So I faid. Yes. In going out. 
 She faid, " How odd of Frederick, Dear," 
 (I wifli'd he had been there to hear,) 
 " To fend no cards, or tell me what
 
 Jane to Mrs. Graham. 173 
 
 A nice new Coufin I had got ! 
 Was'nt that kind ? 
 
 When Fred grew ftrong, 
 I had, I found, done very wrong. 
 For the firft time, his voice and eye 
 Were angry. But, with folks fo high 
 As Fred and Mrs. Vaughan and you. 
 It 's hard to guefs what 's right to do ! 
 And he won't teach me. 
 
 Dear Fred wrote, 
 Direftly, fuch a lovely note. 
 Which, though it undid all I 'd done. 
 Was, both to me and Mrs. Vaughan, 
 So kind ! His words, I can't fay why, 
 Like foldiers' mufic, made me cry. 
 Do, Mother, afk dear Fred to go 
 Without me ! I can't leave, you know, 
 The babes. Belides, 't were folly ftark 
 For me to go to High-Hurft Park. 
 I 'm not fo awkward as I was ;
 
 1 74 Rachel. 
 
 But, all confufed, and juft bccaufe 
 By chance he call'd me "Love" to-day, 
 I made luch hafte out of his way 
 I overfet my chair ; whereat 
 Fred laugh'd, and on the fpitting cat 
 The fire-fcreen tumbled ; To I tried 
 Thefe rifks no more, and flood and cried, 
 And hid for Ihame my burning face. 
 To hear he liked "that kind of grace." 
 Fancy if fuch a thing was done 
 Where ladies move like Mrs. Vaughan ! 
 But deareft Fred Jhoitld, once a year, 
 Juft get a fight of his own fphere. 
 
 I
 
 II. 
 
 LADY CLITHEROE TO MARY CHURCHILL.
 
 LADY CLITHEROE TO MARY 
 CHURCHILL. 
 
 p\EAR Saint, I'm ftill at High-Hurft 
 
 ^ Park. 
 
 The houfe is fill'd with folks of" mark. 
 
 Honoria fuits a good eftate 
 
 Much better than I hoped. How fate 
 
 Pets her with happinefs and pride ! 
 
 And fuch a loving lord, belide ! 
 
 But, between us. Sweet, everything 
 
 Has limits, and to build a wing 
 
 To this old houfe, when Courtholm flands 
 
 Empty upon his Berkshire lands. 
 
 And all that Honor might be near 
 
 I 2
 
 178 Rachel. 
 
 Papa, was buying love too dear. 
 
 And yet, to fee mild Mrs. Vaughan 
 
 Shining on all (he looks upon. 
 
 You'd think that none could ftand more 
 
 high 
 Than others in her charity ; 
 And to behold her courtly lord 
 Converfe with her acrofs the board, 
 'T would feem that part of perfect life 
 Was not to covet one's own wife. 
 The hypocrites ! 
 
 Love, there are two 
 Guefts here, whofe names will ftartle 
 
 you, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Graham ! 
 I thouglit he ftay'd away for fliame. 
 He and his wife were afk'd, you know, 
 And would not come, four years ago. 
 You rccc)lle6t Mifs Smythe found out 
 Who Ihc had been, and all about
 
 Lady Clitheroe to Mary Churchill. 1 79 
 
 The Chaplain and the Powder-Mill, 
 And how the fine Aunt tried to inftil 
 Haut toHy and how, at laft, poor Jane 
 Had got fo fhy and gauche that, when 
 The Dockyard gentry came to fup, 
 She always had to be lock'd up ; 
 And fome one wrote to John and faid 
 Her mother was a Kitchen-Maid. 
 Dear Mary, you'll be charm'd to know 
 It muji be all a fib. But, oh, 
 She is the oddeft Httle Pet 
 On which my eyes were ever fet ! 
 She's fo outree and natural 
 That, when fhe firll arrived, we all 
 Wonder'd, as when a robin comes 
 In through the window to eat crumbs 
 At breakfaft with us. She has fenfe. 
 Humility, and confidence ; 
 And, fave in drefling jufl a thought 
 Gayer in colours than (he ought.
 
 i8o Rachel. 
 
 (To-day ilie looks a crofs between 
 Gypfy and Fairy, red and green,) 
 All that fhe does is fomehow well. 
 And yet one never quite can tell 
 What file 7)iight do or utter next. 
 Lord Clitheroe is much perplex'd ; 
 Her hulhand, every now and then. 
 Looks nervous ; all the other men 
 Are charm'd. Yet fhe has neither grace. 
 Nor one good feature in her face. 
 Her eyes, indeed, flame in her head. 
 Like very altar-fires to Fred, 
 Whofe ftep {he follows everywhere, 
 Like a tame duck, to the dcfpair 
 Of Colonel Holmes, who does his part 
 To break her funny little heart. 
 Honor's enchanted. 'T is her view 
 That people, if they 're good and true. 
 And treated well, and let alone. 
 Will kindly take to what's their own.
 
 Lady Clitheroe to Mary Churchill. 1 8 1 
 
 And always be original, 
 
 Like children. (Honor's juft like all 
 
 The reft of us ! But, thinking fo. 
 
 It's well fhe milT'd Lord Clitheroe, 
 
 Who hates originality. 
 
 Though he puts up with it in me !) 
 
 Poor Mrs. Graham has never been 
 To the Opera ! You fliould have feen 
 The innocent way fhe told the Earl 
 She thought Plays linful when a girl. 
 And now fhe never had a chance ! 
 Frederick's complacent fmile and glance 
 Towards her, fhow'd me, paft a doubt, 
 Honoria had been quite cut out. 
 It's very odd ; for Mrs. Graham, 
 Though Frederick's fancy none can 
 
 blame. 
 Seems the laji woman you 'd have thought 
 Her lover would have ever fought ! 
 She never reads, I find, nor goes
 
 1 8 2 Rachel. 
 
 Anywhere ; fo that I fuppofe 
 She came at all ihe ever knew 
 By lapping milk, as kittens do. 
 
 Talking of kittens, by the by, 
 You've much more influence than I 
 With dear Honoria. Get her. Dear, 
 To be a little more fevere 
 With thofe fweet children. They've the 
 
 run 
 Of all the houfe. When fchool was done, 
 Maude burft in, while the Earl was there. 
 With " O Mamma, do be a bear ! " 
 They come on with the fruit, and climb 
 In people's laps, and all the time 
 Eat, and we ladies have to rife. 
 Left Frank rtiould die of ftrawberries. 
 
 And there's another thing, my Love, 
 I wifli you'd fhow you don't approve, 
 (But perhaps you do !) Though all confefs 
 Her tad: is abfolute in drefs. 
 
 I
 
 Lady Clitheroe to Mary Churchill. 1 8 3 
 
 She does not get her things fo good 
 As, with her fortune now, fhe fhould. 
 I feel quite certain, between us. 
 She cheats her hufband, (fhe did thus 
 With dear Papa,) and has no end 
 Of pin-money, full half to fpend 
 On folks who think themfelves in this 
 Paid takers of her tolls to Blifs. 
 
 She has her faults, but I mufl fay- 
 She 's handfomer, in her quiet way, 
 Than ever ! This odd wife of Fred 
 Adores his old love in his ftead.
 
 I
 
 III. 
 
 JANE TO MRS. GRAHAM.
 
 JANE TO MRS. GRAHAM. 
 
 IV/T OTHER, at laft, we are really 
 
 come 
 To High-Hurft. Johnny ftays at home. 
 We fettled that it muft be fo, 
 For he has been to Aunt's, at Stowe, 
 And learn'd to leave his h's out ; 
 And people like the Vaughans, no doubt, 
 Would think this dreadful. I, at firft. 
 Half fear'd this vifit to the Hurft. 
 Fred muft, I knew, be fo diftrelf'd 
 By aught in me unlike the reft 
 Who come here. But I find the place 
 Delightful ; there's fuch eafe and grace
 
 1 88 RacheL 
 
 And kindnefs, and all fcem to be 
 
 On I'uch a high equality. 
 
 They have not got to think, you know, 
 
 How far to make the money go. 
 
 But Frederick fays it's lefs the expenfe " 
 
 Of money, than of found good fenfe, 
 
 Quicknefs to care what others feel, 
 
 And thoughts with nothing to conceal ; 
 
 Which I '11 teach Johnny. Mrs. Vaughan 
 
 Was waiting for us on the Lawn, 
 
 And kilf'd and call'd me ** Coufin." Fred 
 
 Neglefted his old friends, Ihe faid. 
 
 He laugh'd, and rcdden'd up at this. 
 
 She was, I think, a flame of his ; 
 
 But I 'm not jealous ! Luncheon done, 
 
 I left him, who had jull: begun 
 
 To talk about the chance of war. 
 
 With an old Lady, Lady Carr, — 
 
 A Countcfs, but I'm more afraid, 
 
 A great deal, of the Lady's maid, —
 
 'Jane to Mrs. Graha??i. 189 
 
 And went with Mrs. Vaughan to fee 
 The pid:ures, which appear'd to be 
 Of forts of horfes, boors, and cows 
 CairdWouvermans,and Cuyps,and Dows. 
 And, then, fhe took me up, to fhow 
 Her bedroom, where, long years ago, 
 A Queen flept. 'T is all tapeftries 
 Of Cupids, Gods, and GoddelTes ; 
 And black, carved oak. A curtain'd door 
 Leads, thence, into her bright boudoir. 
 Where even her hufband may but come 
 By favour. He, too, has his room, 
 Kept facred to his folitude. 
 Did I not think the plan was good ? 
 She afk'd me ; but J faid how fmall 
 Our houfe was, and that, after all. 
 Though Fred would never fay his prayers 
 At night, till I was fafe upftairs, 
 I thought it wrong to be fo fhy 
 Of being good when I was by.
 
 190 Rachel. 
 
 " Oh, you fliould humour him ! " ihe faid, 
 With her fweet voice and Imile ; and led 
 The way to where the children ate 
 Their dinner, and Mifs Williams fate. 
 She's only Nurfery-Governefs, 
 Yet they conlider her no lefs 
 Than Lord or Lady Carr, or me. 
 Juft think how happy flie mufl be ! 
 The Ball-Room, with its painted fky, 
 Where heavy angels feem to fly. 
 Is a dull place ; its lize and gloom 
 Make them prefer, for drawing-room, 
 The Library, all done up new 
 And comfortable, with a view 
 Of Salifbury Spire between the boughs. 
 When file had fliown me through the 
 houfe, 
 (I wifli I could have let her know 
 That Ilic herfelf was half the fhow, 
 She is {o handfome and i'o kind,)
 
 "Jane to Mrs. Graham. 191 
 
 She had the children down, who had 
 
 dined. 
 And, taking one in either hand, 
 Show'd me how all the grounds were 
 
 plann'd. 
 The lovely garden gently (lopes 
 To where a curious bridge of ropes 
 CrolTes the Avon to the Park. 
 We refted by the ftream, to mark 
 The brown backs of the hovering trout. 
 Frank tickled one, and took it out 
 From under a ftone. We faw his owls. 
 And awkward Cochin China fowls. 
 And fliaggy pony in the croft ; 
 And then he dragg'd us to a loft. 
 Where pigeons, as he pufli'd the door, 
 Fann'd clear a breadth of dufty floor. 
 And fet us coughing. I confefs 
 I trembled for my nice fllk drefs. 
 I cannot think how Mrs. Vaughan
 
 192 Rachel. 
 
 Ventured with that which flie had on, — 
 A mere white wrapper, with a few 
 Plain trimmings of a tranquil blue. 
 But, oh, fo pretty ! Then the bell 
 For dinner rang. I look'd quite well,. 
 ("Quite charming" were the words Fred 
 
 faid,) 
 In the new gown that I 've had made 
 At Salifbury. In the drawing-room 
 Was Mr. Vaughan, juft then come home. 
 I thought him rather cold, but find 
 That he's at heart extremely kind. 
 He's Captain of the Yeomanry, 
 And Magiftrate, and has to fee 
 About the paupers and the roads ; 
 And Fred fays he has written odes 
 On Mrs. Vaughan, to fend her praife. 
 Like Laura's, down to diftant days. 
 So Hie deferves ! What caufe there is, 
 I know not, though, for faying this. 
 
 I
 
 "Jane to Mrs. Graha??t. 193 
 
 But that fhe looks fo kind and young, 
 And every word's a little fong. 
 I am fo proud of Frederick, 
 He's fo high-bred and lordly-like 
 \\Jith Mrs. Vaughan ! He's not quite fo 
 At home with me ; but that, you know, 
 I can't expert, or wifh. 'T would hurt, 
 And feem to mock at my defert. 
 Not but that I 'm a duteous wife 
 To Fred ; but in another life. 
 Where all are fair that haye been true, 
 I hope I fhall be graceful too. 
 Like Mrs. Vaughan. And, now. Good- 
 bye. 
 That happy thought has made me cry. 
 
 13
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 IV 
 
 HONORIA VAUGHAN TO DR. CHURCHILL.
 
 HONORIA VAUGHAN TO DR. 
 CHURCHILL. 
 
 TA BAREST Papa, at lafl we are come, 
 ^'^ The tirefome feafon over, home ! 
 How honourable it feems to me ! 
 I am fick of town fociety. 
 The Opera, and the flatteries 
 Of cynic, difrefpeftful eyes ! 
 
 Frederick is here. Tell Mrs. Fife ; 
 Who adored him. He has brought his 
 
 wife. 
 She is fo nice ; but Felix goes 
 Next Sunday with her to the Clofe, 
 And you will judge her. She the firfl
 
 198 Rachel. 
 
 Has made me jealous, though the Hurft 
 Is lit fo oft with lovelinefs, 
 And, when in town, where I was lefs 
 Conftrain'd in choice, I always afk'd 
 The prettieft. Felix really bafk'd 
 Like Pufs in fire-fliine, when the room 
 Was all aflame with female bloom ; 
 And, fince I praifed and did not pout, 
 His little, lawlefs loves went out 
 With the laft brocade. 'T is not the 
 
 fame, 
 I find, with Mrs. Frederick Graham ! 
 I muft not have her flopping here 
 More than a fortnight once a year. 
 My hufband fays he never faw 
 Such proof of what he holds for law, 
 That beauty is love which can be feen. 
 Whatever he by this may mean. 
 Were it not fearful if he fell 
 In love with her on principle ! 
 
 I
 
 Honor ia Vaughan to Dr. Churchill. 1 99 
 
 Felix has fpoken only twice : 
 Once on Savoy, and once on this 
 Shameful Reform Bill ; and on each 
 He made a moft fuccefsful fpeech ; 
 And both times I, of courfe, was there 
 And heard him cheer'd. But, (how un- 
 fair !) 
 Whenever, wifhing to explain 
 His meaning, he got up again. 
 They call'd out "Order," and " Oh, oh !" 
 He abufed the Newfpapers, and io 
 The "Times" left out the cries of "Hear." 
 The very Oppofition cheer 
 Dear Felix ; and at what he faid 
 The Arch-Radical turn'd white and red. 
 I faw him with my opera-glafs. 
 Yet they allow'd the law to pafs 
 The fecond reading. Should this cheat 
 Succeed next fpring, we lofe our feat ! 
 Nor fhall I grieve. The wifeft fay
 
 200 Rachel. 
 
 There's near at hand an evil day; 
 
 And, though, if FeUx chofe to ftir, m 
 
 I am fure he might be Minifter, 
 
 I tell him, they ferve England moft 
 
 Who keep, at whatfoever cofi:. 
 
 Their honour ; and, when bell: and firft m 
 
 Have flung their ftrength to laft and worft, 
 
 And ruling means, from hour to hour 
 
 Cajoling thofe who have the power, 
 
 A gentleman fliould flay at home, 
 
 And let his rulers fometimes come 
 
 And bluHi at his high privacy. 
 
 Felix, I know, agrees with me. 
 
 Although he calls me, " Fierce white cat ! " 
 
 And fays, 't is not yet come to that. 
 
 Yefterday, he and I fell out ; 
 Can you believe it ? 'T was about 
 The cofl: at which he fays I drelT'd | 
 
 Lafl: fcafon. / came off the bcfl ; 
 And you, Papa, by both Ihuul talk'd
 
 Honor ia Vaughan to Dr. Churchill. 201 
 
 Inftead, as you fhall learn : I afk'd. 
 Would he, at one houfe, think it nice 
 To fee me in the fame drefs twice ? 
 Of courfe he kiff'd me, and faid, " No ! " 
 And then I proved, he made me go 
 To Lady Lidderdale's three fetes 
 And both her dances ! Magijlrates 
 Ought to know better than to try 
 A charge difmiff'd ; and he and I 
 Had talk'd this over once before ! 
 Forgiv'n, he vow'd to offend no more. 
 But, oh, he actually fays 
 Tou caution'd him againjft my ways : 
 We both are fhock'd Papa could be 
 So cruel and unfatherly !
 
 1
 
 y. 
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER.
 
 f
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 /^OULD any, whilft there's any woe, 
 Be wholly bleft, the Vaughans 
 were fo ! 
 Each is, and is aware of it, 
 The other's endlefs benefit ; 
 But, though their daily ways reveal 
 The depth of private joy they feel, 
 'T is not their bearing each to each 
 That does abroad their fecret preach. 
 But fuch a lovely good-intent 
 To all within their government 
 And friendfliip, as, 't is well difcern'd. 
 Each of the other mufl have learn'd ;
 
 2o6 Rachel. 
 
 For no mere faith of neighbourhood 
 Ever begot fo fair a mood. 
 
 Honoria, made more dove-like mild 
 With added loves of lord and child. 
 Is elfe unalter'd. Years, that wrong 
 The reft, touch not her beauty, young 
 With youth that feems her natal 
 
 clime. 
 And no way relative to time. 
 All in her prefence generous grow. 
 As in the funihine flowers blow ; 
 As colours, each fuperb to fight, 
 When all combined are only light. 
 Her many noble virtues mifs 
 Proud virtue's blazon, and are blifs ; 
 The ftandards of the depth are furl'd ; 
 The powers and pleafures of the 
 
 world 
 Pay tribute ; and her days are all 
 So high, pure, fweet, and practical,
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 207 
 
 She almoft feems to have, at home, 
 What's promifed of the life to come. 
 
 And fair, in fad:, fhould be the few 
 God dowers with nothing elfe to do ; 
 And Hberal of their Ught, and free 
 To fhow themfelves, that all may fee ! 
 For alms let poor men poorly give 
 The meat whereby men's bodies live ; 
 But they of wealth are ftewards wife 
 Whofe graces are their charities. 
 
 The funny charm about this home 
 Makes all to fhine who thither come. 
 My own dear Jane has caught its grace. 
 And does an honour to the place. 
 Acrofs the lawn I lately walk'd 
 Alone, and watch'd where moved and 
 
 talk'd. 
 Gentle and goddefs-like of air, 
 Honoria and fome ftranger fair. 
 I chofe a path away from thefe ;
 
 2o8 Rachel. 
 
 When one of the two GoddefTes, 
 With my wife's voice, but fofter, faid, 
 " Will you not walk with us, dear 
 Fred ? " 
 She moves, indeed, the model!: peer 
 Of all the proudeft ladies here. 
 'T is wonderful flie fliould not be 
 Put out by fuch fine company. 
 We daily dine with men who ftand 
 Among the leaders of the land. 
 And women beautiful and wife. 
 With England's greatnefs in their eyes. 
 To high, traditional good-fenfe. 
 And knowledge vafl: without pretence. 
 And human truth cxacftly hit 
 By quiet and conclufive wit, 
 Liftens my little, homely dove, 
 Miftakes the points, and laughs for love. 
 You (liould have (co^n the vain delight, 
 After we went upftairs laft night.
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 209 
 
 With which ihe flood and comb'd her 
 
 hair. 
 And call'd me much the wittieft there ! 
 
 With recklefs loyalty, dear Wife, 
 She lays herfelf about my life ! 
 The joy I might have had of yore 
 I have not ; for 't is now no more. 
 With me, the lyric time of youth. 
 And glad fenfation of the truth ; 
 Yet, beyond hope or purpofe bleft. 
 In my rafh choice, let be confefT'd 
 The tenderer Providence that rules 
 The fates of children and of fools ! 
 
 I kilT'd the kind, warm neck that flept. 
 And from her fide this morning ftepp'd. 
 To bathe my brain from drowfy night 
 In the fharp air and golden light. 
 The dew, like froft, was on the pane. 
 The year begins, though fair, to wane. 
 There is a fragrance in its breath 
 14
 
 21 o Rachel. 
 
 Which is not of the flowers, but death. 
 And green above the ground appear 
 The Hlies of another year. 
 I wandered forth, and took my path 
 Among the bloomlefs aftermath ; 
 And heard the fteadfafi: robin fmg. 
 As if his own warm heart were fpring. 
 And watch'd him feed where, on the yew. 
 Hung fugar'd drops of crimfon dew ; 
 And then return'd, by walls of peach 
 And pear-trees bending to my reach. 
 And rofe-buds with the rofes gone. 
 To bright-laid breakfaft. Mrs. Vaughan 
 Was there, none with her. I confefs 
 I love her rather more than lefs ! 
 But rtie alone was loved of old ; 
 Now love is twain, nay, manifold ; 
 For, fomehow, he whofe daily life 
 Adjufts itfelf to one true wife. 
 Grows to a nuptial, near degree
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 2 1 1 
 
 With all that's fair and womanly. 
 Therefore, as more than friends, we met 
 Without confhraint, without regret ; 
 The wedded yoke that each had donn'd 
 Seeming a fand;ion, not a bond.
 
 VI. 
 
 ' MRS. GRAHAM TO FREDERICK.
 
 MRS. GRAHAM TO FREDERICK. 
 
 \ MAN'S tafkmafters are enough ! 
 
 Add not yourfelf to the hoft 
 thereof. 
 This did you ever from the iirft. 
 As now, in venturing to the Hurft. 
 You won, my child, from weak furprife, 
 A vigour to be doubly wife 
 In wedlock' : with fuccefs, then, ceafe, 
 Nor rifk the triumph and the peace. 
 'T is not pure faith that hazards even 
 The adulterous hope of change in heaven. 
 
 Your love lacks joy, your letter fays. 
 Yes ; love requires the focal fpace
 
 2 1 6 Rachel, 
 
 Of recolled:ion, or of hope, 
 
 Ere it can meafure its own fcope. 
 
 Too ioon, too foon, comes Death to 
 
 fliow 
 We love more deeply than we know ! 
 The rain, that fell upon the height 
 Too gently to be call'd delight, 
 Within the dark vale reappears. 
 As a wild catarad: of tears ; 
 And love in life fliould try to fee 
 Sometimes what love in death would be ! 
 (Ealier to love, we fo fliould find, 
 It is, than to be jull: and kind !) 
 
 She's cold. Put to the coffin-lid. 
 What diftance for another did. 
 That death has done for her ! The good, 
 Once gazed upon with heedlefs mood. 
 Now fills with tears the familli'd eye. 
 And turns all clfe to vanity. 
 'T is fad to fee, with death between.
 
 Mrs. Graham to Frederick. 217 
 
 The good we have palT'd, and have not 
 
 feen ! 
 How ftrong appear the words of all ! 
 The looks of thofe that live appall. 
 They are the ghofts, and check the breath ; 
 There's no reality but death. 
 And hunger for fome fignal given 
 That we fhall have our own in heaven ! 
 But this the God of love lets be 
 A horrible uncertainty. 
 
 How great her fmalleft virtue feems. 
 How fmall her greateft fault ! Ill dreams 
 Were thofe that foil'd with loftier grace 
 The homely kindnefs of her face. 
 'T was here fhe fat and work'd, and there 
 She comb'd and kilT'd the children's hair; 
 Or, with one baby at her breall. 
 Another taught, or hufli'd to reft. 
 Praife does the heart no more refufe 
 To the divinity of ufe.
 
 2 1 8 Rachel. 
 
 Her humbleft good is hence moft high 
 In the heavens of fond memory ; 
 And love fays Amen to the word, 
 A prudent wife is from the Lord. 
 Her worft gown 's kept, ('t is now the heft, 
 And that in which flie ofteneft dreiT'd,) 
 For memory's fake more precious grown 
 Than flie herfelf was for her own. 
 Poor wife ! fooHfli it feem'd to fly 
 To fobs inflead of dignity, 
 When file was hurt. Now, more than all, 
 Heart-rending and angelical 
 That ignorance of what to do, 
 Bewilder'd ftill by wrong from you. 
 (For what man ever yet had grace 
 Ne'er to abufe his power and place ?) 
 
 No magic of her voice or fmile 
 Raifed in a trice a fairy ifle. 
 But fondnefs for her underwent 
 An unregarded increment.
 
 Mrs. Graham to Frederick. 2.i(^ 
 
 Like that which lifts, through centuries, 
 The coral reef within the feas. 
 Till, lo ! the land where was the wave. 
 Alas ! 't is everywhere her grave.
 
 I
 
 VII 
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER.
 
 FREDERICK TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 \ T Jane's defire, left High-Hurft 
 ^^ Park 
 
 Should make our cottage cold and dark, 
 After three weeks we came away 
 To fpend at home our Wedding-Day. 
 Twelve wedding-days gone by, and none 
 Yet kept, to keep them all in one, 
 She and myfelf, (with John and Grace 
 On donkeys,) vifited the place 
 I firft drew breath in, Knatchley Wood. 
 Bearing the baiket, ftuff'd with food. 
 Milk, loaves, hard eggs, and marmalade, 
 I halted where the wandering glade
 
 224 Rachel. 
 
 Divides the thicket. There I knew, 
 It feem'd, the very drops of dew 
 Below the unalter'd eglantine. 
 Nothing had changed fince I was nine ! 
 
 In the green defert, down to eat 
 We fat, our ruftic grace at meat 
 Good appetite, through that long climb 
 Hungry two hours before the time. 
 And there Jane took her ftitching out. 
 And John for birds' nefts look'd about, 
 And Grace and Baby, in between 
 The warm blades of the breathing green. 
 Dodged grafshoppers ; and I no lefs, 
 In confcientious idlenefs, 
 Enjoy'd myfelf, under the noon 
 Stretch'd, and the founds and fights of June 
 Receiving, with a drowfy charm. 
 Through muffled ear and folded arm. 
 
 And then, as if I fweetly dream'd, 
 I half remember'd how it feem'd
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 225 
 
 When I, too, was a little child 
 
 About the wild wood roving wild. 
 
 Pure breezes from the far-off height 
 
 Melted the blindnefs from my fight, 
 
 Until, with rapture, grief, and awe, 
 
 I faw again as then I faw. 
 
 As then I faw, I faw again 
 
 The harveft wagon in the lane, 
 
 With high-hung tokens of its pride 
 
 Left in the elms on either fide ; 
 
 The daifies coming out at dawn 
 
 In conftellations on the lawn ; 
 
 The glory of the daffodil ; 
 
 The three black windmills on the hill, 
 
 Whofe magic arms, flung wildly by. 
 
 Sent magic fhadows paft the rye. 
 
 Within the leafy coppice, lo. 
 
 More wealth than mifers' dreams could 
 
 fhow. 
 The blackbird's warm and woolly brood, 
 15
 
 2 26 Rachel. 
 
 Five golden beaks agape for food ; 
 The Gypfies, all the fummer feen 
 Native as poppies to the Green ; 
 The winter, with its frofts and thaws 
 And opulence of hips and haws ; 
 The lovely marvel of the fnow ; 
 The Tamar, with its altering fliow 
 Of gay fliips failing up and down, 
 Among the fields and by the Town. 
 And, dearer fir than anything, 
 Came back the fongs you ufed to fing. 
 (Ah, might you fing fuch fongs again. 
 And I, your child, but hear as then. 
 With confcious profit of the gulf 
 Flown over from my prefent felf !) 
 And, as to men's retreating eyes. 
 Beyond higli mountains higher rife. 
 Still farther back there llione to me 
 The dazzling dulk of infancy. 
 Thither I look'd, as, fick of night.
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 227 
 
 The Alpine fhepherd looks to the height. 
 And does not fee the day, 't is true. 
 But fees the rofy tops that do. 
 
 Meantime Jane ftitch'd, and fann'd 
 the flies 
 From my repofe, with hufli'd replies 
 To Grace, and fmiles when Baby fell. 
 Her countenance love viiible 
 Appear'd, love audible her voice. 
 Why in the paft alone rejoice, 
 Whilft here was wealth before me caft 
 Which, as you fay, if 't were but pafl 
 Were then moft precious ! Queftion vain 
 When afk'd again and yet again, 
 Year after year ; yet now, for no 
 Caufe, but that heaven's bright winds 
 
 will blow 
 Not at our beck, but as they lift, 
 It brought that diftant, golden mift 
 To grace the hour, firing the deep
 
 228 Rachel. 
 
 Of fpirit and the drowfy keep 
 Of joy, till, fpreading uncontain'd, 
 The holy power of feeing gain'd 
 The outward eye, this owning even, 
 That where there's love and truth there's 
 heaven. 
 
 Debtor to few, far-feparate hours 
 Like this, that truths for me are powers, 
 (Ah, happy hours, 't is fomething yet 
 Not to forget that I forget !) 
 I know their worth, and this, the chief, 
 I count not vain becaufe 't was brief. 
 
 And now a cloud, bright, huge, and 
 calm, 
 Rofe, doubtful if for bale or balm ; 
 O'ertoppling crags, portentous towers 
 Appear'd at beck of viewlefs powers 
 Along a rifted mountain range. 
 Untraceable and fwift in change, 
 Thofe glittering peaks, difrupted, fpread
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 229 
 
 To folemn bulks, feen overhead ; 
 
 The funfhine quench'd, from one dark 
 
 form 
 Fumed the appaUing Hght of ftorm. 
 Straight to the zenith, black with bale. 
 The Gypfies' fmoke rofe deadly pale ; 
 And one wide night of hopelefs hue 
 Hid from the heart the recent blue. 
 And foon, with thunder crackling loud, 
 A flafh within the formlefs cloud 
 Show'd vague recefs, projection dim. 
 Lone failing rack, and fhadowy rim. 
 
 We flood fafe group'd beneath a (hed. 
 Grace hid behind Jane's gown for dread. 
 Who told her, fondling with her hair, 
 " The naughty thunder, God took care 
 It fhould not hurt good little girls." 
 At this Grace re-arranged her curls ; 
 But John, difputing, feem'd to me 
 Too much for Jane's theology,
 
 230 Rachel. 
 
 Who bade him watch the tempeft. Now 
 A blaft made all the woodland bow ; 
 Againft the whirl of leaves and duft 
 Kine dropp'd their heads ; the tortured 
 
 guft 
 Jagg'd and convulfed the afcending fmoke 
 To mockery of the lightning's ftroke. 
 The blood prick'd, and a blinding flafli 
 And clofe, co-inftantaneous crafli 
 Humbled the foul, and the rain all round 
 Refilient dimm'd the whirling ground, 
 Nor flagg'd in force from firft to laft. 
 Till, fudden as it came, 't was paft. 
 Leaving a trouble in the copfe 
 Of brawling birds and tinkling drops. 
 Change beyond hope ! Far thunder 
 
 faint 
 Mutter'd its vaft and vain complaint, 
 And gaps and fra(5tures fringed with light 
 Show'd the fwcet fkies, with fquadrons 
 
 bright
 
 Frederick to his Mother. 231 
 
 Of cloudlets glittering calm and fair 
 Through gulfs of calm and glittering air. 
 
 With this adventure, we return'd. 
 The roads the feet no longer burn'd. 
 A wholefome frhell of rainy earth 
 Refrefh'd our fpirits, tired of mirth. 
 The donkey-boy drew friendly near 
 My wife, and, touch'd by the kind cheer 
 Her countenance fhow'd, or footh'd per- 
 chance 
 By the foft evening's fad advance. 
 As we were, ftroked the flanks and head 
 Of the afs, and, fomewhat thick-voiced, 
 
 faid, 
 " To 'ave to wop the donkeys fo 
 'Ardens the 'art, but they won't go 
 Without ! " My wife, by this imprefl"'d. 
 As men judge poets by their beft. 
 When now we reach'd the welcome door. 
 Gave him his hire, and lixpence more.
 
 VIII. 
 
 JANE TO MRS. GRAHAM.
 
 JANE TO MRS. GRAHAM. 
 
 T^EAR Mother, I juft write to fay 
 ^"^ We 've pafT'd a moft delightful day. 
 As, no doubt, you have heard from Fred. 
 (Once, you may recoiled:, you faid, 
 True friendship neither doubts nor doats, 
 And does not read each other's notes ; 
 And fo we never do !) I'll mifs. 
 For Fred's impatient, all but this : 
 We fpent — the children, he, and I — 
 Our wedding anniverfary 
 In the woods, where, while I tried to keep 
 The flies off, fo that he might lleep. 
 He adlually kifT'd my foot, —
 
 236 Rachel. 
 
 At lealt, the beautiful French boot, 
 
 Your gift, — and, laughing with no caufe 
 
 But pleafure, faid I really was 
 
 The very niceft little wife ; 
 
 And that he prized me more than life. 
 
 When Fred once fays a thing, you know. 
 
 You feel fo lure it muft be fo. 
 
 It's almoft dreadful ! Then on love. 
 
 And marriage, and the world above, 
 
 We talk'd ; for, though we feldom name 
 
 Religion, both now think the fame. 
 
 O Mother, what a bar's removed 
 
 To loving and to being loved ! 
 
 For no agreement really is 
 
 In anything when none's in this. 
 
 Why, once, if dear, dear Frederick prefT'd 
 
 His wife againft his hearty breaft, 
 
 The interior difference feem'd to tear 
 
 My own, until I could not bear 
 
 The trouble. Oh ! that dreadful ftrife,
 
 'Jane to Mrs. Graham. 237 
 
 It ihow'd indeed that faith is life. 
 Fred never felt this. If he did, 
 I 'm fure it could not have been hid ; 
 For wives, I need not fay to you. 
 Can feel juft what their hufbands do. 
 Without a word or look. But then 
 It is not fo, you know, with men. 
 
 And now I '11 tell you how he talk'd. 
 While in the Wood we fat or walk'd. 
 He told me that " The Sadducees 
 Inquired not of true marriages 
 When they provoked that dark reply. 
 Which now cofts love fo many a figh. 
 In vain would Chrijfl have taught fuch 
 
 clods 
 That Casfar's things are alfo God's ! " 
 I can't quite think that happy thought. 
 It feems fo novel, does it not ? 
 Fred only means to fay, you know, 
 It may, for aught we are told, be fo.
 
 238 Rachel. 
 
 He thinks that joy is never higher 
 Than when love worfliips its defire 
 Far off. His words were : "After all, 
 Hope's mere reverfal may befall 
 The partners of His glories who 
 Daily is crucified anew : 
 Splendid privations, martyrdoms 
 To which no weak remilTion comes. 
 Perpetual paiTion for the good 
 Of them that feel no gratitude. 
 Far circlings, as of planets' fires. 
 Round never to be reach'd defires. 
 Whatever rapturoufly fighs 
 That life is love, love facrifice." 
 And then, as if he fpoke aloud 
 To fome one looking from a cloud, 
 " All I am fure of heaven is this, 
 Howe'er the mode, I fliall not mifs 
 One true delight which I have known. 
 Not on the changeful earth alone
 
 yane to Mrs. Graham. 239 
 
 Shall loyalty remain unmoved 
 T'wards everything I ever loved. 
 So Heaven's voice calls, like Rachel's voice 
 To Jacob in the field, * Rejoice ! 
 Serve on fome feven more fordid years, 
 Too fhort for wearinefs or tears ; 
 Serve on ; then, O Beloved, well-tried, 
 Take me forever for thy bride ! ' " 
 
 You fee, though Frederick fometimes 
 {hocks 
 One's old ideas, he's orthodox. 
 Was it not kind to talk to me 
 So really confidentially ? 
 
 Soon filent, as before, he lay. 
 But I felt giddy all the day. 
 And now my head aches ; fo farewell ! 
 
 Pojifcript. — I 've one thing more to 
 tell: 
 Fred 's teaching Johnny algebra ! 
 The rogue already treats mamma
 
 240 Rachel. 
 
 As if he thought her, In his mind. 
 Rather filly, but very kind. 
 Is not that nice ? It 's fo like Fred ! 
 Good-bye ! for I 'ni to go to bed, 
 Becaufe I 'm tired, or ought to be. 
 That's Frederick's way of late. You fee 
 He really loves me after all. 
 He's growing quite tyrannical ! 
 
 I 
 
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