The creature married - of his falsehood proud!
False, did I say? - at least no whining fool;
And thus will hopeless passions ever cool:
But shall his bride your single state reproach?
No! give him crowd for crowd, and coach for coach.
Oh! you retire; reflect then, gentle miss,
And gain some spirit in a cause like this.”
Some spirit Lucy gain’d; a steady soul,
Defying all persuasion, all control:
In vain reproach, derision, threats were tried;
The constant mind all outward force defied,
By vengeance vainly urged, in vain assail’d by pride;
Fix’d in her purpose, perfect in her part,
She felt the courage of a wounded heart;
The world receded from her rising view,
When heaven approach’d as earthly things withdrew;
Not strange before, for in the days of love,
Joy, hope, and pleasure, she had thoughts above,
Pious when most of worldly prospects fond,
When they best pleased her she could look beyond;
Had the young priest a faithful lover died,
Something had been her bosom to divide;
Now heaven had all, for in her holiest views
She saw the matron whom she fear’d to lose;
While from her parent, the dejected maid
Forced the unpleasant thought, or thinking pray’d.
Surprised, the mother saw the languid frame,
And felt indignant, yet forbore to blame;
Once with a frown she cried, “And do you mean
To die of love - the folly of fifteen?”
But as her anger met with no reply,
She let the gentle girl in quiet die;
And to her sister wrote, impell’d by pain,
“Come quickly, Martha, or you come in vain.”
Lucy meantime profess’d with joy sincere,
That nothing held, employ’d, engaged her here.
“I am an humble actor, doom’d to play
A part obscure, and then to glide away:
Incurious how the great or happy shine,
Or who have parts obscure and sad as mine;
In its best prospect I but wish’d for life,
To be th’ assiduous, gentle, useful wife;
That lost, with wearied mind, and spirit poor,
I drop my efforts, and can act no more;
With growing joy I feel my spirits tend
To that last scene where all my duties end.”
Hope, ease, delight, the thoughts of dying gave,
Till Lucy spoke with fondness of the grave;
She smiled with wasted form, but spirit firm,
And said, “She left but little for the worm:”
As toll’d the bell, “There’s one,” she said, “hath press’d
Awhile before me to the bed of rest:”
And she beside her with attention spread
The decorations of the maiden dead.
While quickly thus the mortal part declin’d,
The happiest visions fill’d the active mind;
A soft, religious melancholy gain’d
Entire possession, and for ever reign’d:
On Holy Writ her mind reposing dwelt,
She saw the wonders, she the mercies felt;
Till, in a bless’d and glorious reverie,
She seem’d the Saviour as on earth to see,
And, fill’d with love divine, th’ attending friend to be;
Or she who trembling, yet confiding, stole
Near to the garment, touch’d it, and was whole;
When, such the intenseness of the working thought,
On her it seem’d the very deed was wrought;
She the glad patient’s fear and rapture found,
The holy transport, and the healing wound;
This was so fix’d, so grafted in the heart,
That she adopted, nay became the part:
But one chief scene was present to her sight,
Her Saviour resting in the tomb by night;
Her fever rose, and still her wedded mind
Was to that scene, that hallow’d cave, confin’d -
Where in the shade of death the body laid,
There watch’d the spirit of the wandering maid;
Her looks were fix’d, entranced, illumed, serene,
In the still glory of the midnight scene:
There at her Saviour’s feet, in visions bless’d,
Th’ enraptured maid a sacred joy possess’d;
In patience waiting for the first-born ray
Of that all-glorious and triumphant day:
To this idea all her soul she gave,
Her mind reposing by the sacred grave;
Then sleep would seal the eye, the vision close,
And steep the solemn thoughts in brief repose.
Then grew the soul serene, and all its powers
Again restored, illumed the dying hours;
But reason dwelt where fancy stray’d before,
And the mind wander’d from its views no more;
Till death approach’d, when every look express’d
A sense of bliss, till every sense had rest.
The mother lives, and has enough to buy
The attentive ear and the submissive eye
Of abject natures - these are daily told,
How triumph’d beauty in the days of old;
How, by her window seated, crowds have cast
Admiring glances, wondering as they pass’d;
How from her carriage as she stepp’d to pray,
Divided ranks would humbly make her way;
And how each voice in the astonish’d throng
Pronounced her peerless as she moved along.
Her picture then the greedy Dame displays;
Touch’d by no shame, she now demands its praise;
In her tall mirror then she shows a face,
Still coldly fair with unaffecting grace;
These she compares: “It has the form,” she cries,
“But wants the air, the spirit, and the eyes;
This, as a likeness, is correct and true,
But there alone the living grace we view.”
This said, th’ applauding voice the Dame requir’d,
And, gazing, slowly from the glass retired.
TALE IX.
ARABELLA.
Thrice blessed they that master so their blood -
But earthly happier is the rose distill’d,
Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.
SHAKESPEARE, Midsummer Night’s Dream.
I something do excuse the thing I hate,
For his advantage whom I dearly love.
Measure for Measure.
Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu!
Much Ado about Nothing.
--------------------------
Of a fair town where Doctor Rack was guide,
His only daughter was the boast and pride -
Wise Arabella, yet not wise alone,
She like a bright and polish’d brilliant shone;
Her father own’d her for his prop and stay,
Able to guide, yet willing to obey;
Pleased with her learning while discourse could please,
And with her love in languor and disease:
To every mother were her virtues known,
And to their daughters as a pattern shown;
Who in her youth had all that age requires,
And with her prudence all that youth admires:
These odious praises made the damsels try
Not to obtain such merits, but deny;
For, whatsoever wise mammas might say,
To guide a daughter, this was not the way;
From such applause disdain and anger rise,
And envy lives where emulation dies.
In all his strength contends the noble horse
With one who just precedes him on the course,
But when the rival flies too far before,
His spirit fails, and he attempts no more.
This reasoning Maid, above her sex’s dread,
Had dared to read, and dared to say she read;
Not the last novel, not the new-born play;
Not the mere trash and scandal of the day;
But (though her young companions felt the shock)
She studied Berkeley, Bacon, Hobbes and Locke:
Her mind within the maze of history dwelt,
And of the moral Muse the beauty felt;
The merits of the Roman page she knew,
And could converse with More and Montague:
Thus she became the wonder of the town,
From that she reap’d, to that she gave renown;
And strangers coming, all were taught t’admire
The learned lady, and the lofty spire.
Thus fame in public fix’d the Maid where all
Might throw their darts, and see the idol fall:
A hundred arrows came with vengeance keen,
From tongues envenom’d, and from arms unseen;
A thousand eyes were fix’d upon the place,
That, if she fell, she might not fly disgrace:
But malice vainly throws the poison’d dart,
Unless our frailty shows the peccant part;
And Arabella still preserved her name
Untouch’d, and shone with undisputed fame;
Her very notice some respect would cause,
And her esteem was honour and applause.
Men she avoided; not in childish fear,
As if she thought some savage foe was near;
Not as a prude, who hides that man should seek,
Or who by silence hints that they should speak;
But with discretion all the sex she view’d,
Ere yet engaged pursuing or pursued;
Ere love had made her to his vices blind,
Or hid the favourite’s failings from her mind.
Thus was the picture of the man portray’d,
By merit destined for so rare a maid;
At whose request she might exchange her state,
Or still be happy in a virgin’s fate: -
He must be one with manners like her own,
His life unquestion’d, his opinions known;
His stainless virtue must all tests endure,
His honour spotless, and his bosom pure;
She no allowance made for sex or times,
Of lax opinion - crimes were ever crimes;
No wretch forsaken must his frailty curse,
No spurious offspring drain his private purse;
He at all times his passions must command,
And yet possess - or be refused her hand.
All this without reserve the maiden told,
And some began to weigh the rector’s gold;
To ask what sum a prudent man might gain,
Who had such store of virtues to maintain?
A Doctor Campbell, north of Tweed, came forth,
Declared his passion, and proclaim’d his worth;
Not unapproved, for he had much to say
On every cause, and in a pleasant way;
Not all his trust was in a pliant tongue,
His form was good, and ruddy he, and young:
But though the doctor was a man of parts,
He read not deeply male or female hearts;
But judged that all whom he esteem’d as wise
Must think alike, though some assumed disguise;
That every reasoning Brahmin, Christian, Jew,
Of all religions took their liberal view;
And of her own, no doubt, this learned Maid
Denied the substance, and the forms obey’d:
And thus persuaded, he his thoughts express’d
Of her opinions, and his own profess’d:
“All states demand this aid, the vulgar need
Their priests and prayers, their sermons and their creed;
And those of stronger minds should never speak
(In his opinion) what might hurt the weak:
A man may smile, but still he should attend
His hour at church, and be the Church’s friend,
What there he thinks conceal, and what he hears commend.”
Frank was the speech, but heard with high disdain,
Nor had the doctor leave to speak again;
A man who own’d, nay gloried in deceit,
“He might despise her, but he should not cheat.”
The Vicar Holmes appear’d: he heard it said
That ancient men best pleased the prudent maid;
And true it was her ancient friends she loved,
Servants when old she favour’d and approved;
Age in her pious parents she revered,
And neighbours were by length of days endear’d;
But, if her husband too must ancient be,
The good old vicar found it was not he.
On Captain Bligh her mind in balance hung -
Though valiant, modest; and reserved, though young:
Against these merits must defects be set -
Though poor, imprudent; and though proud, in debt:
In vain the captain close attention paid;
She found him wanting, whom she fairly weigh’d.
Then came a youth, and all their friends agreed
That Edward Huntly was the man indeed;
Respectful duty he had paid awhile,
Then ask’d her hand, and had a gracious smile:
A lover now declared, he led the fair
To woods and fields, to visits, and to pray’r;
Then whisper’d softly - “Will you name the day?”
She softly whisper’d - “If you love me, stay.”
“Oh! try me not beyond my strength,” he cried:
“Oh! be not weak,” the prudent Maid replied;
“But by some trial your affection prove -
Respect, and not impatience, argues love:
And love no more is by impatience known,
Than ocean’s depth is by its tempests shown:
He whom a weak and fond impatience sways,
But for himself with all his fervour prays,
And not the maid he woos, but his own will obeys;