After the modest spell of prayer, That saves the day from sin and care, And the upward eye a void descries, And praises are hypocrisies, And in the soul o'erstrained for grace, A godless anguish grows apace; Or, if impartial charity
Seems, in the act, a sordid lie, Do not infer you cannot please God, or that he his promises Postpones, but be content to love No more than he accounts enough. Every ambition bears a curse,
And none, if height metes error, worse Than his who sets his hope on more Godliness than God made him for. Account them poor enough who want Any good thing which you can grant; And fathom well the depths of life In loves of husband and of wife, Child, mother, father; simple keys To all the Christian mysteries.
"THAT NOTHING HERE MAY WANT ITS PRAISE, KNOW SHE WHO BY HER DRESS REVEALS
The love of marriage claims, above Each other kind, the name of love, As being, though not so saintly high As what seeks heaven with single eye, Sole perfect. Equal and entire, Therein benevolence, desire,
Elsewhere ill-joined, or found apart, Become the pulses of one heart, Which now contracts and now dilates, And, each to the height exalting, mates
BEAUTY CONDITIONAL TO LOVE."-PATMORE.
A FINE AND MODEST TASTE, DISPLAYS MORE LOVELINESS THAN SHE CONCEALS."-PATMORE.
"WOULD WISDOM FOR HERSELF BE WOOED, AND WAKE THE FOOLISH FROM HIS DREAM,
IN THE ARITHMETIC OF LIFE-(COVENTRY PATMORE)
Self-seeking to self-sacrifice. Nay, in its subtle paradise (When purest) this one love unites All modes of these two opposites, All balanced in accord so rich, Who may determine which is which? Chiefly God's love does in it live, And nowhere else so sensitive; For each is all that the other's eye, In the vague vast of Deity,
Can comprehend and so contain As still to touch and ne'er to strain The fragile nerves of joy. And, then, 'Tis such a wise goodwill to men And politic economy
As in a prosperous state we see, Where every plot of common land Is yielded to some private hand To fence about and cultivate. Does narrowness its praise abate? Nay, the infinite of man is found But in the beating of its bound, And if a brook its banks o'erpass, 'Tis not a sea, but a morass.
Without God's Word, no wildest guess Of love's most innocent loftiness Had dared to dream of its own height; But that bold sunbeam quenched the night, Showing heaven's happiest symbols, where The torch of Psyche flashed despair; Proclaiming love, even in divine Realms, to be male and feminine
THE SMALLEST UNIT IS A PAIR."-COVENTRY PATMORE.
SHE MUST BE GLAD AS WELL AS GOOD, AND MUST NOT ONLY BE, BUT SEEM."-PATMORE.
"SWEET ORDER HATH ITS DRAUGHT OF BLISS GRACED WITH THE PEARL OF GOD'S CONSENT,
'TOO LONG REGarded, roses EVEN-(COVENTRY PATMORE)
(Christ's marriage with the church is more, My children, than a metaphor); And aye by names of bride and wife, Husband and bridegroom, heaven's own life Picturing, so proved theirs to be The earth's unearthliest sanctity.
Herein I speak of heights, and heights Are hardly scaled. The best delights Of even this homeliest passion, are In the most perfect souls so rare, That who feel them are as men Sailing the southern ocean, when, At midnight, they look up, and eye The starry Cross, and a strange sky
Of brighter stars; and sad thoughts come
To each how far he is from home.
[From "The Angel in the House," Part II., book ii.-Speaking of this poem, a thoughtful critic* has remarked that the writer's conception of the female character "is that of a high-minded, pure-hearted, and impassioned man, who worships and respects as well as loves a woman. His delineation of the growth of love in a woman's heart is delicate and subtle, and the lofty aspirations and unselfish enthusiasm he associates with the passion of his hero no less true to the type he has chosen..... There are in this poem many admirable passages in which sentiments of sterling worth and beauty are expressed with great force and felicity of language."]
ITHIN yon world-wide cirque of war, What's hidden that they fight so for?" My guide made answer : "Rich increase Of virtue and use, which are by peace,
TEN TIMES ECSTATIC IN THAT 'TIS CONSIDERATE AND INNOCENT."-COVENTRY PATMORE.
"BE MAN'S HARD VIRTUES HIGHLY WROUGHT, BUT LET MY GENTLE MISTRESS BE-(PATMORE)
SUCH PERFECT FRIENDS ARE TRUTH AND LOVE-(PATMORE)
For many an end; and others, wise, Explore the grass and read the skies." "Can the stars' motions give me peace, Or the herbs' virtues mine increase? Of all this shell of use," said I,
"Would that I might the kernel spy !" "Go further in," he said, "and see, Secure and fair, Society."
And so within that busy round
I brake and came to calmer ground. Here men and women, great and small, Were ever talking, idly all.
"The lip of scorn might well be curled At such excuse for such a world!" Sighed I. But guided through the loud Elated and unfruitful crowd, An inner circle still I reached, Where sang a few and many preached Of life immortal. "But," I said, "The riddle yet I have not read. Life I must know, that care I may For life in me to last for aye.' Then he: "Those voices are a charm To keep yon dove-cot out of harm." In the centre, then, he showed a tent Where laughing safe a woman bent Over her babe, and, her above, Leaned in his turn a graver love. "Behold the two idolatries,
By which," cried he, "the world defies Chaos and death, and for whose sake
All else must war, and work, and wake."
[From "Tamerton Church Tower, and Other Studies."]
THAT NEITHER LOVES WHERE BOTH ARE NOT."-PATMORE.
IN EVERY LOOK, WORD, DEED, AND THOUGHT, NOTHING BUT SWEET AND WOMANLY!"-PATMORE.
"I THINK THAT LOVE IS LIKE A PLAY, WHERE TEARS AND SMILES ARE BLENDED;
"SWEET ARE THE LINKS THAT BIND US TO OUR KIND,
WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED.
Winthrop Mackworth Praed.
[PRAED's poetry, or Vers de Société, is brilliant, fluent, and vigorous, with many happy touches, and a fascinating air of easy grace; but the poet never soars into any very lofty region, or strings his lyre to any very passionate strains. The gems are carefully polished and richly set; but they are not" orient pearls," much less diamonds or rubies. A writer in the Quarterly Review very justly says of Praed's poetical effusions, that "throughout they exhibit a remarkable fluency of language and quickness in verse, with many strokes of truthful observation; yet the effect of his longer poems is wearisome. Even the bright and abundant fancy with which he has been properly credited does not conceal from us that, when attempting to deal with chivalrous themes, or stories of medieval romance and passion, Praed rarely rises above an ingenious but mechanical repro- duction of the thoughts of stronger men. The materials are put together neatly enough; but there is no poetical fusion into a whole, no sign of creative fire,―much glitter, but little warmth."
Winthrop Mackworth Praed was born in 1802, and died in 1839. He enjoyed for some years a seat in Parliament; and in 1835 was Secretary to the Board of Control. His premature death cut short a career of great promise.]
OR LIKE A FAITHLESS APRIL DAY, WHOSE SHINE WITH SHOWER IS ENDED."-PRAED.
SKETCH OF A YOUNG LADY FIVE MONTHS OLD.
Y pretty, budding, breathing flower, Methinks, if I to-morrow
Could manage, just for half an hour, Sir Joshua's brush to borrow,
I might immortalize a few
Of all the myriad graces
Which Time, while yet they all are new, With newer still replaces.
I'd paint, my child, your deep blue eyes, Their quick and earnest flashes; I'd paint the fringe that round them lies, The fringe of long dark lashes;
MEEK, BUT UNYIELDING,-felt, BUT UNDEFINED."-PRAED.
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