Susan A poem of degrees. By the author of "Dorothy: a country story in elegiac verse," "Vulgar verses," etc. [i.e. A. J. Munby] |
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 | Susan |  |
How like you these her sentiments, my friend?
Said Arundel; do they not seem to lend
A spice of strange originality,
A special flavour that you rarely see,
To the mild honey of a bridal tour?”
Said Arundel; do they not seem to lend
A spice of strange originality,
A special flavour that you rarely see,
To the mild honey of a bridal tour?”
“No doubt,” I said; “but one is very sure
That either he converted her, and gave
A lady's tastes to this strange freeborn slave,
Or else she broke away from him, and went
Back to her cottage and her element—
The care of dishes and of kitchen floors.”
That either he converted her, and gave
A lady's tastes to this strange freeborn slave,
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Back to her cottage and her element—
The care of dishes and of kitchen floors.”
“Are you so sure, that what the world adores,”
Said Arundel, “a lady ought to love?
Was not this rustic servant far above,
And not below, the level of her sex,
In feeling how the mighty Earth can vex
A gazing soul, oppressing it with awe
Unspeakable, in presence of that law
Which lifts such brute things high, and keeps them safe,
Whilst the quick human spirit, a mere waif
On grossest air, just sees them and is gone?
That is what Susan meant, when she put on
Her thoughtful mood; though phrases such as these
To her were strange as mountain mysteries.
Her phrase was clumsy, for her speech was rude:
But surely, she by Nature was endued
With finer sympathies and stronger sense
Than those who lounge in listless indolence
Through the gay Kursaal by some woodland lake,
Or those who climb the peaks for fashion's sake
Or fame's, and not for communing with God.
Said Arundel, “a lady ought to love?
Was not this rustic servant far above,
And not below, the level of her sex,
In feeling how the mighty Earth can vex
A gazing soul, oppressing it with awe
Unspeakable, in presence of that law
Which lifts such brute things high, and keeps them safe,
Whilst the quick human spirit, a mere waif
On grossest air, just sees them and is gone?
That is what Susan meant, when she put on
Her thoughtful mood; though phrases such as these
To her were strange as mountain mysteries.
Her phrase was clumsy, for her speech was rude:
But surely, she by Nature was endued
With finer sympathies and stronger sense
Than those who lounge in listless indolence
Through the gay Kursaal by some woodland lake,
Or those who climb the peaks for fashion's sake
Or fame's, and not for communing with God.
Rough were the paths that her stern youth had trod;
But now, her lover's presence, and the joy
Born of that joy, the freedom from annoy
And thwarting toil, had made her delicate
In act and manner; now, she walk'd elate,
With all her native dignity restored,
And all her beauty flashing, like a sword
Snatch'd from the sheath that hid it. Such a brand
Did execution, in that foreign land;
Men turn'd to look at her; and well-bred dames,
Who knew not of her story, and whose aims
Soar'd mountains-high above her lowly lot,
Admired the wench who understood them not,
And said, He truly would be blest for life,
Who had that noble woman for his wife.
Yes! But he kept her snugly at his side:
From him alone, she was not forced to hide
Her country talk, her large hardworking hands;
And, these once hid, his bride securely stands
A figure of the proudest, where the proud
Themselves are gather'd in a lordly crowd.
But now, her lover's presence, and the joy
Born of that joy, the freedom from annoy
And thwarting toil, had made her delicate
In act and manner; now, she walk'd elate,
With all her native dignity restored,
And all her beauty flashing, like a sword
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Did execution, in that foreign land;
Men turn'd to look at her; and well-bred dames,
Who knew not of her story, and whose aims
Soar'd mountains-high above her lowly lot,
Admired the wench who understood them not,
And said, He truly would be blest for life,
Who had that noble woman for his wife.
Yes! But he kept her snugly at his side:
From him alone, she was not forced to hide
Her country talk, her large hardworking hands;
And, these once hid, his bride securely stands
A figure of the proudest, where the proud
Themselves are gather'd in a lordly crowd.
Far other crowds, too, held her in respect.
Once at some rural town, I recollect,
He left her at the station, all alone,
While he went forth to seek an inn. ‘My own,’
Said he, ‘if people come and speak to you,
You will not understand them, it is true;
But, just say this, whatever they may say—
J'attends mon mari.’ Ere he went away,
She, oft repeating, knew the words by heart;
And knew their meaning. She took up her part
Fearless, confiding in his safe return;
And, coming back, his glad eyes did discern
The lithe and stately stranger, standing there
Beside the baggage which was now her care.
But ranged in front of her as courtiers use,
Stood the stout facteur in his wellworn blouse,
The female clerk, the little Chef de Gare;
All looking up, and awed as children are
By some majestic fairy in a play.
Silent and pleased and wondering stood they:
The while that tall fair woman of the isles
Look'd down on them with sweet impartial smiles,
And said, ‘J'attends mon mari—here he is!’
Then, when he claim'd her with a grateful kiss,
They smiled and clapp'd their hands, with friendly voice
Crying ‘C'est lui—the husband of her choice!’”
Once at some rural town, I recollect,
He left her at the station, all alone,
While he went forth to seek an inn. ‘My own,’
Said he, ‘if people come and speak to you,
You will not understand them, it is true;
But, just say this, whatever they may say—
J'attends mon mari.’ Ere he went away,
She, oft repeating, knew the words by heart;
And knew their meaning. She took up her part
Fearless, confiding in his safe return;
And, coming back, his glad eyes did discern
The lithe and stately stranger, standing there
Beside the baggage which was now her care.
But ranged in front of her as courtiers use,
Stood the stout facteur in his wellworn blouse,
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All looking up, and awed as children are
By some majestic fairy in a play.
Silent and pleased and wondering stood they:
The while that tall fair woman of the isles
Look'd down on them with sweet impartial smiles,
And said, ‘J'attends mon mari—here he is!’
Then, when he claim'd her with a grateful kiss,
They smiled and clapp'd their hands, with friendly voice
Crying ‘C'est lui—the husband of her choice!’”
| Susan | |