Denzil place a story in verse. By Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] |
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| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| III. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| II. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
 | Denzil place |  |
But tho' to Constance as a dread surprise
Had come this sudden wakening to truth,
Yet there were many who had prophesied
This fatal ending to a friendship form'd
Against the rules of Prudence.
Against the rules of Prudence.
Had come this sudden wakening to truth,
Yet there were many who had prophesied
This fatal ending to a friendship form'd
Against the rules of Prudence.
Against the rules of Prudence.
Round about
The tatt'ling neighbours oft had smiled to meet
Upon the dusty mile of highway road
Which separated Denzil from Sir John's,—
The eager horseman, making for the lodge
Of Farleigh Court, and often had they sigh'd
With many a gloomy presage, when they saw
The pony-carriage with the dappled greys
Driven by Constance, who with rod and line,
Or else with sketch-book, pencils, and camp-stool,
Was going to fish or sketch in Denzil Park.
Roland was there, of course, but then they thought
Of all the tender nothings one may say
Before a child; or how so slight a check
Might even serve to fan the torch of Love—
Their ready minds imagined many words
Wrapp'd up in metaphor, or said in French,
Italian, German, of so many tongues
Denzil was master—surely some of these
Might even mystify poor dear Sir John
If spoken as tho' quoted from a book—
Ah, then those books! a language in themselves!
Accomplices in crime! The subtle mark
Beneath those passages that breathe of love!—
The Lancelots and guilty Guineveres—
All their forbidden converse underlined—
The Fausts and Marguerites, and Héloise
And Abelard, Francesca—all the throng
Of wicked lovers and illicit loves!
Nay, they might almost spare themselves the pains
Of even this, and use the English tongue,
And it would seem the same to good Sir John
As Hebrew or Chaldean—such to him
The language of the poet or the flow'r,—
The cunning compliment—the tender glance,
Who was so simple, thick-headed and good!
Why, they might almost squeeze their guilty hands
Beneath his honest nose, and he remain
As blind as was that husband in the tale
Of Pope and Chaucer, ere he had his sight
Too suddenly restored. How much they pray'd
That poor Sir John might not awaken thus!
The tatt'ling neighbours oft had smiled to meet
Upon the dusty mile of highway road
Which separated Denzil from Sir John's,—
The eager horseman, making for the lodge
Of Farleigh Court, and often had they sigh'd
With many a gloomy presage, when they saw
The pony-carriage with the dappled greys
Driven by Constance, who with rod and line,
Or else with sketch-book, pencils, and camp-stool,
Was going to fish or sketch in Denzil Park.
76
Of all the tender nothings one may say
Before a child; or how so slight a check
Might even serve to fan the torch of Love—
Their ready minds imagined many words
Wrapp'd up in metaphor, or said in French,
Italian, German, of so many tongues
Denzil was master—surely some of these
Might even mystify poor dear Sir John
If spoken as tho' quoted from a book—
Ah, then those books! a language in themselves!
Accomplices in crime! The subtle mark
Beneath those passages that breathe of love!—
The Lancelots and guilty Guineveres—
All their forbidden converse underlined—
The Fausts and Marguerites, and Héloise
And Abelard, Francesca—all the throng
Of wicked lovers and illicit loves!
Nay, they might almost spare themselves the pains
Of even this, and use the English tongue,
And it would seem the same to good Sir John
As Hebrew or Chaldean—such to him
The language of the poet or the flow'r,—
The cunning compliment—the tender glance,
77
Why, they might almost squeeze their guilty hands
Beneath his honest nose, and he remain
As blind as was that husband in the tale
Of Pope and Chaucer, ere he had his sight
Too suddenly restored. How much they pray'd
That poor Sir John might not awaken thus!
| Denzil place | |