 | Denzil place |  |
There, in yon gabled house amongst the oaks
Which shut it off from this, the highway road
That skirts the park towards the village side,
They used to dwell together; he was old,
And she, his wife, a very child in looks,—
Her woman's soul, as yet an unfledg'd thing
Seem'd waiting almost wearily for wings.—
Most dutiful, and kind, and seeming gay
She moved about, the sunbeam of the house,
But like a temp'rate sunbeam, such as here
Warms us in England; she knew no extremes
Of passionate grief or boisterous merriment
Such as so often stormily unite
In the untutor'd natures of the young,—
It was as tho' the day she wore the ring
And took the name of him, her wither'd lord,
She had put by her youth with some old dress
And left it by mistake in her past home
Amongst her toys. She did not know the world
This orphan daughter of a ruin'd man,
Whose only friends had been the birds and flow'rs,
She only knew what they would have her know
Who taught her as they would, and only read
As they would have her read, and then at length
The guardian who had guarded her from far
(One she had never seen), plann'd out her life
And when the question of her marriage rose
Clench'd it at once because Sir John was rich.
And then it was a lifeless life began,
For Constance (thus it was that she was named),
To her not seeming so, who had not liv'd
As yet but for her dolls and lesson-books—
To be the mistress of the grandest house
For many miles, to fuss about the poor,
To teach the villagers, to dress and dine,
And meet the same dull neighbours ev'ry night—
This was her life; to London now and then,
But only for a time, for to Sir John
The air seem'd echoing with a dragon's hiss,—
The Hydra-headed monster call'd “Reform”
That met him as he threaded thro' the streets
And seem'd to glare defiance as he pass'd—
His blear, distorting, ultra-Tory eye
Saw danger in a thousand harmless things
Unfear'd by Constance, to whom all seem'd noise
And hurry and excitement and fatigue,—
The world seem'd rushing to some hidden goal,—
All went so fast, and 'ere she ceased to stare
They were at home and life dragg'd on again.
Which shut it off from this, the highway road
That skirts the park towards the village side,
They used to dwell together; he was old,
6
Her woman's soul, as yet an unfledg'd thing
Seem'd waiting almost wearily for wings.—
Most dutiful, and kind, and seeming gay
She moved about, the sunbeam of the house,
But like a temp'rate sunbeam, such as here
Warms us in England; she knew no extremes
Of passionate grief or boisterous merriment
Such as so often stormily unite
In the untutor'd natures of the young,—
It was as tho' the day she wore the ring
And took the name of him, her wither'd lord,
She had put by her youth with some old dress
And left it by mistake in her past home
Amongst her toys. She did not know the world
This orphan daughter of a ruin'd man,
Whose only friends had been the birds and flow'rs,
She only knew what they would have her know
Who taught her as they would, and only read
As they would have her read, and then at length
The guardian who had guarded her from far
(One she had never seen), plann'd out her life
And when the question of her marriage rose
Clench'd it at once because Sir John was rich.
7
For Constance (thus it was that she was named),
To her not seeming so, who had not liv'd
As yet but for her dolls and lesson-books—
To be the mistress of the grandest house
For many miles, to fuss about the poor,
To teach the villagers, to dress and dine,
And meet the same dull neighbours ev'ry night—
This was her life; to London now and then,
But only for a time, for to Sir John
The air seem'd echoing with a dragon's hiss,—
The Hydra-headed monster call'd “Reform”
That met him as he threaded thro' the streets
And seem'd to glare defiance as he pass'd—
His blear, distorting, ultra-Tory eye
Saw danger in a thousand harmless things
Unfear'd by Constance, to whom all seem'd noise
And hurry and excitement and fatigue,—
The world seem'd rushing to some hidden goal,—
All went so fast, and 'ere she ceased to stare
They were at home and life dragg'd on again.
| Denzil place | |