Denzil place a story in verse. By Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] |
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 | Denzil place |  |
Yet could she be so heartless as to wrong,
Even in thought, this generous old man
Who took her from the dull monotony
Of her desponding youth? He had perform'd
All he had vow'd, she could alone deplore
Her own shortcomings! If he had but been
Her father, or her uncle, or her friend—
How she had lov'd him then! but now, alas,
Upon her guilty head each kindness fell
Like coals of fire! But she would do her best,
And if she could not love him as she ought,
At least her wretched heart would pray for strength
To fight against this other alien love!—
And so she pray'd, and register'd a vow
That she would cast away for evermore
This fatal snare, and strive to be to him
(Her husband) such a wife as she had hoped,
Before she knew the meaning of the words
“Love, honor, and obey.”
Even in thought, this generous old man
Who took her from the dull monotony
Of her desponding youth? He had perform'd
All he had vow'd, she could alone deplore
Her own shortcomings! If he had but been
Her father, or her uncle, or her friend—
How she had lov'd him then! but now, alas,
Upon her guilty head each kindness fell
Like coals of fire! But she would do her best,
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At least her wretched heart would pray for strength
To fight against this other alien love!—
And so she pray'd, and register'd a vow
That she would cast away for evermore
This fatal snare, and strive to be to him
(Her husband) such a wife as she had hoped,
Before she knew the meaning of the words
“Love, honor, and obey.”
Alas, for these—
The vows of mortals vowing not to love!
At which, I wonder, do the mocking gods
Smile most—at these, or at those rasher vows
To love eternally! Alas, that both
Should be so often but as sounding brass
And tinkling cymbal! The relentless Fates
Are weaving, as we swear, the tangled webs
Of a deceitful dim Futurity
Into a galling everlasting chain,
Or snipping with their scissors the last link
Of what we deem'd would fetter us for life!
Ah, will they change their pre-concerted plan
And shift the web to what should be the woof
At sight of pray'rs and tears, and wringing hands?
I dare not say, but Constance, as she pray'd,
Felt happier and calmer—o'er her stole
A dreary resignation, wrapp'd in which
As in a garment, still she wept and pray'd.
The vows of mortals vowing not to love!
At which, I wonder, do the mocking gods
Smile most—at these, or at those rasher vows
To love eternally! Alas, that both
Should be so often but as sounding brass
And tinkling cymbal! The relentless Fates
Are weaving, as we swear, the tangled webs
Of a deceitful dim Futurity
Into a galling everlasting chain,
Or snipping with their scissors the last link
Of what we deem'd would fetter us for life!
Ah, will they change their pre-concerted plan
And shift the web to what should be the woof
At sight of pray'rs and tears, and wringing hands?
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Felt happier and calmer—o'er her stole
A dreary resignation, wrapp'd in which
As in a garment, still she wept and pray'd.
| Denzil place | |