University of Virginia Library

Dost thou remember, dearest, how the bird,—
The shrill, sweet warbler of another clime,
Which, with its mate, I gave thee on the morn
Of our last wedding-day—dost thou remember
How, while one cage held him and his sweet bride
In joint imprisonment, the happy bird
Forgot his natural melody, and, wrapt
(For so it seem'd) in tranquil contemplation
Of his connubial blessedness, sate dumb
“From morn to noon, from noon to dewy eve,”
Save when at intervals, with amorous chirp,
His little heart breathed forth its overflowings
Of quiet joy and deep contented love.
But when our harsh and marriage-slighting edict
Decreed their separation, and the pair,
Reluctantly divorced, were fain to nurse
Their unquench'd loves in solitary cages,
And forced disunion both of bed and board,
Then what a sudden gush of pent-up song
Burst from the widower's throat! as tho' the passion
Kindled by nature in his fiery heart,
And finding, until then, congenial vent
In interchange of amorous sympathies
With his own chosen mate,—was now constrain'd
To seek some new, unwonted utterance—
Best found in song. Herein methinks, the bird
Is an apt emblem of his wayward donor,
Who, for six blissful years, link'd to thy side
In loving and most blest companionship,
Hath, all that time, lock'd up his vaunted store
Of thought poetic, breathing scarce a note
Of glad or mournful, light or serious song,
Not ode sublime, nor melting elegy,
Nor lofty-sounding epic. Why was this?
Why, but because the wild and passionate feelings,
The dim, mysterious instincts of his nature,
The struggling impulse of the Muse within him,
Which, in the days of his unmated youth,
Found vent in song and minstrelsy, have flow'd
Since thou wert his, in a far better channel.
Spending their once tumultuous energy
In exercises sweet of chasten'd love
And mild endearments. Around thee have cluster'd
The tender thoughts, the rich imaginations,
The impulses and instincts, strange and strong,
The dreams and visions and wild phantasies,
Which else perhaps had wander'd unrestrain'd
Through many a devious track of poesy;
But, tamed by the strong magic of thy charms,
Have all foregone their rovings, and so mingled
Their manifold, and oft contending, currents
In one deep, tranquil, mighty stream of love.
Thus is it that, for very blessedness,
My Muse hath long been silent—long forgotten
The venturous flights of her less happy days;
But now that, summon'd by imperious duty,
And, for a time, foregoing love's sweet solace
For truest Friendship's sake, I dwell apart
From thee and my sweet children—now once more
The old imaginations wake within me;
Once more the wild and long forgotten music
Of teeming thoughts and fancies floats and thrills
Through my admiring brain; once more I seem
To walk in that bright land of fairy vision
Which is the poet's birthright,—his asylum
From all the harsh and sorrowful realities
Which vex him in this dull and daylight world.
Now, like our luckless bird, I seem endow'd
With sudden and unwonted power of song;
Which, if it may attain such tuneful pitch
As erst it reach'd—such as may not disgrace
The promise of my earlier utterance,—
To whom but thee, my own and only love,
Should its first notes be consecrate?

My heart
Turns fondly to thine image. O! where art thou?
How spending thy brief widowhood? what work
Of patient duty or meek love pursuing?
Haply thou watchest, with maternal fondness,
The slumbers of our children, or in calm
And serious converse with those gentle friends,
Whose presence half consoles thee for my absence,
Pliest thy busy needle, toiling hard
At some great masterpiece of seamstress skill,—
Trouser or tiny shirt, or infant frock,
Or cap constructed to set off the smiles
Of dimpled babyhood;—meanwhile to lighten
The evening's toil, one reads, with placid tone,
Some volume of grave truth or pleasant fiction,
Whereto with serious and attentive ear
Well pleased thou listenest, though at times thy thoughts,
Spite of thyself, wander away to him
Who, on his part, in solitude remote,
Is wedding his fond thoughts of thee and home
To these weak, worthless numbers. Peace be with thee,
My gentle love, whate'er thy occupation,
Where'er thy thoughts are fix'd; such peace as thou,
By all the arts of wedded tenderness
Hast breathed into this wild and wayward spirit.
For thou hast been to me a guiding star,
My tutelary genius, my good angel,
The ministering spirit, by whose hand
The Giver of all good hath lavish'd on me
His choicest bounties. Thou canst never know
How much I owe thee for whate'er of good
Is mingled with this gross and selfish nature;
For what I am, or may be—and no less
For that which I am not; for, without thee,
And that sweet exercise of pure affections—
Those moods of sober thought and tender musing,—
That calm fulfilment of unquiet hopes
And fiery longings after happiness,
Which thou alone hast yielded or couldst yield me—
I had remain'd the wild, impetuous slave
Of uncontroll'd self will, made weak and wretched
By foul perversion of the choicest gifts
Shower'd on me by all-bounteous Providence.
And if, reclaim'd from wanderings manifold,
And made partaker of a better hope
And purer aspirations, I now walk,
Though with unsteady and irresolute step,
In the straight path which leads to life eternal,
To thee, in part, I owe it. Be all praise
To Him whose grace, by means inscrutable,
Hath won us from this world of sense and sin
To prospects bright of immortality!
Therefore, O gentlest, our connubial love,
Hallow'd by strong consent of mutual faith
And kindred aspirations, hath assumed
A nobler character; for we two walk
Through this life's strange and ever varying road,
Not as chance wayfarers, ere long to part
At Death's grim hostel—but as deathless souls
Inseparably join'd, and doom'd to share
Each other's company through endless changes
Of still progressive being:—and shall we,
Thus strongly bound by chains indissoluble,
Heirs of one blessed hope, leagued in pursuit
Of one immortal prize—shall we not share
Each other's joys and sorrows, hopes and fears,
In tenderest sympathy? shall we not bear
Each other's burdens, cheer each other's toils,
And, in most loving emulation, strive
Which shall do most to help the other's welfare
In this world and the next? My Margaret,
Methinks when I look back on our past years
Of wedded life, much seems to be amiss
On my part—somewhat haply e'en on thine;
For this, whatever may have been my share
In our joint list of treasons conjugal,
For rash impatience, tempers unsubdued,
And much neglect of duties manifold,
Would I now crave forgiveness, and henceforth
Resolve, by powerful help of grace divine,
To act, more perfectly, the Christian husband.
Henceforth let us two live, in full discharge
Of all those gentle duties which we owe
Each to the other, as souls knit together
In bonds divine, and emblematical
Of that most holy and mysterious union
Wherein the Church is join'd to its great Head;—
Beloved and loving, cherishing and cherish'd.
And let no cold distrust, on either part,
Mar or obstruct the full and perfect freedom
Wherewith in turn we render, each to each,
Our debts of mutual service, faithful counsel,
Gentle admonishment, well-timed reproof,
And solace mild, and cheering exhortation.
Nor let us lack congenial partnership
Of thought and study, intermingling oft,
As time permits, with books of sacred lore
And serious meditation, hastier snatches
Of fiction wild and wizard phantasy.
So may our hearts be strengthen'd and refresh'd
For due discharge of this world's sterner duties;
For self-denying acts of meek good will
Toward all men;—chiefly those whom Heaven's high counsel
Hath placed within our own peculiar charge,
Linking their lot to ours in one close bond
Of Christian fellowship and pastoral care.
But, holier far than all, more closely blended
With all our heart's most pure and sacred feelings,—
That task, so wholly ours, to form the minds
Of our sweet children;—so to train them up,
That, after this world's brief and bustling journey,
We all may meet where sorrow is no more,
But God shall wipe the tears from all our eyes.
O here it is, in the exact fulfilment
Of this most solemn duty, that thy worth
Appears most brightly; here I recognize,
With love and admiration most profound,
The rich array of choicest qualities
Which grace thy wedded character, and fit thee
As fully for the mother as the wife.
Affection deep and fervent, yet controll'd
By principle severe;—decisive firmness,
And patience most long-suffering;—prudence mild,
And skill to guide and govern their young hearts
By gentle yet resistless impulses
To meek obedience and submission calm.
O, if 'tis written in high Heaven's decrees
That both of us must not behold them come
To life's maturity—mayst thou survive
To guide their progress thither; for so best
Shall our fond hopes and prayers be realized
By final union in the world to come.

But finish'd is my exile;—I return
Homeward with eager heart, most glad once more
To seize my pastoral staff, and so exchange
The wild and wandering visions of the Muse
For ministerial duties, and sweet store
Of home enjoyments. May this idle song
Find favour in thy sight, as I dare hope
It will not fail to find. Receive it, dearest,
Indulgently, as doubtless much it needs,
Framed as it is with long unpractised skill,
And energies decay'd; keep it in memory
Of thy fond husband's love, and when 'tis read,
Cease to regret that once, at Friendship's call,
He left thee and thy children, for awhile
To sojourn in the distant Cornish moors;
Where, to relieve the strong and passionate yearnings
Of his poor widow'd heart, he first devised,
And partly framed, this true and tender strain,
Begun and ended for no eyes but thine.