Songs of the Seasons :: :: University of Virginia Library

I looked into a loving face,
A winning face with loving eyes;
Before me tripped a form of grace,
So moulded that in very wise
I thought of life in Paradise.
But this was forty years ago!

II

And I remember, too, how she
Excelled in every excellence,
Was truth and gentle courtesy;
Abounding, yet without pretence,
In gifts of high intelligence.
But this was forty years ago!

III

And I remember how I hung
Upon her soft persuasive voice,
And the rich notes that when she sang
The ballads of her own sweet choice
With sadness filled or bade rejoice.
But this was forty years ago!

IV

Ay! more beside! I recollect
Of longings that of love were born,
Of hopes that in the retrospect
Kept high the heart at eve and morn,
Free from all fear of woman's scorn.
But this was forty years ago!

V

A dreamer then, a dreamer now,
I whilom dreamt of plighted truth,
And from serenity of brow—
From auspices of seeming ruth—
Drew presage of my favoured youth.
But this was forty years ago!

VI

A dreamer then, a dreamer still,
I dreamt that woman must be fond,

When, in her exercise of will,
She gives no reason to despond,
And, dreaming thus, I looked beyond—
But this was forty years ago!—

VII

Beyond unto that sea of bliss
Into which kindred rivers glide
And blend their fortunes—so I wis,
In the fair ebbing of its tide,
My ardent fancy clasp'd a bride.
But this was forty years ago!

VIII

A dreamer now, a dreamer then,
I dream of how I was befool'd,
And again wonder, and again,
Under what Circe she was school'd,
Who so my reason over-ruled.
But this was forty years ago!

IX

“Oh! woman's arts are woman's own;
To study them and comprehend
Is not our province—let alone,
And patience may attain its end!”
Who said so was a doubtful friend—
A friend of forty years ago!

X

And yet who said so, in a way
Spake truth, but erred so far in this,
That he forgot that herein lay
The golden secret of man's bliss—
The key to every rapt'rous kiss—
Half friend of forty years ago!

XI

'Tis true, to study her, and gain
The knowledge that we would acquire,
Is oft a labour spent in vain;
But it is love's, and who can tire
In the fair garden of desire
Frequented forty years ago?

XII

The wayward fancies of the sex,
Heart and frivolity combined;
The contradictions which perplex,
Yet staple form of womankind,
Are surely studies for the mind!
Ay! were so forty years ago!

XIII

Yet who among our earnest men—
The deepest thinkers of the age—

100

The ablest wielders of the pen,
Will venture singly to engage
With woman on her own free stage?
Who durst so forty years ago?

XIV

Or to explain with satisfaction,
And in philosophy's behalf,
The secrets of the sex's action,
The meaning of Delilah's laugh—
The worship of the golden calf?
None durst so forty years ago!

XV

Of those great men, both grave and great,
In their pretences and position—
The floats and anchors of the State—
Who of them all, without contrition,
Can link to visions of ambition
The loves of forty years ago?

XVI

Although to study her is truly,
If not a duty, still a pleasure,
They favour woman all unduly
Who sacrifice their choicest leisure
In wooing of a fancied treasure!
Ah me! the forty years ago!

101

XVII

To this conclusion I am carried
By old experiences. Moreover,
Seeing that years have held me married,
'Tis only from a happy cover
I watch the wooings of the lover,
And think of forty years ago!

XVIII

I watch the making up of matches—
The setting of the man-traps cruel—
The under-plot and tricky fetches
By which is stirr'd the slumbering fuel,
And raised the value of the jewel!
And muse on forty years ago!

XIX

Yes! woman is a puzzle still;
Whatever be her aim and boast,
It ends in this, and always will,
Herself it is she puzzles most—
Come, join me in a passing toast
To the jilt of forty years ago!

XX

For still she lives, but where the grace,
And airy elegance of form—

102

The loving eyes and witching face—
The voice that ravished, as by storm—
The whole illusion, and the charm,
That bound me forty years ago?