The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard With a Memoir by Blanchard Jerrold |
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“THE VIXEN.”
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 | The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard |  |
288
“THE VIXEN.”
A Case of ‘Seizure.’
‘She was a phantom of delight’—
(To borrow Wordsworth's lovely line),
‘That seen became a part of sight’
(As Byron says, in praise divine).
(To borrow Wordsworth's lovely line),
‘That seen became a part of sight’
(As Byron says, in praise divine).
Is she not still a phantom? No;
‘A perfect woman nobly planned’
(So Wordsworth's numbers nobly flow),
‘To warm, to comfort, and command.’
‘A perfect woman nobly planned’
(So Wordsworth's numbers nobly flow),
‘To warm, to comfort, and command.’
Ay, that's the word; so runs the song;
‘An angel, but a woman still,’
I own she is, and hath been long:—
An angel's heart, a woman's will.
‘An angel, but a woman still,’
I own she is, and hath been long:—
An angel's heart, a woman's will.
O Love, thou grossly libelled god,
With falsehood charged by maid and youth,
My sole complaint is—sounds it odd?—
Thy fervour, constancy, and truth.
With falsehood charged by maid and youth,
My sole complaint is—sounds it odd?—
Thy fervour, constancy, and truth.
289
Ah, better were it for this heart,
For reasons I shall shortly show,
If—not as straight as is thy dart—
Thy course were crooked as thy bow.
For reasons I shall shortly show,
If—not as straight as is thy dart—
Thy course were crooked as thy bow.
Each hour but proves, while Fate's reproved,
How oddly we in life are mated;
Some folks would die to be beloved,
While I could live, if I were hated.
How oddly we in life are mated;
Some folks would die to be beloved,
While I could live, if I were hated.
Yes, Love, if thou wert false and base—
If thou wert fickle, wayward, cold;
In short, if thou wert Hate—thy face
'Twould then be rapture to behold.
If thou wert fickle, wayward, cold;
In short, if thou wert Hate—thy face
'Twould then be rapture to behold.
But now—she loves me! loves so well,
That each embrace becomes a blow;
So deep my bliss, I seem to dwell
For ever on the brink of woe.
That each embrace becomes a blow;
So deep my bliss, I seem to dwell
For ever on the brink of woe.
‘A perfect woman!’ Wordsworth's right;
There's not a shade of fault about her;
I cannot speak, sing, think, indite,
Read, walk, dine, sleep, or dream without her.
There's not a shade of fault about her;
I cannot speak, sing, think, indite,
Read, walk, dine, sleep, or dream without her.
She treasures every word I say,
She watches all my idle glances;
And then, I'm sure to find, next day,
My nothings bred into romances.
She watches all my idle glances;
And then, I'm sure to find, next day,
My nothings bred into romances.
290
If haply I look grave, or sigh,
She's shocked, and wonders what's the matter;
What should she do were I to die!
She fears—she fears—I'm growing fatter!
She's shocked, and wonders what's the matter;
What should she do were I to die!
She fears—she fears—I'm growing fatter!
I'll take a walk. ‘Ha! she'll take a walk too;
There's quite a change come o'er the weather;’
Well, never mind, this book will do—
I'll read!—‘Ha! yes, we'll read together.’
There's quite a change come o'er the weather;’
Well, never mind, this book will do—
I'll read!—‘Ha! yes, we'll read together.’
‘Pray put the book down—leave off here;
'Tis too exciting—makes you sad!’
‘Oh, dinner's ready;—ah, I fear,
That fish for you is very bad.’
'Tis too exciting—makes you sad!’
‘Oh, dinner's ready;—ah, I fear,
That fish for you is very bad.’
‘Wine! and would you take wine! You can't;
I've ordered James to lose the key;
For once, I'll say—yes, say—you shan't,
There—let me order in—the tea.’
I've ordered James to lose the key;
For once, I'll say—yes, say—you shan't,
There—let me order in—the tea.’
Music, she thinks, disturbs my mind,
.So hides my flute and light guitar;
Dare, dare I smoke, alas, though blind,
Love's nose detects the vile cigar.
.So hides my flute and light guitar;
Dare, dare I smoke, alas, though blind,
Love's nose detects the vile cigar.
My snuff-box—that's gone long ago;
She begged it for her crying brother;
And then her love's too pure, you know,
To buy, or let me buy, another.
She begged it for her crying brother;
And then her love's too pure, you know,
To buy, or let me buy, another.
291
My favourite book's locked up—and why?
I pored upon it till I'm double;
My favourite horse was found too shy;
He's sold, to save me pain and trouble.
I pored upon it till I'm double;
My favourite horse was found too shy;
He's sold, to save me pain and trouble.
What care she takes for all my wants—
Except for those, to me most pressing;
How lovingly her fond heart grants
The kindness that is so distressing.
Except for those, to me most pressing;
How lovingly her fond heart grants
The kindness that is so distressing.
Whate'er I wish for must be bad,
For health or comfort, time or place;
Whate'er she wishes, men stark mad
Alone would scruple to embrace.
For health or comfort, time or place;
Whate'er she wishes, men stark mad
Alone would scruple to embrace.
In her no self-willed force you find,
No frowning, raving, or defiance;
Her love's so gentle, calm, and kind,
It only asks—a frank compliance.
No frowning, raving, or defiance;
Her love's so gentle, calm, and kind,
It only asks—a frank compliance.
She does not scoff, she does not scold,
Drown you with tears, or wound with wit,
Call you a wretch, and hint you're old—
She but expects you—to submit.
Drown you with tears, or wound with wit,
Call you a wretch, and hint you're old—
She but expects you—to submit.
Each comfort, solace, or delight,
Each recreation, one by one,
The lounge at noon, the play at night,
The laugh with Wit, the romp with Fun:
Each recreation, one by one,
The lounge at noon, the play at night,
The laugh with Wit, the romp with Fun:
292
The table's wine, its joys, its jest,
The study's solitary hour,
She seizes all—she, she knows best
What best will suit me, sweet or sour.
The study's solitary hour,
She seizes all—she, she knows best
What best will suit me, sweet or sour.
Who could resist?—'tis not in men
To meet such love with resolution;
Such zeal, such care, such truth—and then
She understands my constitution.
To meet such love with resolution;
Such zeal, such care, such truth—and then
She understands my constitution.
Yet why thus born to fascinate!
Why play the fond physician's part!
Why was it her victorious fate
To make a seizure of my heart!
Why play the fond physician's part!
Why was it her victorious fate
To make a seizure of my heart!
Give me, oh Love—since love intense
My life's best charm has dissipated—
The joy of cold indifference,
The conscious bliss of being hated.
My life's best charm has dissipated—
The joy of cold indifference,
The conscious bliss of being hated.
1837.
| The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard | |