A WORD TO THE WEDDED.
O deem not that is love unfeign'd,
Which no minute offence can brook,
But tries, with rigour overstrain'd,
Each hasty word, each passing look;
Which counts as nothing half a life
Of past attachment, deep and strong,
When weigh'd against a moment's strife,
A moment's unintended wrong.
And deem not that to quench the flame
Of wedded love's impassion'd glow,
By words of harsh rebuke and blame
For some rash act done long ago,—
To ransack memory's secret store
For deeds and words, and looks and tones,
And moods and humours, past and o'er—
Poor frailties, which the heart disowns;—
O! deem not that to taunt with these
The aching heart, which loves thee still,
Can give thy own vex'd spirit ease,
Or work the offender's aught but ill.
The passing word of spite or spleen,—
The temper all too quickly moved,—
The tart reply,—the sarcasm keen
Between the loving and the loved;—
These at the spirit's surface lie,—
Its secret depths sleep calm below,
Where love hears not the gusts pass by
Which o'er the ruffled surface blow.
But when offended memory brings,
With close, tenacious grasp, to light
All hateful, all unhappy things,
Best buried in sepulchral night,—
When faults in human frailty wrought
Are dealt with as of hate prepense,
Conceiv'd in cool, deliberate thought,
And acted but to give offence,—
Then, then indeed, o'er Hymen's bower
Love flutters his departing wings,
And old enchantments lose their power,
And scorn and anger ply their stings.
O trifle not with holiest ties,
Nor rouse the slumbering fiend of ill;
Be patient, generous, timely wise,—
And rule him, soul and body, still.
