The Angel in the House

CANTO VII

The Revulsion

PRELUDES

IJoy and UseCan ought compared with wedlock be   For use?  But He who made the heartTo use proportions joy.  What He   Has join’d let no man put apart.Sweet Order has its draught of bliss   Graced with the pearl of God’s consent,Ten times delightful in that ’tis   Considerate and innocent.In vain Disorder grasps the cup;   The pleasure’s not enjoy’d but spilt,And, if he stoops to lick it up,   It only tastes of earth and guilt.His sorry raptures rest destroys;   To live, like comets, they must roam;On settled poles turn solid joys,   And sunlike pleasures shine at home.II‘She was Mine.’‘Thy tears o’erprize thy loss!  Thy wife,   In what was she particular?Others of comely face and life,   Others as chaste and warm there are,And when they speak they seem to sing;   Beyond her sex she was not wise;And there is no more common thing   Than kindness in a woman’s eyes.Then wherefore weep so long and fast,   Why so exceedingly repine!Say, how has thy Beloved surpass’d   So much all others?’  ‘She was mine.’

THE REVULSION

1’Twas when the spousal time of May   Hangs all the hedge with bridal wreaths,And air’s so sweet the bosom gay   Give thanks for every breath it breathes,When like to like is gladly moved,   And each thing joins in Spring’s refrain,‘Let those love now who never loved;   Let those who have loved love again;’That I, in whom the sweet time wrought,   Lay stretch’d within a lonely glade,Abandon’d to delicious thought   Beneath the softly twinkling shade.The leaves, all stirring, mimick’d well   A neighbouring rush of rivers cold,And, as the sun or shadow fell,   So these were green and those were gold;In dim recesses hyacinths droop’d,   And breadths of primrose lit the air,Which, wandering through the woodland, stoop’d   And gather’d perfumes here and there;Upon the spray the squirrel swung,   And careless songsters, six or seven.Sang lofty songs the leaves among,   Fit for their only listener, Heaven.I sigh’d, ‘Immeasurable bliss   Gains nothing by becoming more!Millions have meaning; after this   Cyphers forget the integer.’2And so I mused, till musing brought   A dream that shook my house of clay,And, in my humbled heart, I thought,   To me there yet may come a dayWith this the single vestige seen   Of comfort, earthly or divine,My sorrow some time must have been   Her portion, had it not been mine.Then I, who knew, from watching life,   That blows foreseen are slow to fall,Rehearsed the losing of a wife,   And faced its terrors each and all.The self-chastising fancy show’d   The coffin with its ghastly breath;The innocent sweet face that owed   None of its innocence to death;The lips that used to laugh; the knell   That bade the world beware of mirth;The heartless and intolerable   Indignity of ‘earth to earth;’At morn remembering by degrees   That she I dream’d about was dead;Love’s still recurrent jubilees,   The days that she was born, won, wed;The duties of my life the same,   Their meaning for the feelings gone;Friendship impertinent, and fame   Disgusting; and, more harrowing none,Small household troubles fall’n to me,   As, ‘What time would I dine to-day?’And, oh, how could I bear to see   The noisy children at their play.Besides, where all things limp and halt,   Could I go straight, should I aloneHave kept my love without default,   Pitch’d at the true and heavenly tone?The festal-day might come to mind   That miss’d the gift which more endears;The hour which might have been more kind,   And now less fertile in vain tears;The good of common intercourse,   For daintier pleasures, then despised,Now with what passionate remorse,   What poignancy of hunger prized!The little wrong, now greatly rued,   Which no repentance now could right;And love, in disbelieving mood,   Deserting his celestial height.Withal to know, God’s love sent grief   To make me less the world’s, and moreMeek-hearted: ah, the sick relief!   Why bow’d I not my heart before?3‘What,’ I exclaimed, with chill alarm,   ‘If this fantastic horror showsThe feature of an actual harm!’   And, coming straight to Sarum Close,As one who dreams his wife is dead,   And cannot in his slumber weep,And moans upon his wretched bed,   And wakes, and finds her there asleep,And laughs and sighs, so I, not less   Relieved, beheld, with blissful start,The light and happy loveliness   Which lay so heavy on my heart.

CANTO VIII

The Koh-i-noor

PRELUDES

IIn LoveIf he’s capricious she’ll be so,   But, if his duties constant are,She lets her loving favour glow   As steady as a tropic star;Appears there nought for which to weep,   She’ll weep for nought, for his dear sake;She clasps her sister in her sleep;   Her love in dreams is most awake.Her soul, that once with pleasure shook,   Did any eyes her beauty own,Now wonders how they dare to look   On what belongs to him alone;The indignity of taking gifts   Exhilarates her loving breast;A rapture of submission lifts   Her life into celestial rest;There’s nothing left of what she was;   Back to the babe the woman dies,And all the wisdom that she has   Is to love him for being wise.She’s confident because she fears;   And, though discreet when he’s away,If none but her dear despot hears,   She prattles like a child at play.Perchance, when all her praise is said,   He tells the news, a battle won,On either side ten thousand dead.   ‘Alas!’ she says; but, if ’twere known,She thinks, ‘He’s looking on my face!   I am his joy; whate’er I do,He sees such time-contenting grace   In that, he’d have me always so!’And, evermore, for either’s sake,   To the sweet folly of the dove,She joins the cunning of the snake,   To rivet and exalt his love;Her mode of candour is deceit;   And what she thinks from what she’ll say(Although I’ll never call her cheat),   Lies far as Scotland from Cathay.Without his knowledge he was won;   Against his nature kept devout;She’ll never tell him how ’twas done,   And he will never find it out.If, sudden, he suspects her wiles,   And hears her forging chain and trap,And looks, she sits in simple smiles,   Her two hands lying in her lap.Her secret (privilege of the Bard,   Whose fancy is of either sex),Is mine; but let the darkness guard   Myst’ries that light would more perplex!IILove ThinkingWhat lifts her in my thought so far   Beyond all else?  Let Love not err!’Tis that which all right women are,   But which I’ll know in none but her.She is to me the only Ark   Of that high mystery which locksThe lips of joy, or speaks in dark   Enigmas and in paradox;That potent charm, which none can fly,   Nor would, which makes me bond and free,Nor can I tell if first ’twas I   Chose it, or it elected me;Which, when I look intentest, lo,   Cheats most mine eyes, albeit my heart,Content to feel and not to know,   Perceives it all in every part;I kiss its cheek; its life divine   Exhales from its resplendent shroud;Ixion’s fate reversed is mine,   Authentic Juno seems a cloud;I feel a blessed warmth, I see   A bright circumference of rays,But darkness, where the sun should be,   Fills admiration with amaze;And when, for joy’s relief, I think   To fathom with the line of thoughtThe well from which I, blissful, drink,   The spring’s so deep I come to nought.IIIThe Kiss‘I saw you take his kiss!’  ‘’Tis true.’   ‘O, modesty!’  ‘’Twas strictly kept:He thought me asleep; at least, I knew   He thought I thought he thought I slept.’

THE KOH-I-NOOR

1‘Be man’s hard virtues highly wrought,   But let my gentle Mistress be,In every look, word, deed, and thought,   Nothing but sweet and womanly!Her virtues please my virtuous mood,   But what at all times I admireIs, not that she is wise or good,   But just the thing which I desire.With versatility to sing   The theme of love to any strain,If oft’nest she is anything,   Be it careless, talkative, and vain.That seems in her supremest grace   Which, virtue or not, apprises meThat my familiar thoughts embrace   Unfathomable mystery.’2I answer’d thus; for she desired   To know what mind I most approved;Partly to learn what she inquired,   Partly to get the praise she loved.3I praised her, but no praise could fill   The depths of her desire to please,Though dull to others as a Will   To them that have no legacies.The more I praised the more she shone,   Her eyes incredulously bright,And all her happy beauty blown   Beneath the beams of my delight.Sweet rivalry was thus begot;   By turns, my speech, in passion’s style,With flatteries the truth o’ershot,   And she surpass’d them with her smile.4‘You have my heart so sweetly seiz’d,   And I confess, nay, ’tis my prideThat I’m with you so solely pleased,   That, if I’m pleased with aught beside,As music, or the month of June,   My friend’s devotion, or his wit,A rose, a rainbow, or the moon,   It is that you illustrate it.All these are parts, you are the whole;   You fit the taste for Paradise,To which your charms draw up the soul   As turning spirals draw the eyes.Nature to you was more than kind;   ’Twas fond perversity to dressSo much simplicity of mind   In such a pomp of loveliness!But, praising you, the fancy deft   Flies wide, and lets the quarry stray,And, when all’s said, there’s something left,   And that’s the thing I meant to say.’‘Dear Felix!’  ‘Sweet, my Love!’  But there   Was Aunt Maude’s noisy ring and knock!‘Stay, Felix; you have caught my hair.   Stoop!  Thank you!’  ‘May I have that lock?’‘Not now.  Good morning, Aunt!’  ‘Why, Puss,   You look magnificent to-day.’‘Here’s Felix, Aunt.’  ‘Fox and green goose!   Who handsome gets should handsome pay!Aunt, you are friends!’  ‘Ah, to be sure!   Good morning!  Go on flattering, sir;A woman, like the Koh-i-noor,   Mounts to the price that’s put on her.’

CANTO IX

The Friends

PRELUDES

IThe Nursling of CivilityLo, how the woman once was woo’d;   Forth leapt the savage from his lair,And fell’d her, and to nuptials rude   He dragg’d her, bleeding, by the hair.From that to Chloe’s dainty wiles   And Portia’s dignified consent,What distance!  Bat these Pagan styles   How far below Time’s fair intent!Siegfried sued Kriemhild.  Sweeter life   Could Love’s self covet?  Yet ’tis snugIn what rough sort he chid his wife   For want of curb upon her tongue!Shall Love, where last I leave him, halt?   Nay; none can fancy or forseeTo how strange bliss may time exalt   This nursling of civility.IIThe Foreign LandA woman is a foreign land,   Of which, though there he settle young,A man will ne’er quite understand   The customs, politics, and tongue.The foolish hie them post-haste through,   See fashions odd, and prospects fair,Learn of the language, ‘How d’ye do,’   And go and brag they have been there.The most for leave to trade apply,   For once, at Empire’s seat, her heart,Then get what knowledge ear and eye   Glean chancewise in the life-long mart.And certain others, few and fit,   Attach them to the Court, and seeThe Country’s best, its accent hit,   And partly sound its polity.IIIDisappointment‘The bliss which woman’s charms bespeak,   I’ve sought in many, found in none!’‘In many ’tis in vain you seek   What only can be found in one.’

THE FRIENDS

1Frank’s long, dull letter, lying by   The gay sash from Honoria’s waist,Reproach’d me; passion spared a sigh   For friendship without fault disgraced.How should I greet him? how pretend   I felt the love he once inspired?Time was when either, in his friend,   His own deserts with joy admired;We took one side in school-debate,   Like hopes pursued with equal thirst,Were even-bracketed by Fate,   Twin-Wranglers, seventh from the First;And either loved a lady’s laugh   More than all music; he and IWere perfect in the pleasant half   Of universal charity.2From pride of likeness thus I loved   Him, and he me, till love begotThe lowliness which now approved   Nothing but that which I was not,Blest was the pride of feeling so   Subjected to a girl’s soft reign.She was my vanity, and, oh,   All other vanities how vain!3Frank follow’d in his letter’s track,   And set my guilty heart at easeBy echoing my excuses back   With just the same apologies.So he had slighted me as well!   Nor was my mind disburthen’d lessWhen what I sought excuse to tell   He of himself did first confess.4Each, rapturous, praised his lady’s worth;   He eloquently thus: ‘Her faceIs the summ’d sweetness of the earth,   Her soul the glass of heaven’s grace,To which she leads me by the hand;   Or, briefly all the truth to sayTo you, who briefly understand,   She is both heaven and the way.Displeasures and resentments pass   Athwart her charitable eyesMore fleetingly than breath from glass,   Or truth from foolish memories;Her heart’s so touch’d with others’ woes   She has no need of chastisement;Her gentle life’s conditions close,   Like God’s commandments, with content,And make an aspect calm and gay,   Where sweet affections come and go,Till all who see her, smile and say,   How fair, and happy that she’s so!She is so lovely, true, and pure,   Her virtue virtue so endears,That often, when I think of her,   Life’s meanness fills mine eyes with tears—’‘You paint Miss Churchill!  Pray go on—’   ‘She’s perfect, and, if joy was muchTo think her nature’s paragon,   ’Tis more that there’s another such!’5Praising and paying back their praise   With rapturous hearts, t’ward Sarum SpireWe walk’d, in evening’s golden haze,   Friendship from passion stealing fire.In joy’s crown danced the feather jest,   And, parting by the Deanery door,Clasp’d hands, less shy than words, confess’d   We had not been true friends before.

CANTO X

The Epitaph

PRELUDES

IFrost in HarvestThe lover who, across a gulf   Of ceremony, views his Love,And dares not yet address herself,   Pays worship to her stolen glove.The gulf o’erleapt, the lover wed,   It happens oft, (let truth be told),The halo leaves the sacred head,   Respect grows lax, and worship cold,And all love’s May-day promising,   Like song of birds before they pair,Or flush of flowers in boastful Spring,   Dies out, and leaves the Summer bare.Yet should a man, it seems to me,   Honour what honourable is,For some more honourable plea   Than only that it is not his.The gentle wife, who decks his board   And makes his day to have no night,Whose wishes wait upon her lord,   Who finds her own in his delight,Is she another now than she   Who, mistress of her maiden charms,At his wild prayer, incredibly   Committed them to his proud arms?Unless her choice of him’s a slur   Which makes her proper credit dim,He never enough can honour her   Who past all speech has honour’d him.IIFelicityTo marry her and take her home!   The poet, painting pureness, tellsOf lilies; figures power by Rome;   And each thing shows by something else.But through the songs of poets look,   And who so lucky to have foundIn universal nature’s book   A likeness for a life so crown’d!Here they speak best who best express   Their inability to speak,And none are strong, but who confess   With happy skill that they are weak.IIIMarriage Indissoluble‘In heaven none marry.’  Grant the most   Which may by this dark word be meant,Who shall forbid the eternal boast   ‘I kiss’d, and kiss’d with her consent!’If here, to Love, past favour is   A present boast, delight, and chain,What lacks of honour, bond, and bliss,   Where Now and Then are no more twain!

THE EPITAPH

1‘At Church, in twelve hours more, we meet!   This, Dearest, is our last farewell.’‘Oh, Felix, do you love me?’  ‘Sweet,   Why do you ask?’  ‘I cannot tell.’2And was it no vain fantasy   That raised me from the earth with pride?Should I to-morrow verily   Be Bridegroom, and Honoria Bride?Should I, in simple fact, henceforth   Live unconditionally lordOf her whose smile for brightest worth   Seem’d all too bountiful reward?Incredible life’s promise seem’d,   Or, credible, for life too great;Love his own deity blasphemed,   And doff’d at last his heavenly state.What law, if man could mount so high,   To further insolence set bars,And kept the chaste moon in the sky,   And bade him not tread out the stars!3Patience and hope had parted truce,   And, sun-like, Love obscured his rayWith dazzling mists, driven up profuse   Before his own triumphant way.I thought with prayer how Jacob paid   The patient price of Rachel; them,Of that calm grace Tobias said,   And Sarah’s innocent ‘Amen.’Without avail!  O’erwhelming wealth,   The wondrous gift of God so near,Which should have been delight and health   Made heart and spirit sick and sere.Until at last the soul of love,   That recks not of its own delight,Awoke and bade the mists remove,   And then once more I breathed aright;And I rehears’d my marriage vow,   And swore her welfare to preferTo all things, and for aye as now   To live, not for myself, but her.Forth, from the glittering spirit’s peace   And gaiety ineffable,Stream’d to the heart delight and ease,   As from an overflowing well;And, orderly deriving thence   Its pleasure perfect and allow’d,Bright with the spirit shone the sense,   As with the sun a fleecy cloud.If now to part with her could make   Her pleasure greater, sorrow less,I for my epitaph would take   ‘To serve seem’d more than to possess.’And I perceiv’d, (the vision sweet   Dimming with happy dew mine eyes),That love and joy are torches lit   From altar-fires of sacrifice.4Across the sky the daylight crept,   And birds grew garrulous in the grove,And on my marriage-morn I slept   A soft sleep, undisturb’d by love.

CANTO XI

The Wedding

PRELUDES

IPlatonic LoveRight art thou who wouldst rather be   A doorkeeper in Love’s fair house,Than lead the wretched revelry   Where fools at swinish troughs carouse.But do not boast of being least;   And if to kiss thy Mistress’ skirtAmaze thy brain, scorn not the Priest   Whom greater honours do not hurt.Stand off and gaze, if more than this   Be more than thou canst understand,Revering him whose power of bliss,   Angelic, dares to seize her hand,Or whose seraphic love makes flight   To the apprehension of her lips;And think, the sun of such delight   From thine own darkness takes eclipse.And, wouldst thou to the same aspire,   This is the art thou must employ,Live greatly; so shalt thou acquire   Unknown capacities of joy.IIA DemonstrationNature, with endless being rife,   Parts each thing into ‘him’ and ‘her,’And, in the arithmetic of life,   The smallest unit is a pair;And thus, oh, strange, sweet half of me,   If I confess a loftier flame,If more I love high Heaven than thee,   I more than love thee, thine I am;And, if the world’s not built of lies,   Nor all a cheat the Gospel tells,If that which from the dead shall rise   Be I indeed, not something else,There’s no position more secure   In reason or in faith than this,That those conditions must endure,   Which, wanting, I myself should miss.IIIThe SymbolAs if I chafed the sparks from glass,   And said, ‘It lightens,’ hithertoThe songs I’ve made of love may pass   For all but for proportion true;But likeness and proportion both   Now fail, as if a child in glee,Catching the flakes of the salt froth,   Cried, ‘Look, my mother, here’s the sea.Yet, by the help of what’s so weak,   But not diverse, to those who know,And only unto those I speak,   May far-inferring fancy showLove’s living sea by coasts uncurb’d,   Its depth, its mystery, and its might,Its indignation if disturb’d,   The glittering peace of its delight.IVConstancy RewardedI vow’d unvarying faith, and she,   To whom in full I pay that vow,Rewards me with variety   Which men who change can never know.

THE WEDDING

1Life smitten with a feverish chill,   The brain too tired to understand,In apathy of heart and will,   I took the woman from the handOf him who stood for God, and heard   Of Christ, and of the Church his Bride;The Feast, by presence of the Lord   And his first Wonder, beautified;The mystic sense to Christian men;   The bonds in innocency made,And gravely to be enter’d then,   For children, godliness, and, aid,And honour’d, and kept free from smirch;   And how a man must love his wifeNo less than Christ did love his Church,   If need be, giving her his life;And, vowing then the mutual vow,   The tongue spoke, but intention slept.’Tis well for us Heaven asks not how   We take this oath, but how ’tis kept.2O, bold seal of a bashful bound,   Which makes the marriage-day to be,To those before it and beyond,   An iceberg in an Indian sea!3‘Now, while she’s changing,’ said the Dean,   ‘Her bridal for her travelling dress,I’ll preach allegiance to your queen!   Preaching’s the thing which I profess;And one more minute’s mine!  You know   I’ve paid my girl a father’s debt,And this last charge is all I owe.   She’s yours; but I love more than yetYou can; such fondness only wakes   When time has raised the heart aboveThe prejudice of youth, which makes   Beauty conditional to love.Prepare to meet the weak alarms   Of novel nearness; recollectThe eye which magnified her charms   Is microscopic for defect.Fear comes at first; but soon, rejoiced,   You’ll find your strong and tender loves,Like holy rocks by Druids poised,   The least force shakes, but none removes.Her strength is your esteem; beware   Of finding fault; her will’s unnerv’dBy blame; from you ’twould be despair;   But praise that is not quite deserv’dWill all her noble nature move   To make your utmost wishes tree.Yet think, while mending thus your Love,   Of snatching her ideal too.The death of nuptial joy is sloth:   To keep your mistress in your wife,Keep to the very height your oath,   And honour her with arduous life.Lastly, no personal reverence doff.   Life’s all externals unto thoseWho pluck the blushing petals off,   To find the secret of the rose.—How long she’s tarrying!  Green’s Hotel   I’m sure you’ll like.  The charge is fair,The wines good.  I remember well   I stay’d once, with her Mother, there.A tender conscience of her vow   That Mother had!  She’s so like her!’But Mrs. Fife, much flurried, now   Whisper’d, ‘Miss Honor’s ready, Sir.’4Whirl’d off at last, for speech I sought,   To keep shy Love in countenance,But, whilst I vainly tax’d my thought,   Her voice deliver’d mime from trance:‘Look, is not this a pretty shawl,   Aunt’s parting gift.’  ‘She’s always kind.’‘The new wing spoils Sir John’s old Hall:   You’ll see it, if you pull the blind.’5I drew the silk: in heaven the night   Was dawning; lovely Venus shone,In languishment of tearful light,   Swathed by the red breath of the sun.

CANTO XII

Husband and Wife

PRELUDES

IThe Married LoverWhy, having won her, do I woo?   Because her spirit’s vestal graceProvokes me always to pursue,   But, spirit-like, eludes embrace;Because her womanhood is such   That, as on court-days subjects kissThe Queen’s hand, yet so near a touch   Affirms no mean familiarness,Nay, rather marks more fair the height   Which can with safety so neglectTo dread, as lower ladies might,   That grace could meet with disrespect,Thus she with happy favour feeds   Allegiance from a love so highThat thence no false conceit proceeds   Of difference bridged, or state put by;Because, although in act and word   As lowly as a wife can be,Her manners, when they call me lord,   Remind me ’tis by courtesy;Not with her least consent of will,   Which would my proud affection hurt,But by the noble style that still   Imputes an unattain’d desert;Because her gay and lofty brows,   When all is won which hope can ask,Reflect a light of hopeless snows   That bright in virgin ether bask;Because, though free of the outer court   I am, this Temple keeps its shrineSacred to Heaven; because, in short,   She’s not and never can be mine.IIThe AmaranthFeasts satiate; stars distress with height;   Friendship means well, but misses reach,And wearies in its best delight,   Vex’d with the vanities of speech;Too long regarded, roses even   Afflict the mind with fond unrest;And to converse direct within Heaven   Is oft a labour in the breast;Whate’er the up-looking soul admires,   Whate’er the senses’ banquet be,Fatigues at last with vain desires,   Or sickens by satiety;But truly my delight was more   In her to whom I’m bound for ayeYesterday than the day before   And more to-day than yesterday.

HUSBAND AND WIFE

1I, while the shop-girl fitted on   The sand-shoes, look’d where, down the bay,The sea glow’d with a shrouded sun.   ‘I’m ready, Felix; will you pay?’That was my first expense for this   Sweet Stranger, now my three days’ Wife.How light the touches are that kiss   The music from the chords of life!2Her feet, by half-a-mile of sea,   In spotless sand left shapely prints;With agates, then, she loaded me;   (The lapidary call’d them flints);Then, at her wish, I hail’d a boat,   To take her to the ships-of-war,At anchor, each a lazy mote   Black in the brilliance, miles from shore.3The morning breeze the canvas fill’d,   Lifting us o’er the bright-ridged gulf,And every lurch my darling thrill’d   With light fear smiling at itself;And, dashing past the Arrogant,   Asleep upon the restless waveAfter its cruise in the Levant,   We reach’d the Wolf, and signal gaveFor help to board; within caution meet,   My bride was placed within the chair,The red flag wrapp’d about her feet,   And so swung laughing through the air.4‘Look, Love,’ she said, ‘there’s Frederick Graham,   My cousin, whom you met, you know,’And seeing us, the brave man came,   And made his frank and courteous bow,And gave my hand a sailor’s shake,   And said, ‘You ask’d me to the Hurst:I never thought my luck would make   Your wife and you my guests the first.’And Honor, cruel, ‘Nor did we:   Have you not lately changed your ship?’‘Yes: I’m Commander, now,’ said he,   With a slight quiver of the lip.We saw the vessel, shown with pride;   Took luncheon; I must eat his salt!Parting he said, (I fear my bride   Found him unselfish to a fault),His wish, he saw, had come to pass,   (And so, indeed, her face express’d),That that should be, whatever ’twas,   Which made his Cousin happiest.We left him looking from above;   Rich bankrupt! for he could affordTo say most proudly that his love   Was virtue and its own reward.But others loved as well as he,   (Thought I, half-anger’d), and if fate,Unfair, had only fashion’d me   As hapless, I had been as great.5As souls, ambitious, but low-born,   If raised past hope by luck or wit,All pride of place will proudly scorn,   And live as they’d been used to it,So we two wore our strange estate:   Familiar, unaffected, free,We talk’d, until the dusk grew late,   Of this and that; but, after tea,As doubtful if a lot so sweet   As ours was ours in very sooth,Like children, to promote conceit,   We feign’d that it was not the truth;And she assumed the maiden coy,   And I adored remorseless charms,And then we clapp’d our hands for joy,   And ran into each others arms.