Accepted

What fortune did my heart foretell?What shook my spirit, as I woke,Like the vibration of a bellOf which I had not heard the stroke?Was it some happy vision shutFrom memory by the sun’s fresh ray?Was it that linnet’s song; or butA natural gratitude for day?Or the mere joy the senses weave,A wayward ecstasy of life?Then I remember’d, yester-eveI won Honoria for my Wife.

Forth riding, while as yet the dayWas dewy, watching Sarum Spire,Still beckoning me along my way,And growing every minute higher,I reach’d the Dean’s. One blind was down,Though nine then struck. My bride to be!And had she rested ill, my own,With thinking (oh, my heart!) of me?I paced the streets; a pistol chose,To guard my now important lifeWhen riding late from Sarum Close;At noon return’d. Good Mrs. Fife,To my, ‘The Dean, is he at home?’Said, ‘No, sir; but Miss Honor is;’And straight, not asking if I’d come,Announced me, ‘Mr. Felix, Miss,’To Mildred, in the Study. ThereWe talk’d, she working. We agreedThe day was fine; the Fancy-FairSuccessful; ‘Did I ever readDe Genlis?’ ‘Never.’ ‘Do! She heardI was engaged.’ ‘To whom?’ ‘Miss FryWas it the fact?’ ‘No!’ ‘On my word?’‘What scandal people talk’d!’ ‘Would IHold out this skein of silk.’ So pass’dI knew not how much time away.‘How were her sisters?’ ‘Well.’ At lastI summon’d heart enough to say,‘I hoped to have seen Miss Churchill too.’‘Miss Churchill, Felix! What is this?I said, and now I find ’tis true,Last night you quarrell’d! Here she is.’

She came, and seem’d a morning roseWhen ruffling rain has paled its blush;Her crown once more was on her brows;And, with a faint, indignant flush,And fainter smile, she gave her hand,But not her eyes, then sate apart,As if to make me understandThe honour of her vanquish’d heart.But I drew humbly to her side;And she, well pleased, perceiving meLiege ever to the noble prideOf her unconquer’d majesty,Once and for all put it away;The faint flush pass’d; and, thereupon,Her loveliness, which rather layIn light than colour, smiled and shone,Till sick was all my soul with bliss;Or was it with remorse and ireOf such a sanctity as thisSubdued by love to my desire?