The Course of True Love

Oh, beating heart of sweet alarm,Which stays the lover’s step, when nearHis mistress and her awful charmOf grace and innocence sincere!I held the half-shut door, and heardThe voice of my betrothed wife,Who sang my verses, every wordBy music taught its latent life;With interludes of well-touch’d notes,That flash’d, surprising and serene,As meteor after meteor floatsThe soft, autumnal stars between.There was a passion in her tone,A tremor when she touch’d the keys,Which told me she was there alone,And uttering all her soul at ease.I enter’d; for I did not chooseTo learn how in her heart I throve,By chance or stealth; beyond her use,Her greeting flatter’d me with love.

With true love’s treacherous confidence,And ire, at last to laughter won,She spoke this speech, and mark’d its sense,By action, as her Aunt had done.

‘“You, with your looks and catching air,To think of Vaughan! You fool! You know,You might, with ordinary care,Ev’n yet be Lady Clitheroe.You’re sure he’ll do great things some day!Nonsense, he won’t; he’s dress’d too well.Dines with the Sterling Club, they say;Not commonly respectable!Half Puritan, half Cavalier!His curly hair I think’s a wig;And, for his fortune, why my Dear,’Tis not enough to keep a gig.Rich Aunts and Uncles never die;And what you bring won’t do for dress:And so you’ll live on By-and-by,Within oaten-cake and water-cress!”

‘I cried, but did not let her see.At last she soften’d her dispraise,On learning you had bought for meA carriage and a pair of bays.But here she comes! You take her inTo dinner. I impose this taskMake her approve my love; and winWhat thanks from me you choose to ask!’

‘My niece has told you every wordI said of you! What may I mean?Of course she has; but you’ve not heardHow I abused you to the Dean;—Yes, I’ll take wine; he’s mad, like her;And she will have you: there it ends!And, now I’ve done my duty, Sir,And you’ve shown common-sense, we’re friends!’

‘Go, child, and see him out yourself,’Aunt Maude said, after tea, ‘and showThe place, upon that upper shelf,Where Petrarch stands, lent long ago.’

‘These rose-leaves to my heart be press’d,Honoria, while it aches for you!’(The rose in ruin, from her breast,Fell, as I took a fond adieu.)‘You must go now, Love!’ ‘See, the airIs thick with starlight!’ ‘Let me tieThis scarf on. Oh, your Petrarch! There!I’m coming, Aunt!’ ‘Sweet, Sweet!’ ‘Good-bye!’‘Ah, Love, to me ’tis death to part,Yet you, my sever’d life, smile on!’These “Good-nights,” Felix, break my heart;I’m only gay till you are gone!’With love’s bright arrows from her eyes,And balm on her permissive lips,She pass’d, and night was a surprise,As when the sun at Quito dips.Her beauties were like sunlit snows,Flush’d but not warm’d with my desire.Oh, how I loved her! Fiercely glowsIn the pure air of frost the fire.Who for a year is sure of fate!I thought, dishearten’d as I went,Wroth with the Dean, who bade me wait,And vex’d with her, who seem’d content.Nay, could eternal life affordThat tyranny should thus deductFrom this fair land, which call’d me lord,A year of the sweet usufruct?It might not and it should not be!I’d go back now, and he must own,At once, my love’s compulsive plea.I turn’d, I found the Dean alone.‘Nonsense, my friend; go back to bed!It’s half-past twelve!’ ‘July, then, Sir!’‘Well, come to-morrow,’ at last he said,‘And you may talk of it with her.’A light gleam’d as I pass’d the stair.A pausing foot, a flash of dress,And a sweet voice. ‘Is Felix there?’‘July, Love!’ ‘Says Papa so?’ ‘Yes!’