‘By meekness charm’d, or proud to allow A queenly claim to live admired, Full many a lady has ere now My apprehensive fancy fired, And woven many a transient chain; But never lady like to this, Who holds me as the weather-vane Is held by yonder clematis. She seems the life of nature’s powers; Her beauty is the genial thought Which makes the sunshine bright; the flowers, But for their hint of her, were nought.’ 2 A voice, the sweeter for the grace Of suddenness, while thus I dream’d, ‘Good morning!’ said or sang. Her face The mirror of the morning seem’d. Her sisters in the garden walk’d, And would I come? Across the Hall She led me; and we laugh’d and talk’d, And praised the Flower-show and the Ball; And Mildred’s pinks had gain’d the Prize; And, stepping like the light-foot fawn, She brought me ‘Wiltshire Butterflies,’ The Prize-book; then we paced the lawn, Close-cut, and with geranium-plots, A rival glow of green and red; Than counted sixty apricots On one small tree; the gold-fish fed; And watch’d where, black with scarlet tans, Proud Psyche stood and flash’d like flame, Showing and shutting splendid fans; And in the prize we found its name. 3 The sweet hour lapsed, and left my breast A load of joy and tender care; And this delight, which life oppress’d, To fix’d aims grew, that ask’d for pray’r. I rode home slowly; whip-in-hand And soil’d bank-notes all ready, stood The Farmer who farm’d all my land, Except the little Park and Wood; And with the accustom’d compliment Of talk, and beef, and frothing beer, I, my own steward, took my rent, Three hundred pounds for half the year; Our witnesses the Cook and Groom, We sign’d the lease for seven years more, And bade Good-day; then to my room I went, and closed and lock’d the door, And cast myself down on my bed, And there, with many a blissful tear, I vow’d to love and pray’d to wed The maiden who had grown so dear; Thank’d God who had set her in my path; And promised, as I hoped to win, That I would never dim my faith By the least selfishness or sin; Whatever in her sight I’d seem I’d truly be; I’d never blend With my delight in her a dream ’Twould change her cheek to comprehend; And, if she wish’d it, I’d prefer Another’s to my own success; And always seek the best for her With unofficious tenderness. 4 Rising, I breathed a brighter clime, And found myself all self above, And, with a charity sublime, Contemn’d not those who did not love: And I could not but feel that then I shone with something of her grace, And went forth to my fellow men My commendation in my face. CANTO V. The Violets. PRELUDES. I. _The Comparison_.