THE MORNING CALL.
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‘By meekness charm’d, or proud to allowA queenly claim to live admired,Full many a lady has ere nowMy apprehensive fancy fired,And woven many a transient chain;But never lady like to this,Who holds me as the weather-vaneIs held by yonder clematis.She seems the life of nature’s powers;Her beauty is the genial thoughtWhich makes the sunshine bright; the flowers,But for their hint of her, were nought.’ 2 A voice, the sweeter for the graceOf suddenness, while thus I dream’d,‘Good morning!’ said or sang. Her faceThe mirror of the morning seem’d.Her sisters in the garden walk’d,And would I come? Across the HallShe 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 apricotsOn 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 breastA 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-handAnd soil’d bank-notes all ready, stoodThe Farmer who farm’d all my land,Except the little Park and Wood;And with the accustom’d complimentOf 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 roomI 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 wedThe 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 faithBy the least selfishness or sin;Whatever in her sight I’d seemI’d truly be; I’d never blendWith my delight in her a dream’Twould change her cheek to comprehend;And, if she wish’d it, I’d preferAnother’s to my own success;And always seek the best for herWith 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 thenI shone with something of her grace,And went forth to my fellow menMy commendation in my face.
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