ACCEPTED.

What fortune did my heart foretell?

What shook my spirit, as I woke,

Like the vibration of a bell

Of which I had not heard the stroke?

Was it some happy vision shut

From memory by the sun's fresh ray?

Was it that linnet's song; or but

A natural gratitude for day?

Or the mere joy the senses weave,

A wayward ecstasy of life?

Then I remember'd, yester-eve

I won Honoria for my Wife.

Forth riding, while as yet the day

Was 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 life

When 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. There

We talk'd, she working. We agreed

The day was fine; the Fancy-Fair

Successful;‘ Did I ever read

De Genlis?’‘ Never.’‘ Do! She heard

I was engaged.’‘ To whom?’‘ Miss Fry

Was it the fact?’‘ No!’‘ On my word?’

‘ What scandal people talk'd!’‘ Would I

Hold out this skein of silk.’ So pass'd

I knew not how much time away.

‘ How were her sisters?’‘ Well.’ At last

I 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 rose

When 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 understand

The honour of her vanquish'd heart.

But I drew humbly to her side;

And she, well pleased, perceiving me

Liege ever to the noble pride

Of her unconquer'd majesty,

Once and for all put it away;

The faint flush pass'd; and, thereupon,

Her loveliness, which rather lay

In light than colour, smiled and shone,

Till sick was all my soul with bliss;

Or was it with remorse and ire

Of such a sanctity as this

Subdued by love to my desire?