LOVE'S PHILOSOPHIES.

A wife is like an unknown sea;—

Least known to him who thinks he knows

Where all the shores of promise be,

Where lie the islands of repose,

And where the rocks that he must flee.

Capricious winds, uncertain tides,

Drive the young sailor on and on,

Till all his charts and all his guides

Prove false, and vain conceit is gone,

And only docile love abides.

Where lay the shallows of the maid,

No plummet line the wife may sound;

Where round the sunny islands played

The pulses of the great profound,

Lies low the treacherous everglade.

And sailing, he becomes, perforce,

Discoverer of a lovely world;

And finds, whate'er may be his course,

Green lands within white seas impearled,

And streams of unsuspected source

Which feed with gold delicious fruits,

Kept by unguessed Hesperides,

Or cool the lips of gentle brutes

That breed and browse among the trees

Whose wind-tossed limbs and leaves are lutes,

The maiden free, the maiden wed,

Can never, never be the same.

A new life springs from out the dead,

And, with the speaking of a name,

A breath upon the marriage-bed,

She finds herself a something new —

( Which he learns later, but no less );

And good and evil, false and true,

May change their features — who can guess?—

Seen close, or from another view.

For maiden life, with all its fire,

Is hid within a grated cell,

Where every fancy and desire

And graceless passion, guarded well,

Sits dumb behind the woven wire.

Marriage is freedom: only when

The husband turns the prison-key

Knows she herself; nor even then

Knows she more wisely well than he,

Who finds himself least wise of men.

New duties bring new powers to birth,

And new relations, new surprise

Of depths of weakness or of worth,

Until he doubt if her disguise

Mask more of heaven, or more of earth.

Tears spring beneath a careless touch;

Endurance hardens with a word;

She holds a trifle with a clutch

So strangely, childishly absurd,

That he who loves and pardons much

Doubts if her wayward wit be sane,

When straight beyond his manly power

She stiffens to the awful strain

Of some supreme or crucial hour,

And stands unblanched in fiercest pain!

A jealous thought, a petty pique,

Enwraps in gloom, or bursts in storm;

She questions all that love may speak,

And weighs its tone, and marks its form,

Or yields her frailty to a freak

That vexes him or breeds disgust;

Then rises in heroic flame,

And treads a danger into dust,

Or puts his doubting soul to shame

With love unfeigned and perfect trust.

Still seas unknown the husband sails;

Life-long the lovely marvel lasts;

In golden calms or driving gales,

With silent prow, or reeling masts,

Each hour a fresh surprise unveils.

The brooding, threatening bank of mist

Grows into groups of virid isles,

By sea embraced and sunlight kissed,

Or breaks into resplendent smiles

Of cinnabar and amethyst!

No day so bright but scuds may fall,

No day so still but winds may blow;

No morn so dismal with the pall

Of wintry storm, but stars may glow

When evening gathers, over all!

And so thought Philip, when, in haste

Returning from his lengthened stay —

The river and the lawn retraced —

He found his Mildred blithe and gay,

And all his anxious care a waste.

To be half vexed that she could thrive

Without him through a morning's span,

Upon the honey in her hive,

Was but to prove himself a man,

And show that he was quite alive!