THE DEAN.

The Ladies rose. I held the door,

And sigh'd, as her departing grace

Assured me that she always wore

A heart as happy as her face;

And, jealous of the winds that blew,

I dreaded, o'er the tasteless wine,

What fortune momently might do

To hurt the hope that she'd be mine.

Towards my mark the Dean's talk set:

He praised my‘ Notes on Abury,’

Read when the Association met

At Sarum; he was pleased to see

I had not stopp'd, as some men had,

At Wrangler and Prize Poet; last,

He hoped the business was not bad

I came about: then the wine pass'd.

A full glass prefaced my reply:

I loved his daughter, Honor; I told

My estate and prospects; might I try

To win her? At my words so bold

My sick heart sank. Then he: He gave

His glad consent, if I could get

Her love. A dear, good Girl! she'd have

Only three thousand pounds as yet;

More bye and bye. Yes, his good will

Should go with me; he would not stir;

He and my father in old time still

Wish'd I should one day marry her;

But God so seldom lets us take

Our chosen pathway, when it lies

In steps that either mar or make

Or alter others’ destinies,

That, though his blessing and his pray'r

Had help'd, should help, my suit, yet he

Left all to me, his passive share

Consent and opportunity.

My chance, he hoped, was good: I'd won

Some name already; friends and place

Appear'd within my reach, but none

Her mind and manners would not grace.

Girls love to see the men in whom

They invest their vanities admired;

Besides, where goodness is, there room

For good to work will be desired.

‘ Twas so with one now pass'd away;

And what she was at twenty-two,

Honor was now; and he might say

Mine was a choice I could not rue.

He ceased, and gave his hand. He had won

( And all my heart was in my word ),

From me the affection of a son,

Whichever fortune Heaven conferr'd!

Well, well, would I take more wine? Then go

To her; she makes tea on the lawn

These fine warm afternoons. And so

We went whither my soul was drawn;

And her light-hearted ignorance

Of interest in our discourse

Fill'd me with love, and seem'd to enhance

Her beauty with pathetic force,

As, through the flowery mazes sweet,

Fronting the wind that flutter'd blythe,

And loved her shape, and kiss'd her feet,

Shown to their insteps proud and lithe,

She approach'd, all mildness and young trust,

And ever her chaste and noble air

Gave to love's feast its choicest gust,

A vague, faint augury of despair.