LILIAN. AIRY, fairy Lilian, She'll not tell me if she love me, When my passion seeks She, looking through and through me Smiling, never speaks: So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, From beneath her gathered wimple Glancing with black-beaded eyes, Till the lightning laughters dimple The baby-roses in her cheeks; Then away she flies. Prithee weep, May Lilian! Gayety without eclipse Wearieth me, May Lilian: Through my very heart it thrilleth When from crimson-threaded lips Silver-treble laughter trilleth: Prithee weep, May Lilian. Praying all I can, If prayers will not hush thee, Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee, ISABEL. EYES not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed Of her still spirit; locks not wide dispread, The intuitive decision of a bright And thorough-edged intellect to part Error from crime; a prudence to withhold; The laws of marriage charactered in gold Upon the blanched tablets of her heart; A love still burning upward, giving light To read those laws; an accent very low In blandishment, but a most silver flow Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, Right to the heart and brain, though undescried, Winning its way with extreme gentleness Through all the outworks of suspicious pride; A courage to endure and to obey; A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway, Crowned Isabel, through all her placid life, The queen of marriage, a most perfect wife. The mellowed reflex of a winter moon; |