My dearest Aunt, the Wedding-day, But for Jane's loss, and you away, Was all a Bride from heaven could beg! Skies bluer than the sparrow's egg, And clearer than the cuckoo's call; And such a sun! the flowers all With double ardour seem'd to blow! The very daisies were a show, Expanded with uncommon pride, Like little pictures of the Bride. Your Great-Niece and your Grandson were Perfection of a pretty pair. How well Honoria's girls turn out, Although they never go about! Dear me, what trouble and expense It took to teach mine confidence! @3Hers@1 greet mankind as I've heard say That wild things do, where beasts of prey Were never known, nor any men Have met their fearless eyes till then. Their grave, inquiring trust to find All creatures of their simple kind Quite disconcerts bold coxcombry, And makes less perfect candour shy. Ah, Mrs. Graham! people may scoff, But how your home-kept girls go off! How Hymen hastens to unband The waist that ne'er felt waltzer's hand! At last I see my Sister's right, And I've told Maud this very night, (But, oh, my daughters have such wills!) To knit, and only dance quadrilles. You say Fred never writes to you Frankly, as once he used to do, About himself; and you complain He shared with none his grief for Jane. It all comes of the foolish fright Men feel at the word, hypocrite. Although, when first in love, sometimes They rave in letters, talk, and rhymes, When once they find, as find they must, How hard 'tis to be hourly just To those they love, they are dumb for shame, Where we, you see, talk on the same. Honoria, to whose heart alone He seems to open all his own, At times has tears in her kind eyes, After their private colloquies. He's her most favour'd guest, and moves My spleen by his impartial loves. His pleasure has some inner spring Depending not on anything. Petting our Polly, none e'er smiled More fondly on his favourite child; Yet, playing with his own, it is Somehow as if it were not his. He means to go again to sea, Now that the wedding's over. He Will leave to Emily and John The little ones to practise on; And Major-domo, Mrs. Rouse, A dear old soul from Wilton House, Will scold the housemaids and the cook, Till Emily has learn'd to look A little braver than a lamb Surprised by dogs without its dam! Do, dear Aunt, use your influence, And try to teach some plain good sense To Mary. 'Tis not yet too late To make her change her chosen state Of single silliness. In truth, I fancy that, with fading youth, Her will now wavers. Yesterday, Though, till the Bride was gone away, Joy shone from Mary's loving heart, I found her afterwards apart, Hysterically sobbing. I Knew much too well to ask her why. This marrying of Nieces daunts The bravest souls of maiden Aunts. Though Sisters' children often blend Sweetly the bonds of child and friend, They are but reeds to rest upon. When Emily comes back with John, Her right to go downstairs before Aunt Mary will but be the more Observed if kindly waived, and how Shall these be as they were, when now Niece has her John, and Aunt the sense Of her superior innocence? Somehow, all loves, however fond, Prove lieges of the nuptial bond; And she who dares at this to scoff, Finds all the rest in time drop off; While marriage, like a mushroom-ring, Spreads its sure circle every Spring. She twice refused George Vane, you know; Yet, when he died three years ago In the Indian war, she put on gray, And wears no colours to this day. And she it is who charges @3me@1 Dear Aunt, with 'inconsistency!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: DR. TRACE TO THE CORONER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS PLAYING JACKS IN BHAKTAPUR by KAREN SWENSON CEREMONIES FOR CANDLEMASSE EVE by ROBERT HERRICK SONGS OF LABOR: DEDICATION by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER STORM AT SEA (2) by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 35. AL-GHAFIR by EDWIN ARNOLD |