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The Celebrated Woman: An Epistle By A Married Man–To A Fellow-Sufferer
by [?]


If Faust had really any hand
In printing, I can understand
The fate which legends more than hint;–
The devil take all hands that print!

And what my thanks for all?–a pout–
Sour looks–deep sighs; but what about?
About! O, that I well divine–
That such a pearl should fall to swine–
That such a literary ruby
Should grace the finger of a booby!

Spring comes;–behold, sweet mead and lea
Nature’s green splendor tapestries o’er;
Fresh blooms the flower, and buds the tree;
Larks sing–the woodland wakes once more.
The woodland wakes–but not for her!
From Nature’s self the charm has flown;
No more the Spring of earth can stir
The fond remembrance of our own!
The sweetest bird upon the bough
Has not one note of music now;
And, oh! how dull the grove’s soft shade,
Where once–(as lovers then)–we strayed!
The nightingales have got no learning–
Dull creatures–how can they inspire her?
The lilies are so undiscerning,
They never say–“how they admire her!”

In all this jubilee of being,
Some subject for a point she’s seeing–
Some epigram–(to be impartial,
Well turned)–there may be worse in Martial!

But, hark! the goddess stoops to reason:–
“The country now is quite in season,
I’ll go!”–“What! to our country seat?”
“No!–Travelling will be such a treat;
Pyrmont’s extremely full, I hear;
But Carlsbad’s quite the rage this year!”
Oh yes, she loves the rural Graces;
Nature is gay–in watering-places!
Those pleasant spas–our reigning passion–
Where learned Dons meet folks of fashion;
Where–each with each illustrious soul
Familiar as in Charon’s boat,
All sorts of fame sit cheek-by-jowl,
Pearls in that string–the table d’hote!
Where dames whom man has injured–fly,
To heal their wounds or to efface, them;
While others, with the waters, try
A course of flirting,–just to brace them!

Well, there (O man, how light thy woes
Compared with mine–thou need’st must see!)
My wife, undaunted, greatly goes–
And leaves the orphans (seven!!!) to me!

O, wherefore art thou flown so soon,
Thou first fair year–Love’s honeymoon!
All, dream too exquisite for life!
Home’s goddess–in the name of wife!
Reared by each grace–yet but to be
Man’s household Anadyomene!
With mind from which the sunbeams fall,
Rejoice while pervading all;
Frank in the temper pleased to please–
Soft in the feeling waked with ease.
So broke, as native of the skies,
The heart-enthraller on my eyes;
So saw I, like a morn of May,
The playmate given to glad my way;
With eyes that more than lips bespoke,
Eyes whence–sweet words–“I love thee!” broke!
So–Ah, what transports then were mine!
I led the bride before the shrine!
And saw the future years revealed,
Glassed on my hope–one blooming field!
More wide, and widening more, were given
The angel-gates disclosing heaven;
Round us the lovely, mirthful troop
Of children came–yet still to me
The loveliest–merriest of the group
The happy mother seemed to be!
Mine, by the bonds that bind us more
Than all the oaths the priest before;
Mine, by the concord of content,
When heart with heart is music-blent;
When, as sweet sounds in unison,
Two lives harmonious melt in one!
When–sudden (O the villain!)–came
Upon the scene a mind profound!–
A bel esprit, who whispered “Fame,”
And shook my card-house to the ground.

What have I now instead of all
The Eden lost of hearth and hall?
What comforts for the heaven bereft?
What of the younger angel’s left?
A sort of intellectual mule,
Man’s stubborn mind in woman’s shape,
Too hard to love, too frail to rule–
A sage engrafted on an ape!
To what she calls the realm of mind,
She leaves that throne, her sex, to crawl,
The cestus and the charm resigned–
A public gaping-show to all!
She blots from beauty’s golden book
A name ‘mid nature’s choicest few,
To gain the glory of a nook
In Doctor Dunderhead’s Review.

Footnote: [12] Carlyle’s Miscellanies, vol. iii, p. 47.

Footnote: [13] Literally “Nierensteiner,”–a wine not much known in England, and scarcely–according to our experience–worth the regrets of its respectable owner.