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Updated: June 9, 2025
Meanwhile, at Anerley Farm, the usual fatness of full garners, and bright comfort of the evening hearth, the glow of peace, which labor kindles in the mind that has earned its rest, and the pleasant laziness of heart which comes where family love lies careless, confident, and unassailed the pleasure also of pitying the people who never can get in their wheat, and the hot benevolence of boiling down the bones for the man who has tumbled off one's own rick all these blisses, large and little, were not in their usual prime.
The insight involved is mystical, yet in a way more just to the facts than any promise of ulterior blisses. For it is not really true that a child has no other ideal than to become a man. Childhood has many an ideal of its own, many a beauty and joy irrelevant to manhood, and such that manhood is incapable of retaining or containing them.
Love's heart might well swell with satisfaction at the prospect of the various blisses to come, which might owe their origin to his benevolence. In fact, that archpriest of the Temple of Hymen was never more great than he was that day; never did his establishment seem more solid, his reputation more popular, or his fortune more sure. He was the life of the party.
But now this visit of my soft, warm hand, in those so sensible parts, had put every thing into such ungovernable fury, disdaining all further preluding, and taking advantage of my commodious posture, he made the storm fall where I scarce patiently expected, and where he was sure to lay it: presently, then, I felt the stiff intersection betwen the yielding, divided lips of the wound, now open for life; where the narrowness no longer put me to intolerable pain, and afforded my lover no more difficulty than what heightened his pleasure, in the strict embrace of that tender, warm sheath, round the instrument it was so delicately adjusted to, and which now cased home, so gorged me with pleasure, that it perfectly suffocated me and took away my breath; then the killing thrusts! the unnumbered kisses! every one of which was a joy inexpressible; and that joy lost in a crowd of yet greater blisses!
Apologies and blushes, Soft looks, averted eyes, Each heart into the other rushes, Each yields, and wins a prize. A gathering of fond friends, Brief, solemn words, and prayer, A trembling to the fingers' ends, As hand in hand, they swear. Sweet cake, sweet wine; sweet kisses, And so the deed is done; Now for life's waves and blisses, The wedded two are one.
We lift our eyes, and a great joy fills our hearts, and we sink away into blisses of remote consciousness. The delights of obedience are the highest felicities of love, and these Evelyn had begun to experience. She had ascended already into this happy nowhere. She was aware of him, and a little of the brilliant goal whither he was leading her.
No, my soft charmer, our souls were touched with the same shafts of love before they had a being in our bodies, and can we contradict divine decree? Was the beauty of divine shape created for the cold matrimonial embrace? And shall the eternal joys that Sylvia can dispense, be returned by the clumsy husband's careless, forced, insipid duties? Those heavenly blisses!
The true life and energy of the soul are lulled to idleness: basking in happiness, the soul ceases to give and becomes merely receptive. This condition seems strangely familiar to the soul. So much so that she questions herself. Was it from this I started on my wanderings from God? The true health of the soul when in the blisses of God is to be in a state of intense living or activity.
He visits his old haunts, The holt and the sun-hill; The founts of his youth, and The fields of his love. The stars in the welkin, The blooms on the earth, Are glad in his gladness, Are young in his youth. While round him the birds troop, the Hosts of the Himmel, Blisses of music, and Glories of wings; Hymning and hailing, And filling the sun-air With music, and glory And praise of the King."
'Guid-mornin' to your Majesty! May Heav'n augment your blisses, On ev'ry new birthday ye see, A humble poet wishes! My bardship here, at your levee, On sic a day as this is, Is sure an uncouth sight to see, Amang thae birthday dresses Sae fine this day.
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