Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
England: Vols. I–IV. 1876–79.
A Devonshire Lane
By John MarriottI
T’ other day, much in want of a subject for song,
Thinks I to myself I have hit on a strain,—
Sure marriage is much like a Devonshire lane.
It holds you as fast as the cage holds a linnet;
For howe’er rough and dirty the road may be found,
Drive forward you must, since there ’s no turning round.
For two are the most that together can ride;
And even then ’t is a chance but they get in a pother,
And jostle and cross and run foul of each other.
And Care pushes by them o’erladen with crooks,
And Strife’s grating wheels try between them to pass,
Or Stubbornness blocks up the way on her ass.
That they shut up the beauties around from the sight;
And hence you ’ll allow,—’t is an inference plain,—
That marriage is just like a Devonshire lane.
With bud, blossom, and berry are richly besprent;
And the conjugal fence which forbids us to roam
Looks lovely, when decked with the comforts of home.
The ivy waves fresh o’er the withering rose,
And the ever-green love of a virtuous wife
Smooths the roughness of care, cheers the winter of life.
I ’ll rejoice that I ’ve seldom a turnpike to pay;
And, whate’er others think, be the last to complain,
Though marriage is just like a Devonshire lane.