DRAMATIC.

It seem’d a rare and royal friendship, ours,The very sovereignty of sympathy;Begun so early too—mere lads we were—And now I never look back there againBut, swept like shading from a hero’s faceIn pictures,—those of Rembrandt,—all the schoolAppear in hues of dim uncertaintySurrounding Elbert, shining in relief.Not strange was it; too tender was I made;Nor oft had felt a touch save that of age,When moulding all my methods to its own.Kept back from contact with rough boys at play,Till sensitive and shrinking as a girl,A hint of their regard could master me;No maiden, dreaming of her wedding day,Could wake at morning with more trembling hopesThan I, when looking forward to my school.But when I reach’d it, not a Bluebeard moreCould have disturb’d a trusting bride’s romance.

It seem’d a rare and royal friendship, ours,

The very sovereignty of sympathy;

Begun so early too—mere lads we were—

And now I never look back there again

But, swept like shading from a hero’s face

In pictures,—those of Rembrandt,—all the school

Appear in hues of dim uncertainty

Surrounding Elbert, shining in relief.

Not strange was it; too tender was I made;Nor oft had felt a touch save that of age,When moulding all my methods to its own.Kept back from contact with rough boys at play,Till sensitive and shrinking as a girl,A hint of their regard could master me;No maiden, dreaming of her wedding day,Could wake at morning with more trembling hopesThan I, when looking forward to my school.But when I reach’d it, not a Bluebeard moreCould have disturb’d a trusting bride’s romance.

Not strange was it; too tender was I made;

Nor oft had felt a touch save that of age,

When moulding all my methods to its own.

Kept back from contact with rough boys at play,

Till sensitive and shrinking as a girl,

A hint of their regard could master me;

No maiden, dreaming of her wedding day,

Could wake at morning with more trembling hopes

Than I, when looking forward to my school.

But when I reach’d it, not a Bluebeard more

Could have disturb’d a trusting bride’s romance.

At first, they lodged me there with such a loon!“Our clown!” so said the boys; and clown he was;Would tease all day, and tumble round all night;And, every morning, sure as came the sun,Would start and rout me out, with strap in hand,Plied like a coach-whip round my dancing shape,Well put to blush until I dodged away.A chum had Elbert too; and, like my own,A wild boy caged, who seem’d more wild at timesThrough beating at his bars, a hapless wretch.And when our happier love had flower’d in us,Half pitying each other, half this chum,Which pity grew, we both stood round, scarce loathTo note his own wild set inflating himWith well-blown whims that swell’d his empty prideForsooth, the better bubble he could be,The better hope we two could have of whatShould blow him from us. Then the blow came on:—A gust of scolding struck him, and he went,—Obey’d the call that had been mouthed for him,—An inn-clerk’s, as I think,—and bow’d contentTo sink from view like Paul, one gloomy night,From out the window of his room; while we,Much giggling, flung his luggage after him.

At first, they lodged me there with such a loon!

“Our clown!” so said the boys; and clown he was;

Would tease all day, and tumble round all night;

And, every morning, sure as came the sun,

Would start and rout me out, with strap in hand,

Plied like a coach-whip round my dancing shape,

Well put to blush until I dodged away.

A chum had Elbert too; and, like my own,A wild boy caged, who seem’d more wild at timesThrough beating at his bars, a hapless wretch.And when our happier love had flower’d in us,Half pitying each other, half this chum,Which pity grew, we both stood round, scarce loathTo note his own wild set inflating himWith well-blown whims that swell’d his empty prideForsooth, the better bubble he could be,The better hope we two could have of whatShould blow him from us. Then the blow came on:—A gust of scolding struck him, and he went,—Obey’d the call that had been mouthed for him,—An inn-clerk’s, as I think,—and bow’d contentTo sink from view like Paul, one gloomy night,From out the window of his room; while we,Much giggling, flung his luggage after him.

A chum had Elbert too; and, like my own,

A wild boy caged, who seem’d more wild at times

Through beating at his bars, a hapless wretch.

And when our happier love had flower’d in us,

Half pitying each other, half this chum,

Which pity grew, we both stood round, scarce loath

To note his own wild set inflating him

With well-blown whims that swell’d his empty pride

Forsooth, the better bubble he could be,

The better hope we two could have of what

Should blow him from us. Then the blow came on:—

A gust of scolding struck him, and he went,—

Obey’d the call that had been mouthed for him,—

An inn-clerk’s, as I think,—and bow’d content

To sink from view like Paul, one gloomy night,

From out the window of his room; while we,

Much giggling, flung his luggage after him.

My friend, thus widow’d, caused that our school’s head,Already nodding o’er his noonday pipe,Should beck at sever’d dreams with one nod more,And so consent to our dreams.Room-mates made,We slamm’d his door and woke him; not ourselves.Our dreamland lasted, that is, when we twoWere by ourselves. When more surrounded us—You know boy-friends are shy: is it a trait,Their shielding of their hearts, that fits them thusFor life-tilts of their manhood?—How we twoWould rasp each other when the world look’d on!In truth, each seem’d to wear his nature’s coatThe soft side inward, comforting himself,And turn the rough side only toward the world.If strangers chafed against it, yet oneselfAnd friend were saved this.When thus Elbert’s cloakWas mine, and mine was his, and both held both,No proof could have convinced me in those daysHis peer had ever liv’d. What seem’d in himSo mild and beautiful, was more than marksMere difference between a porcupineProvok’d and peaceable. The kind was new;Not human, so angelic. Ay, that soul,As pure as loving, and as fine as frank,I half believe to-day, as I did then,Stood strange amid his comrades of the playAs dogwood, wedded to the skies of spring,White in a wilderness of wintry pines.Ah me, could all find all on earth so dear,Christ’s work were common. I had died for him.In fact, to shield the rogue, I just escap’dThat very fate a score of times or more,Bluft, bruis’d, and battling for him on the green.

My friend, thus widow’d, caused that our school’s head,

Already nodding o’er his noonday pipe,

Should beck at sever’d dreams with one nod more,

And so consent to our dreams.

Room-mates made,

We slamm’d his door and woke him; not ourselves.

Our dreamland lasted, that is, when we two

Were by ourselves. When more surrounded us—

You know boy-friends are shy: is it a trait,

Their shielding of their hearts, that fits them thus

For life-tilts of their manhood?—How we two

Would rasp each other when the world look’d on!

In truth, each seem’d to wear his nature’s coat

The soft side inward, comforting himself,

And turn the rough side only toward the world.

If strangers chafed against it, yet oneself

And friend were saved this.

When thus Elbert’s cloakWas mine, and mine was his, and both held both,No proof could have convinced me in those daysHis peer had ever liv’d. What seem’d in himSo mild and beautiful, was more than marksMere difference between a porcupineProvok’d and peaceable. The kind was new;Not human, so angelic. Ay, that soul,As pure as loving, and as fine as frank,I half believe to-day, as I did then,Stood strange amid his comrades of the playAs dogwood, wedded to the skies of spring,White in a wilderness of wintry pines.Ah me, could all find all on earth so dear,Christ’s work were common. I had died for him.In fact, to shield the rogue, I just escap’dThat very fate a score of times or more,Bluft, bruis’d, and battling for him on the green.

When thus Elbert’s cloak

Was mine, and mine was his, and both held both,

No proof could have convinced me in those days

His peer had ever liv’d. What seem’d in him

So mild and beautiful, was more than marks

Mere difference between a porcupine

Provok’d and peaceable. The kind was new;

Not human, so angelic. Ay, that soul,

As pure as loving, and as fine as frank,

I half believe to-day, as I did then,

Stood strange amid his comrades of the play

As dogwood, wedded to the skies of spring,

White in a wilderness of wintry pines.

Ah me, could all find all on earth so dear,

Christ’s work were common. I had died for him.

In fact, to shield the rogue, I just escap’d

That very fate a score of times or more,

Bluft, bruis’d, and battling for him on the green.

Our love kept warm until our school-day-sunHad set; and afterwards the smouldering firesWere fed by letters, and rekindl’d oftBy friction of a frequent intercourseThrough visits in vacations; then, for years,Behind it there was left a lingering lightPervading moods of memory like the raysPour’d through a prism, wherein the commonest huesWill spray to uncommon colors when they break.In truth, I never see to-day a faceWhere flash the kindling feelings of a boy,But back of it, I seem to feel the warmthOf Elbert’s heart. No school-boy past me boundsBut his dear presence comes to leap the years,And rush on recollection, with a forceThat brings from depths of joy, still’d long ago,A spray as fresh as dash’d from them when firstThey stream’d in cataracts. With love like hisTo flood its brim, my soul appear’d so fullThat, overflowing at each human touch,Its pleasures could not stagnate.But, you knowHow fly the clouds above us, and in droughtThe old springs fail; and long we liv’d apart.

Our love kept warm until our school-day-sun

Had set; and afterwards the smouldering fires

Were fed by letters, and rekindl’d oft

By friction of a frequent intercourse

Through visits in vacations; then, for years,

Behind it there was left a lingering light

Pervading moods of memory like the rays

Pour’d through a prism, wherein the commonest hues

Will spray to uncommon colors when they break.

In truth, I never see to-day a face

Where flash the kindling feelings of a boy,

But back of it, I seem to feel the warmth

Of Elbert’s heart. No school-boy past me bounds

But his dear presence comes to leap the years,

And rush on recollection, with a force

That brings from depths of joy, still’d long ago,

A spray as fresh as dash’d from them when first

They stream’d in cataracts. With love like his

To flood its brim, my soul appear’d so full

That, overflowing at each human touch,

Its pleasures could not stagnate.

But, you know

How fly the clouds above us, and in drought

The old springs fail; and long we liv’d apart.

Then Elbert, when we met, talk’d much of this:How, all its chairs made vacant one by one,Th’ applause rose thinner at his bachelor-club;How, brief as birds’, are human mating-times;How men, mere songs forgot, withdraw to nests—To homes—their worlds, where all the sky is fill’dWith sunny smiles they love, and shadowy locks.How sweet were life whose light and shade were these!“We, Norman,” said he, “were contented once;To love each other only; but men part;And I confess that, while this light of lovePlays lambent round so many glowing lips,I feel as chill, and lost, and out of place,As one lone dew-drop, prison’d in a shadeOf universal noon.”“The sun,” said I,“Will free it, by and by. Our time will come.”“Must come,” replied he, “or I go to it.Henceforth, let beauty’s beams but gleam for me,I shall not shun them, as has been my wont,But make my eyes a sun-glass for my heart,And let them burn it.”“May they burn,” I cried,“Until love’s fragrant opiate fume so strongIt make your brain beclouded as a Turk’s.But I, alas, though wild o’er many a maid,Am never mad enough to marry her.”“You poets,” laugh’d he, “soar above earth soThat common clouds like these can reach you not.But why say ‘clouds’? for clouds rise o’er a flameThat smoulders. Love that burns is always clear.”“But mine will not burn clearly, till it showA woman,” said I, “fitted for a mate,Whose mind, like yours, can really match my own.Till then must memory, jealous for her past,Out-do love’s hope that cannot promise more.”“But maidens,” cried he, “are not loved like men.Bind beauty to their souls, then weigh the twain.If one weigh naught, he waives his judgment then.We must be practical.”Thus Elbert spoke,While I, for whom these light and vapory moodsHad gather’d o’er that soul in slightest clouds,Not tokening the storm that yet should burst,Smiled only, thinking how, where throbb’d his heart,Some maid unnamed must surely stand and knock;Though this I had forgotten, save for thatWhich happen’d later. You shall hear of it.

Then Elbert, when we met, talk’d much of this:

How, all its chairs made vacant one by one,

Th’ applause rose thinner at his bachelor-club;

How, brief as birds’, are human mating-times;

How men, mere songs forgot, withdraw to nests—

To homes—their worlds, where all the sky is fill’d

With sunny smiles they love, and shadowy locks.

How sweet were life whose light and shade were these!

“We, Norman,” said he, “were contented once;To love each other only; but men part;And I confess that, while this light of lovePlays lambent round so many glowing lips,I feel as chill, and lost, and out of place,As one lone dew-drop, prison’d in a shadeOf universal noon.”“The sun,” said I,“Will free it, by and by. Our time will come.”

“We, Norman,” said he, “were contented once;

To love each other only; but men part;

And I confess that, while this light of love

Plays lambent round so many glowing lips,

I feel as chill, and lost, and out of place,

As one lone dew-drop, prison’d in a shade

Of universal noon.”

“The sun,” said I,

“Will free it, by and by. Our time will come.”

“Must come,” replied he, “or I go to it.Henceforth, let beauty’s beams but gleam for me,I shall not shun them, as has been my wont,But make my eyes a sun-glass for my heart,And let them burn it.”

“Must come,” replied he, “or I go to it.

Henceforth, let beauty’s beams but gleam for me,

I shall not shun them, as has been my wont,

But make my eyes a sun-glass for my heart,

And let them burn it.”

“May they burn,” I cried,“Until love’s fragrant opiate fume so strongIt make your brain beclouded as a Turk’s.But I, alas, though wild o’er many a maid,Am never mad enough to marry her.”

“May they burn,” I cried,

“Until love’s fragrant opiate fume so strong

It make your brain beclouded as a Turk’s.

But I, alas, though wild o’er many a maid,

Am never mad enough to marry her.”

“You poets,” laugh’d he, “soar above earth soThat common clouds like these can reach you not.But why say ‘clouds’? for clouds rise o’er a flameThat smoulders. Love that burns is always clear.”

“You poets,” laugh’d he, “soar above earth so

That common clouds like these can reach you not.

But why say ‘clouds’? for clouds rise o’er a flame

That smoulders. Love that burns is always clear.”

“But mine will not burn clearly, till it showA woman,” said I, “fitted for a mate,Whose mind, like yours, can really match my own.Till then must memory, jealous for her past,Out-do love’s hope that cannot promise more.”

“But mine will not burn clearly, till it show

A woman,” said I, “fitted for a mate,

Whose mind, like yours, can really match my own.

Till then must memory, jealous for her past,

Out-do love’s hope that cannot promise more.”

“But maidens,” cried he, “are not loved like men.Bind beauty to their souls, then weigh the twain.If one weigh naught, he waives his judgment then.We must be practical.”

“But maidens,” cried he, “are not loved like men.

Bind beauty to their souls, then weigh the twain.

If one weigh naught, he waives his judgment then.

We must be practical.”

Thus Elbert spoke,While I, for whom these light and vapory moodsHad gather’d o’er that soul in slightest clouds,Not tokening the storm that yet should burst,Smiled only, thinking how, where throbb’d his heart,Some maid unnamed must surely stand and knock;Though this I had forgotten, save for thatWhich happen’d later. You shall hear of it.

Thus Elbert spoke,

While I, for whom these light and vapory moods

Had gather’d o’er that soul in slightest clouds,

Not tokening the storm that yet should burst,

Smiled only, thinking how, where throbb’d his heart,

Some maid unnamed must surely stand and knock;

Though this I had forgotten, save for that

Which happen’d later. You shall hear of it.

It came in Dresden, something like a yearMore late than when my plan for life was changed.The change seem’d sudden; but, you know, the blowThat swept from me my parents, fortune, all,Could not but stun me, and I could not think.No other theme seem’d mine; I could not write.So came my change—no myth—I felt it all:—One time, when, lonely, I to Christ had knelt,I rose to seem not lonely; I was His,He mine. I vow’d to live then but for Him,To break away from every cord of Earth,And make my life accordant with his own.Not only would I think the truth, but yieldEach grain in all my being to the truth,And sow in wildest wastes, where all should germIn generations growing toward the good.But still, a novice yet, though, like St. Paul,To will was present with me; to performI found not how; but, on performance bent,Within a chancel chanting with the choir,I stood before an altar, half the day,And half before my books, with cravings paleFor church and stole and sermons of my own.

It came in Dresden, something like a year

More late than when my plan for life was changed.

The change seem’d sudden; but, you know, the blow

That swept from me my parents, fortune, all,

Could not but stun me, and I could not think.

No other theme seem’d mine; I could not write.

So came my change—no myth—I felt it all:—One time, when, lonely, I to Christ had knelt,I rose to seem not lonely; I was His,He mine. I vow’d to live then but for Him,To break away from every cord of Earth,And make my life accordant with his own.Not only would I think the truth, but yieldEach grain in all my being to the truth,And sow in wildest wastes, where all should germIn generations growing toward the good.

So came my change—no myth—I felt it all:—

One time, when, lonely, I to Christ had knelt,

I rose to seem not lonely; I was His,

He mine. I vow’d to live then but for Him,

To break away from every cord of Earth,

And make my life accordant with his own.

Not only would I think the truth, but yield

Each grain in all my being to the truth,

And sow in wildest wastes, where all should germ

In generations growing toward the good.

But still, a novice yet, though, like St. Paul,To will was present with me; to performI found not how; but, on performance bent,Within a chancel chanting with the choir,I stood before an altar, half the day,And half before my books, with cravings paleFor church and stole and sermons of my own.

But still, a novice yet, though, like St. Paul,

To will was present with me; to perform

I found not how; but, on performance bent,

Within a chancel chanting with the choir,

I stood before an altar, half the day,

And half before my books, with cravings pale

For church and stole and sermons of my own.

Then was it Elbert’s friendship further’d me.For finding me, and staring at my face,And books, and cassock—when the puzzle pass’d,—He, humbling to my humor, praised the priestAnd all the powers of priesthood, till delightRelax’d the rigor of my rôle; and thenHe wedged the wisdom of his own desireWithin my dreams, and broke apart their spell,And drew aside the curtains of their couch,And spoke of dawn, and light for all the world.“First learn about this world,” he urged, “and thenLearn how to help it. Minds like mine,” he said,“Should teach, revise, reform, and start the thoughtTo counteract ill aim’d philosophy.Here loom’d an end worth reaching! which to reach’Twere well to cross the sea.—His purse was mine.And go you as a student,” Elbert said,“Nor clad so like a priest, for whom all earthWill don some Sabbath-day demean; go freeTo find the man, hard by his work, at home.”Thus pleading many days, at last he won;And, yielding to his wish, the sea I cross’d.

Then was it Elbert’s friendship further’d me.

For finding me, and staring at my face,

And books, and cassock—when the puzzle pass’d,—

He, humbling to my humor, praised the priest

And all the powers of priesthood, till delight

Relax’d the rigor of my rôle; and then

He wedged the wisdom of his own desire

Within my dreams, and broke apart their spell,

And drew aside the curtains of their couch,

And spoke of dawn, and light for all the world.

“First learn about this world,” he urged, “and thenLearn how to help it. Minds like mine,” he said,“Should teach, revise, reform, and start the thoughtTo counteract ill aim’d philosophy.Here loom’d an end worth reaching! which to reach’Twere well to cross the sea.—His purse was mine.And go you as a student,” Elbert said,“Nor clad so like a priest, for whom all earthWill don some Sabbath-day demean; go freeTo find the man, hard by his work, at home.”

“First learn about this world,” he urged, “and then

Learn how to help it. Minds like mine,” he said,

“Should teach, revise, reform, and start the thought

To counteract ill aim’d philosophy.

Here loom’d an end worth reaching! which to reach

’Twere well to cross the sea.—His purse was mine.

And go you as a student,” Elbert said,

“Nor clad so like a priest, for whom all earth

Will don some Sabbath-day demean; go free

To find the man, hard by his work, at home.”

Thus pleading many days, at last he won;And, yielding to his wish, the sea I cross’d.

Thus pleading many days, at last he won;

And, yielding to his wish, the sea I cross’d.

Soon, borne to Dresden for a leisure week,With whom, one morning, should I chance to meetBut Elbert’s elder sister?—now grown staidAnd matronly withal, a second wife,In charge of half a dozen sturdy boys;Though these I saw not then; but all alone,Much flush’d and flurried, sweeping up the street,She stopp’d, and cried abruptly, “Why, my friend,Are you here, Norman?—you?—where from?—how long?Not heard of you for years! That Elbert, drone,Will never write the news. How glad I amTo see a man on hand when needed once!Two girls, young friends of mine, just come to town,Have lost their trunks,—and I my husband too,—And there they stand amid such throngs of men!—And did you note the statues in Berlin,In all the streets?—of warriors, every one!And these two girls, here travelling, by themselves,Where might makes right, and woman slighted is,Not strange it is their feelings toward you men,In heat of indignation seething up,Should brew some barm at times of bitterness!”

Soon, borne to Dresden for a leisure week,

With whom, one morning, should I chance to meet

But Elbert’s elder sister?—now grown staid

And matronly withal, a second wife,

In charge of half a dozen sturdy boys;

Though these I saw not then; but all alone,

Much flush’d and flurried, sweeping up the street,

She stopp’d, and cried abruptly, “Why, my friend,

Are you here, Norman?—you?—where from?—how long?

Not heard of you for years! That Elbert, drone,

Will never write the news. How glad I am

To see a man on hand when needed once!

Two girls, young friends of mine, just come to town,

Have lost their trunks,—and I my husband too,—

And there they stand amid such throngs of men!—

And did you note the statues in Berlin,

In all the streets?—of warriors, every one!

And these two girls, here travelling, by themselves,

Where might makes right, and woman slighted is,

Not strange it is their feelings toward you men,

In heat of indignation seething up,

Should brew some barm at times of bitterness!”

Thus, rattling on, she led me, as confusedAs feels a warrior at the morning drum,Till came a sight supreme, arousing me:—Two bright eyes only, sparkling in the light,Where flush’d a face that flared, then hid itselfBehind a travelling hood, befleck’d with dust,And fring’d with venturous locks of careless hair.“I have them now!” it cried; and straight beganA tale, strain’d sweeter through those lips aglowThan sunset music. Then, when all was told,The name I heard was “Edith.”Bowing low,“Well done!” essay’d I; then,—to bandy backThat charge against the men I just had heardFrom her who brought me,—“Well done as a man!”

Thus, rattling on, she led me, as confused

As feels a warrior at the morning drum,

Till came a sight supreme, arousing me:—

Two bright eyes only, sparkling in the light,

Where flush’d a face that flared, then hid itself

Behind a travelling hood, befleck’d with dust,

And fring’d with venturous locks of careless hair.

“I have them now!” it cried; and straight beganA tale, strain’d sweeter through those lips aglowThan sunset music. Then, when all was told,The name I heard was “Edith.”Bowing low,“Well done!” essay’d I; then,—to bandy backThat charge against the men I just had heardFrom her who brought me,—“Well done as a man!”

“I have them now!” it cried; and straight began

A tale, strain’d sweeter through those lips aglow

Than sunset music. Then, when all was told,

The name I heard was “Edith.”

Bowing low,

“Well done!” essay’d I; then,—to bandy back

That charge against the men I just had heard

From her who brought me,—“Well done as a man!”

“That speech,” laugh’d she thus bandied, “scarce deservesOur ‘Well done as a woman!’—Edith, hark,His praise for you is, ‘Well done as a man!’”Then Edith, echoing after, naïvely dropt,“I tell you—nay—I will not say it though.”“Please do?” I ventur’d.“Nay; it may offend,”Replied she; while her shoulders gently shrugg’dAs if to tempt me like two dainty doors,Doors all but swung ajar before a heartThat love was dared to enter!“Nay,” I said,“I vow you such a deal of patience now!”“I do not know,” she answer’d; “am not sure.Your manly patience might break loose to sighMore hints about my manhood! Just to thinkThat half of all mankind are merely girlsAnd so must borrow all their tact from men!”“Not so,” I said; “not so; but commonly.”—“Ah, commonly! and what,” she sigh’d, “is thisThat men-minds do so well?—discriminate?Yet even I, dull woman, I can seeBrains differ in their grain. But men, forsooth,Feel so much matter lodged in their brains—eh?—That they weigh mind like matter in the lump,And judge of character, as if ’twere clay:—This forms a man—has wisdom, firmness, power;And that, a maid—is foolish, fickle, frail,And never can be wholly safe, forsooth,Except when subject to a man, her lord!”“Ah, but,” I said, “we men all prize you so!To hold you ours, our pride seems infinite.Thus lifted up by you, it is your faultIf we seem lords to you.”“Is it?” she ask’d,“Or have you seem’d so long our lords, you thinkYour lording over us has trained in usWhat still needs lording over? Fashion yieldsA man, at times, exemption from her forms,But woman never. Wherefore, pray, is this?Do not they both have souls? and both aspire?Must one class only slave it to her sex?—I think the soul of woman as of manMay show some mastery over its abode.”“But yet,” I said, “You know, her frame divine—And soul, too—men confuse things—who can tellWhich is the soul?”She answer’d absently:“In truth they do confuse things! only wise,As owls that blink at light!—so blind—nor seeWhat day dawns with a wife’s enfranchisement;Ambitious, but forgetting that the meek,Inherit heaven, or that the oppressor dwarfsHis own surroundings; that if pride stoop not,Then must the soul; that earthly lords must bend,And lift their consorts to their own prized seats,As equals, queens; or else must house with slaves,And make the slavish habits there their own.”

“That speech,” laugh’d she thus bandied, “scarce deservesOur ‘Well done as a woman!’—Edith, hark,His praise for you is, ‘Well done as a man!’”

“That speech,” laugh’d she thus bandied, “scarce deserves

Our ‘Well done as a woman!’—Edith, hark,

His praise for you is, ‘Well done as a man!’”

Then Edith, echoing after, naïvely dropt,“I tell you—nay—I will not say it though.”

Then Edith, echoing after, naïvely dropt,

“I tell you—nay—I will not say it though.”

“Please do?” I ventur’d.“Nay; it may offend,”Replied she; while her shoulders gently shrugg’dAs if to tempt me like two dainty doors,Doors all but swung ajar before a heartThat love was dared to enter!“Nay,” I said,“I vow you such a deal of patience now!”

“Please do?” I ventur’d.

“Nay; it may offend,”

Replied she; while her shoulders gently shrugg’d

As if to tempt me like two dainty doors,

Doors all but swung ajar before a heart

That love was dared to enter!

“Nay,” I said,

“I vow you such a deal of patience now!”

“I do not know,” she answer’d; “am not sure.Your manly patience might break loose to sighMore hints about my manhood! Just to thinkThat half of all mankind are merely girlsAnd so must borrow all their tact from men!”

“I do not know,” she answer’d; “am not sure.

Your manly patience might break loose to sigh

More hints about my manhood! Just to think

That half of all mankind are merely girls

And so must borrow all their tact from men!”

“Not so,” I said; “not so; but commonly.”—

“Ah, commonly! and what,” she sigh’d, “is thisThat men-minds do so well?—discriminate?Yet even I, dull woman, I can seeBrains differ in their grain. But men, forsooth,Feel so much matter lodged in their brains—eh?—That they weigh mind like matter in the lump,And judge of character, as if ’twere clay:—This forms a man—has wisdom, firmness, power;And that, a maid—is foolish, fickle, frail,And never can be wholly safe, forsooth,Except when subject to a man, her lord!”

“Ah, commonly! and what,” she sigh’d, “is this

That men-minds do so well?—discriminate?

Yet even I, dull woman, I can see

Brains differ in their grain. But men, forsooth,

Feel so much matter lodged in their brains—eh?—

That they weigh mind like matter in the lump,

And judge of character, as if ’twere clay:—

This forms a man—has wisdom, firmness, power;

And that, a maid—is foolish, fickle, frail,

And never can be wholly safe, forsooth,

Except when subject to a man, her lord!”

“Ah, but,” I said, “we men all prize you so!To hold you ours, our pride seems infinite.Thus lifted up by you, it is your faultIf we seem lords to you.”“Is it?” she ask’d,“Or have you seem’d so long our lords, you thinkYour lording over us has trained in usWhat still needs lording over? Fashion yieldsA man, at times, exemption from her forms,But woman never. Wherefore, pray, is this?Do not they both have souls? and both aspire?Must one class only slave it to her sex?—I think the soul of woman as of manMay show some mastery over its abode.”

“Ah, but,” I said, “we men all prize you so!

To hold you ours, our pride seems infinite.

Thus lifted up by you, it is your fault

If we seem lords to you.”

“Is it?” she ask’d,

“Or have you seem’d so long our lords, you think

Your lording over us has trained in us

What still needs lording over? Fashion yields

A man, at times, exemption from her forms,

But woman never. Wherefore, pray, is this?

Do not they both have souls? and both aspire?

Must one class only slave it to her sex?—

I think the soul of woman as of man

May show some mastery over its abode.”

“But yet,” I said, “You know, her frame divine—And soul, too—men confuse things—who can tellWhich is the soul?”

“But yet,” I said, “You know, her frame divine—

And soul, too—men confuse things—who can tell

Which is the soul?”

She answer’d absently:“In truth they do confuse things! only wise,As owls that blink at light!—so blind—nor seeWhat day dawns with a wife’s enfranchisement;Ambitious, but forgetting that the meek,Inherit heaven, or that the oppressor dwarfsHis own surroundings; that if pride stoop not,Then must the soul; that earthly lords must bend,And lift their consorts to their own prized seats,As equals, queens; or else must house with slaves,And make the slavish habits there their own.”

She answer’d absently:

“In truth they do confuse things! only wise,

As owls that blink at light!—so blind—nor see

What day dawns with a wife’s enfranchisement;

Ambitious, but forgetting that the meek,

Inherit heaven, or that the oppressor dwarfs

His own surroundings; that if pride stoop not,

Then must the soul; that earthly lords must bend,

And lift their consorts to their own prized seats,

As equals, queens; or else must house with slaves,

And make the slavish habits there their own.”

“Well said!” I thought. “Disown it, though she may,This maiden’s mood is manlier than she deems”;And, as with manhood, so my wits went forthTo find a way to test her further still.Just then the sister of Elbert, gesturing towardThe sister of Edith, Alice, whom she fetch’d,Cried, half-way introducing us, “My fan!”I stoop’d, and pick’d it up. Then, bowing low,“Your humble slave,” I said. “You know, some claimThat genuine friends of either sex are slaves;And only want of love would snatch a whip,And snapping it, cry out: ‘This way—serve me.’”“And I, like them,” said Edith, slightly flush’d,“Seem wholly loveless. You may mourn it lessThat yonder carriage waits me. For to-day,All thanks for coming! We may meet once more.”

“Well said!” I thought. “Disown it, though she may,This maiden’s mood is manlier than she deems”;And, as with manhood, so my wits went forthTo find a way to test her further still.

“Well said!” I thought. “Disown it, though she may,

This maiden’s mood is manlier than she deems”;

And, as with manhood, so my wits went forth

To find a way to test her further still.

Just then the sister of Elbert, gesturing towardThe sister of Edith, Alice, whom she fetch’d,Cried, half-way introducing us, “My fan!”I stoop’d, and pick’d it up. Then, bowing low,“Your humble slave,” I said. “You know, some claimThat genuine friends of either sex are slaves;And only want of love would snatch a whip,And snapping it, cry out: ‘This way—serve me.’”

Just then the sister of Elbert, gesturing toward

The sister of Edith, Alice, whom she fetch’d,

Cried, half-way introducing us, “My fan!”

I stoop’d, and pick’d it up. Then, bowing low,

“Your humble slave,” I said. “You know, some claim

That genuine friends of either sex are slaves;

And only want of love would snatch a whip,

And snapping it, cry out: ‘This way—serve me.’”

“And I, like them,” said Edith, slightly flush’d,“Seem wholly loveless. You may mourn it lessThat yonder carriage waits me. For to-day,All thanks for coming! We may meet once more.”

“And I, like them,” said Edith, slightly flush’d,

“Seem wholly loveless. You may mourn it less

That yonder carriage waits me. For to-day,

All thanks for coming! We may meet once more.”

My face flamed hot as if its veil of fleshWould burn, and bare the soul, to show I meantNo rudeness. Elbert’s keen-eyed sister laugh’d,And, walking homeward then, kept bantering me,To storm my heart with courage womanly,So sure that love of sex controls us all.“So fortunate!” she cried; “Heaven favor’d me.They had no escort,—I no rival near;And I must ply my arts this very eve.”“Ah, but my plans!” I said;—“I leave to-dayFor studies at Berlin.”“Yes, yes; your plans!—You serve ideals, like all idiots.But you are more, much more, than out your teens;And—well, you are no hermit, any way.”“Then must I find”—I laugh’d, yet half in earnest—“The charms to tempt me!” and my reckoningFill’d all my fingers doubly with the traitsOf perfect womanhood.“She owns,” I heard,“All these, and more. For once, my poet, dream;And full Elysium waits you when you wake.But mind you, Norman, maids of Edith’s kind,In whose one person love so womanlyWith intellect so manly has been join’d,Need not to marry for a hand or head.There, hearts alone can win. Bear this in mind;And fan your fancy till your words grow warm,Ay, glow to flash the white heat of the soul!”Then, crying from her door, “Farewell till eve,”True to her sex, unanswer’d yet assured,The woman left.

My face flamed hot as if its veil of flesh

Would burn, and bare the soul, to show I meant

No rudeness. Elbert’s keen-eyed sister laugh’d,

And, walking homeward then, kept bantering me,

To storm my heart with courage womanly,

So sure that love of sex controls us all.

“So fortunate!” she cried; “Heaven favor’d me.

They had no escort,—I no rival near;

And I must ply my arts this very eve.”

“Ah, but my plans!” I said;—“I leave to-dayFor studies at Berlin.”

“Ah, but my plans!” I said;—“I leave to-day

For studies at Berlin.”

“Yes, yes; your plans!—You serve ideals, like all idiots.But you are more, much more, than out your teens;And—well, you are no hermit, any way.”

“Yes, yes; your plans!—

You serve ideals, like all idiots.

But you are more, much more, than out your teens;

And—well, you are no hermit, any way.”

“Then must I find”—I laugh’d, yet half in earnest—“The charms to tempt me!” and my reckoningFill’d all my fingers doubly with the traitsOf perfect womanhood.“She owns,” I heard,“All these, and more. For once, my poet, dream;And full Elysium waits you when you wake.But mind you, Norman, maids of Edith’s kind,In whose one person love so womanlyWith intellect so manly has been join’d,Need not to marry for a hand or head.There, hearts alone can win. Bear this in mind;And fan your fancy till your words grow warm,Ay, glow to flash the white heat of the soul!”Then, crying from her door, “Farewell till eve,”True to her sex, unanswer’d yet assured,The woman left.

“Then must I find”—I laugh’d, yet half in earnest—

“The charms to tempt me!” and my reckoning

Fill’d all my fingers doubly with the traits

Of perfect womanhood.

“She owns,” I heard,

“All these, and more. For once, my poet, dream;

And full Elysium waits you when you wake.

But mind you, Norman, maids of Edith’s kind,

In whose one person love so womanly

With intellect so manly has been join’d,

Need not to marry for a hand or head.

There, hearts alone can win. Bear this in mind;

And fan your fancy till your words grow warm,

Ay, glow to flash the white heat of the soul!”

Then, crying from her door, “Farewell till eve,”

True to her sex, unanswer’d yet assured,

The woman left.

And so my will was caught,The net so deftly drawn, I flounder’d first,Then, resting, smiled. We fight the hydra, we,Who war against our nature. Every headThat reason clove would rise redoubled there.Forsooth, my rudeness:—that should be explain’d;For which a single visit would suffice;And this, for scarce a day, need check my work;Or, if I linger’d longer, all my lifeLay still before me. Wherefore haste away?Fate might be beckoning!—“Nay, I should not leave,”Sigh’d hope, too warm, at last, by more than half;Then roused sweet echoes of faint hints, recall’dFrom churchly sources, of one’s need to wed,If he would work the best, for all, with all.Thus, like two cowards, clinging each to each,Weak wish nudged wisdom, and weak wisdom wish.Who gets on better?

And so my will was caught,

The net so deftly drawn, I flounder’d first,

Then, resting, smiled. We fight the hydra, we,

Who war against our nature. Every head

That reason clove would rise redoubled there.

Forsooth, my rudeness:—that should be explain’d;

For which a single visit would suffice;

And this, for scarce a day, need check my work;

Or, if I linger’d longer, all my life

Lay still before me. Wherefore haste away?

Fate might be beckoning!—“Nay, I should not leave,”

Sigh’d hope, too warm, at last, by more than half;

Then roused sweet echoes of faint hints, recall’d

From churchly sources, of one’s need to wed,

If he would work the best, for all, with all.

Thus, like two cowards, clinging each to each,

Weak wish nudged wisdom, and weak wisdom wish.

Who gets on better?

So that night we went.And, all the way, my gay guide rail’d at me.“Aha, my bachelor, your roving love,Aha, has had its day! Yon sunset huesBut deck the curtains hung before its night.”“Alas,” I cried, “if I must through them pass,Woe me who wish it! See, in front of them,The river in the horizon underneath—”“Your Jordan, ere your promis’d land!” she said;“You need baptizing for your harden’d heart.”“Ah me!” I sigh’d, yet strangely; for there seem’d,While all the way the twilight thicker sank,Sweet silence luring dreamward wind and birdUntil the reverent air lay hush’d where cameThe hallowing influence of holier stars.And, all the way, deep folding round my soul,With every nerve vibrating at its touch,Fell dim delight, through which, as through a veil,Some nearer presence breath’d of holier life.Ah, wandering Heart, and had I had my day?—With closing gates as golden as yon west?And whither was I moving in the dark?—“Who knows?” my spirit ask’d, “who knows or cares?On through the twilight threshold, trustingly!What halt thou, Night, that weary souls need fear?Thou home of love entranced, thou haunt of dreams,Thy halls alone can hoard the truth of heaven!Thy dome alone can rise to reach the stars!”

So that night we went.And, all the way, my gay guide rail’d at me.“Aha, my bachelor, your roving love,Aha, has had its day! Yon sunset huesBut deck the curtains hung before its night.”

So that night we went.

And, all the way, my gay guide rail’d at me.

“Aha, my bachelor, your roving love,

Aha, has had its day! Yon sunset hues

But deck the curtains hung before its night.”

“Alas,” I cried, “if I must through them pass,Woe me who wish it! See, in front of them,The river in the horizon underneath—”“Your Jordan, ere your promis’d land!” she said;“You need baptizing for your harden’d heart.”

“Alas,” I cried, “if I must through them pass,

Woe me who wish it! See, in front of them,

The river in the horizon underneath—”

“Your Jordan, ere your promis’d land!” she said;

“You need baptizing for your harden’d heart.”

“Ah me!” I sigh’d, yet strangely; for there seem’d,While all the way the twilight thicker sank,Sweet silence luring dreamward wind and birdUntil the reverent air lay hush’d where cameThe hallowing influence of holier stars.And, all the way, deep folding round my soul,With every nerve vibrating at its touch,Fell dim delight, through which, as through a veil,Some nearer presence breath’d of holier life.Ah, wandering Heart, and had I had my day?—With closing gates as golden as yon west?And whither was I moving in the dark?—“Who knows?” my spirit ask’d, “who knows or cares?On through the twilight threshold, trustingly!What halt thou, Night, that weary souls need fear?Thou home of love entranced, thou haunt of dreams,Thy halls alone can hoard the truth of heaven!Thy dome alone can rise to reach the stars!”

“Ah me!” I sigh’d, yet strangely; for there seem’d,

While all the way the twilight thicker sank,

Sweet silence luring dreamward wind and bird

Until the reverent air lay hush’d where came

The hallowing influence of holier stars.

And, all the way, deep folding round my soul,

With every nerve vibrating at its touch,

Fell dim delight, through which, as through a veil,

Some nearer presence breath’d of holier life.

Ah, wandering Heart, and had I had my day?—

With closing gates as golden as yon west?

And whither was I moving in the dark?—

“Who knows?” my spirit ask’d, “who knows or cares?

On through the twilight threshold, trustingly!

What halt thou, Night, that weary souls need fear?

Thou home of love entranced, thou haunt of dreams,

Thy halls alone can hoard the truth of heaven!

Thy dome alone can rise to reach the stars!”

She roused me, crying out, “Look toward the porch!”I look’d, and there beheld our waiting friends,And, grouped with them, some ruddy German maidsWhose deeper hues but finely rimmed with shadeThe subtler beauty of our special hosts.These came from out that western world wherein,By fresher breezes and by brighter suns,The Saxon tissue, sweeten’d and refined,Unfolds, each season, more ethereally.The two then moving from their sister-maids,Like petals loos’d from roses when in bloom,Came forth to welcome us; and, greetings o’er,Of Europe, Edith spoke, and Germany,And books, and music—how the church of GreeceHad carved earth’s pivot that earth whirls uponWithin the centre of a flag-stone roundThat paves a chapel in Jerusalem.But she, who track’d that viewless whirl by sound,And deem’d all harmony to centre here,A Grecian only in her love of art,Had found that pivot fix’d in Germany.

She roused me, crying out, “Look toward the porch!”

I look’d, and there beheld our waiting friends,

And, grouped with them, some ruddy German maids

Whose deeper hues but finely rimmed with shade

The subtler beauty of our special hosts.

These came from out that western world wherein,

By fresher breezes and by brighter suns,

The Saxon tissue, sweeten’d and refined,

Unfolds, each season, more ethereally.

The two then moving from their sister-maids,Like petals loos’d from roses when in bloom,Came forth to welcome us; and, greetings o’er,Of Europe, Edith spoke, and Germany,And books, and music—how the church of GreeceHad carved earth’s pivot that earth whirls uponWithin the centre of a flag-stone roundThat paves a chapel in Jerusalem.But she, who track’d that viewless whirl by sound,And deem’d all harmony to centre here,A Grecian only in her love of art,Had found that pivot fix’d in Germany.

The two then moving from their sister-maids,

Like petals loos’d from roses when in bloom,

Came forth to welcome us; and, greetings o’er,

Of Europe, Edith spoke, and Germany,

And books, and music—how the church of Greece

Had carved earth’s pivot that earth whirls upon

Within the centre of a flag-stone round

That paves a chapel in Jerusalem.

But she, who track’d that viewless whirl by sound,

And deem’d all harmony to centre here,

A Grecian only in her love of art,

Had found that pivot fix’d in Germany.

“True Grecian, she!” the sister of Elbert cried;“Each morning brings her fresh from shrines of art,All flush’d, a priestess from an oracle,To sanctify us grosser mortals hereWith vague suggestions! mutter’d mysteries!Ah me, to hear her rave once!”Edith smiled,“And eyes that see are blest!—and which sees most—My worship, or your wonder? Know you, friend,”She turn’d to me and asked,—“this critic’s ground?—The Sistine Babe it was, we spoke of Him.Because I find art’s glass, when rightly held,Revealing through the real the truth ideal,I said: ‘I seem to see not only Him,The Babe, but back of Him, His heavenly home.I seem to enter this—His handmaid there,And there commune until my soul is blest.’I said: ‘From thence my spirit seems to come,And feel its arms to be the throne of Christ.And this,’ I said, ‘is wrought for me by art.Some hold that souls transmigrate after death,But art,’ I said, ‘makes mine transmigrate here.’For this you hear of raving. Do I err?The soul of feeling is in thought, not so?Then one, to feel refresh’d, must think she bathesIn rills that reach her from the freshest springs.”

“True Grecian, she!” the sister of Elbert cried;

“Each morning brings her fresh from shrines of art,

All flush’d, a priestess from an oracle,

To sanctify us grosser mortals here

With vague suggestions! mutter’d mysteries!

Ah me, to hear her rave once!”

Edith smiled,

“And eyes that see are blest!—and which sees most—

My worship, or your wonder? Know you, friend,”

She turn’d to me and asked,—“this critic’s ground?—

The Sistine Babe it was, we spoke of Him.

Because I find art’s glass, when rightly held,

Revealing through the real the truth ideal,

I said: ‘I seem to see not only Him,

The Babe, but back of Him, His heavenly home.

I seem to enter this—His handmaid there,

And there commune until my soul is blest.’

I said: ‘From thence my spirit seems to come,

And feel its arms to be the throne of Christ.

And this,’ I said, ‘is wrought for me by art.

Some hold that souls transmigrate after death,

But art,’ I said, ‘makes mine transmigrate here.’

For this you hear of raving. Do I err?

The soul of feeling is in thought, not so?

Then one, to feel refresh’d, must think she bathes

In rills that reach her from the freshest springs.”

“Ah,” said the sister of Elbert, soothingly,“Our soaring lark here bathes in each bright pool.So be not frighten’d off; her plumes but shakeA sprinkling from the bath they had to-day.”“Some please the world,” said Edith; “I, myself,—My soul, I mean; nor long to clip that soulTo suit mere worldling’s notions. Courting crowds,A soul lives crampt; but if one speak the truth,Crowds leave—good riddance!—place is clear’d for friends.”“Clear’d verily!” her sister cried, “Long liveThese household pet-gods of our modern homes,Like sprites to fright the stranger off! Now ownThe fear you felt. It would appease her so!”

“Ah,” said the sister of Elbert, soothingly,“Our soaring lark here bathes in each bright pool.So be not frighten’d off; her plumes but shakeA sprinkling from the bath they had to-day.”

“Ah,” said the sister of Elbert, soothingly,

“Our soaring lark here bathes in each bright pool.

So be not frighten’d off; her plumes but shake

A sprinkling from the bath they had to-day.”

“Some please the world,” said Edith; “I, myself,—My soul, I mean; nor long to clip that soulTo suit mere worldling’s notions. Courting crowds,A soul lives crampt; but if one speak the truth,Crowds leave—good riddance!—place is clear’d for friends.”

“Some please the world,” said Edith; “I, myself,—

My soul, I mean; nor long to clip that soul

To suit mere worldling’s notions. Courting crowds,

A soul lives crampt; but if one speak the truth,

Crowds leave—good riddance!—place is clear’d for friends.”

“Clear’d verily!” her sister cried, “Long liveThese household pet-gods of our modern homes,Like sprites to fright the stranger off! Now ownThe fear you felt. It would appease her so!”

“Clear’d verily!” her sister cried, “Long live

These household pet-gods of our modern homes,

Like sprites to fright the stranger off! Now own

The fear you felt. It would appease her so!”

To this rose no reply to Edith’s lips.I mark’d, instead, a gentle trembling there,Like ripples roused upon a tranquil seaThat rise from deep, unseen disturbances.“They fail to read her rightly,” thought I, then—You know no man can flinch it: woman’s grief,If there be any manhood left in him,Will rouse his efforts to bespeak her peace—I found myself her soul’s expositorTo clear the channel of its overflow.“And when the thought is in one, when it springs,Why, then, not let it spring? The world is notSo fill’d with thoughts that it can spare our own.And if we startle folks, jog off the guiseOf their deceit, we spy them as they are.Between souls thus discover’d, Edith deemsThat love must flow; while friendship caught by craftIs lost by confidence. I think her right.Why not? We all when in our noblest moodsCrave homage for our souls’ nobility.But what our souls are in themselves, who know,Save as our rôles report us outwardly?Did not divine hands form us as we are?Who love us as we are, love higher thingsThan those who love what earth would make of us.”“My champion!” Edith cried; and waved her thanks,With white sleeves fluttering from her shapely sides—Ah me, a wing’d one sent to save my soulHad scarcely stirr’d in me a greater joy.

To this rose no reply to Edith’s lips.

I mark’d, instead, a gentle trembling there,

Like ripples roused upon a tranquil sea

That rise from deep, unseen disturbances.

“They fail to read her rightly,” thought I, then—

You know no man can flinch it: woman’s grief,

If there be any manhood left in him,

Will rouse his efforts to bespeak her peace—

I found myself her soul’s expositor

To clear the channel of its overflow.

“And when the thought is in one, when it springs,Why, then, not let it spring? The world is notSo fill’d with thoughts that it can spare our own.And if we startle folks, jog off the guiseOf their deceit, we spy them as they are.Between souls thus discover’d, Edith deemsThat love must flow; while friendship caught by craftIs lost by confidence. I think her right.Why not? We all when in our noblest moodsCrave homage for our souls’ nobility.But what our souls are in themselves, who know,Save as our rôles report us outwardly?Did not divine hands form us as we are?Who love us as we are, love higher thingsThan those who love what earth would make of us.”

“And when the thought is in one, when it springs,

Why, then, not let it spring? The world is not

So fill’d with thoughts that it can spare our own.

And if we startle folks, jog off the guise

Of their deceit, we spy them as they are.

Between souls thus discover’d, Edith deems

That love must flow; while friendship caught by craft

Is lost by confidence. I think her right.

Why not? We all when in our noblest moods

Crave homage for our souls’ nobility.

But what our souls are in themselves, who know,

Save as our rôles report us outwardly?

Did not divine hands form us as we are?

Who love us as we are, love higher things

Than those who love what earth would make of us.”

“My champion!” Edith cried; and waved her thanks,With white sleeves fluttering from her shapely sides—Ah me, a wing’d one sent to save my soulHad scarcely stirr’d in me a greater joy.

“My champion!” Edith cried; and waved her thanks,

With white sleeves fluttering from her shapely sides—

Ah me, a wing’d one sent to save my soul

Had scarcely stirr’d in me a greater joy.

My mien must have reveal’d it. Like a lake,Whose fogs unfold, when comes a genial sun,Her moods unfolded to my sympathy;And, brightly imaged in her nature’s depths,I seem’d, at every turn, to face my own.So new to me such views were, that I feltAs thrill’d as feels the savage maid, when firstShe finds her own face in a stranger’s glass,Then spell-bound lingers, learning of herself.So wrapt, my wonder hung, all wistfully,About that spirit bright. What meant it all?I could not then believe,—I scout it yet,—That mortals can afford to slight the soulsReflecting theirs, who make them mind themselvesAnd prize the good they own, and dread the ill.You smile, friend: yes; and often so would I.My head would oft, made jealous of my heart,Deny that reason ruled my impulses.And oft my heart, to bear such weight of joy,Would faint from too much feeling. I would askCould I be sane yet find my life so sweet?—At least I would be sure; so like a friendWho finds a long-lost friend amid a crowd,And stares, and holds him at arm’s length, a time,Ere clasping him with courage to his breastThat wellnigh bursts the while, I held her off,This long-sought soul that mine had found a friend;And did not dare to trust her as I would.

My mien must have reveal’d it. Like a lake,

Whose fogs unfold, when comes a genial sun,

Her moods unfolded to my sympathy;

And, brightly imaged in her nature’s depths,

I seem’d, at every turn, to face my own.

So new to me such views were, that I feltAs thrill’d as feels the savage maid, when firstShe finds her own face in a stranger’s glass,Then spell-bound lingers, learning of herself.So wrapt, my wonder hung, all wistfully,About that spirit bright. What meant it all?I could not then believe,—I scout it yet,—That mortals can afford to slight the soulsReflecting theirs, who make them mind themselvesAnd prize the good they own, and dread the ill.

So new to me such views were, that I felt

As thrill’d as feels the savage maid, when first

She finds her own face in a stranger’s glass,

Then spell-bound lingers, learning of herself.

So wrapt, my wonder hung, all wistfully,

About that spirit bright. What meant it all?

I could not then believe,—I scout it yet,—

That mortals can afford to slight the souls

Reflecting theirs, who make them mind themselves

And prize the good they own, and dread the ill.

You smile, friend: yes; and often so would I.My head would oft, made jealous of my heart,Deny that reason ruled my impulses.And oft my heart, to bear such weight of joy,Would faint from too much feeling. I would askCould I be sane yet find my life so sweet?—At least I would be sure; so like a friendWho finds a long-lost friend amid a crowd,And stares, and holds him at arm’s length, a time,Ere clasping him with courage to his breastThat wellnigh bursts the while, I held her off,This long-sought soul that mine had found a friend;And did not dare to trust her as I would.

You smile, friend: yes; and often so would I.

My head would oft, made jealous of my heart,

Deny that reason ruled my impulses.

And oft my heart, to bear such weight of joy,

Would faint from too much feeling. I would ask

Could I be sane yet find my life so sweet?—

At least I would be sure; so like a friend

Who finds a long-lost friend amid a crowd,

And stares, and holds him at arm’s length, a time,

Ere clasping him with courage to his breast

That wellnigh bursts the while, I held her off,

This long-sought soul that mine had found a friend;

And did not dare to trust her as I would.

What struggles then were mine! Too cautious grown,To dare to risk a fall, though but in love,How would I brace my powers against her charmsThat might unbalance me! How would my will,That strove to master my reluctant mien,Make stiff my every smile! or, were my heartToo strong to be suppress’d, how would I thwartAnd turn each glance that could reveal one glimpseOf how I loved her, toward her sister first!Unconscious Edith,—could she read deceit?—’Twas all I dared to use. How could I else,Poor fool, that then I felt myself to be,Hide my infatuation!

What struggles then were mine! Too cautious grown,

To dare to risk a fall, though but in love,

How would I brace my powers against her charms

That might unbalance me! How would my will,

That strove to master my reluctant mien,

Make stiff my every smile! or, were my heart

Too strong to be suppress’d, how would I thwart

And turn each glance that could reveal one glimpse

Of how I loved her, toward her sister first!

Unconscious Edith,—could she read deceit?—

’Twas all I dared to use. How could I else,

Poor fool, that then I felt myself to be,

Hide my infatuation!

What of her?—How could she know me when a mask I wore?Was not her sister pleased, when pleasing me?Did Edith not please me, when pleasing her?And so for Alice only seem’d her care;And Alice was a fair and flippant naught,An empty echo only of my love.The sweetness of the family all had goneTo fill the elder Edith.Then alas,Too late, I learn’d my error. How I chafed,Kept back from midnight strolls for sake of Alice!And jogg’d from tête-a-têtes to give her place!Then with her left, inspired alone to wishTo be like her a dunce; and thus to beLike her, in some way, Edith’s all-in-all.

What of her?—

How could she know me when a mask I wore?

Was not her sister pleased, when pleasing me?

Did Edith not please me, when pleasing her?

And so for Alice only seem’d her care;

And Alice was a fair and flippant naught,

An empty echo only of my love.

The sweetness of the family all had gone

To fill the elder Edith.

Then alas,

Too late, I learn’d my error. How I chafed,

Kept back from midnight strolls for sake of Alice!

And jogg’d from tête-a-têtes to give her place!

Then with her left, inspired alone to wish

To be like her a dunce; and thus to be

Like her, in some way, Edith’s all-in-all.

Nor could I hint this truth to Edith; nay.Unselfish, all ethereal in her thought,A disembodied soul had held less moodsTouch’d through the senses. One had sooner snaredWith tatter’d nets of tow a wind of spring,Or with his own breath warm’d the wintry air.Her love’s regard in no way could be reach’d.At times, I would essay philosophy,Or try to freight her fancy’s wings with facts.Like merest sand, flung off a nervous bird,My pleas were shaken back.She “There,” would cry;“Some everlasting everybody’s lawApplied again to me! Nay, nay, this worldWould grind one’s very soul to common dust!”

Nor could I hint this truth to Edith; nay.

Unselfish, all ethereal in her thought,

A disembodied soul had held less moods

Touch’d through the senses. One had sooner snared

With tatter’d nets of tow a wind of spring,

Or with his own breath warm’d the wintry air.

Her love’s regard in no way could be reach’d.

At times, I would essay philosophy,

Or try to freight her fancy’s wings with facts.

Like merest sand, flung off a nervous bird,

My pleas were shaken back.

She “There,” would cry;

“Some everlasting everybody’s law

Applied again to me! Nay, nay, this world

Would grind one’s very soul to common dust!”

“And what else are we?” turn’d I once to ask;“Would God we all could free ourselves from laws;But half our lives we spend in learning them;And half in learning how to love them then.And but in souls that learn life’s laws by heart,Has wisdom, so it seems, a sway complete.”“’Tis thus with earthly wisdom,” she rejoin’d;“But earth is ruled by folly,—idiot childOf freedom fetter’d. You may live the slave;But I choose freedom!”And, as then she left,“You lawless,” thought I, “will you always proveThe water Undine of my wilderness,All maddening, with strange metamorphoses,My faint love thirsting to refresh itself?”—

“And what else are we?” turn’d I once to ask;

“Would God we all could free ourselves from laws;

But half our lives we spend in learning them;

And half in learning how to love them then.

And but in souls that learn life’s laws by heart,

Has wisdom, so it seems, a sway complete.”

“’Tis thus with earthly wisdom,” she rejoin’d;“But earth is ruled by folly,—idiot childOf freedom fetter’d. You may live the slave;But I choose freedom!”

“’Tis thus with earthly wisdom,” she rejoin’d;

“But earth is ruled by folly,—idiot child

Of freedom fetter’d. You may live the slave;

But I choose freedom!”

And, as then she left,“You lawless,” thought I, “will you always proveThe water Undine of my wilderness,All maddening, with strange metamorphoses,My faint love thirsting to refresh itself?”—

And, as then she left,

“You lawless,” thought I, “will you always prove

The water Undine of my wilderness,

All maddening, with strange metamorphoses,

My faint love thirsting to refresh itself?”—

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