Chapter 137

And after one more look, with face still white,The younger does go, while the elder standsOccupied by the elm at window there.IVOccupied by the elm; and, as its shadeHas crept clock-hand-wise till it ticks at fernFive inches further to the South,—the doorOpens abruptly, some one enters sharp,The elder man returned to wait the youth:Never observes the room's new occupant,Throws hat on table, stoops quick, elbow proppedOver the Album wide there, bends down browA cogitative minute, whistles shrill,Then,—with a cheery-hopeless laugh-and-loseAir of defiance to fate visiblyCasting the toils about him—mouths once more'Hail, calm acclivity, salubrious spot!'Then clasps-to cover, sends book spinning offT' other side table, looks up, starts erectFull-face with her who—roused from that abstruseQuestion 'Will next tick tip the fern or no?'—Fronts him as fully.All her languor breaks,Away withers at once the wearinessFrom the black-blooded brow, anger and hateConvulse. Speech follows slowlier, but at last—"You here! I felt, I knew it would befall!Knew, by some subtle undivinableTrick of the trickster, I should, silly-sooth,Late or soon, somehow be allured to leaveSafe hiding and come take of him arrears,My torment due on four years' respite! TimeTo pluck the bird's healed, breast of down o'er wound!Have your success! Be satisfied this soleSeeing you has undone all heaven could doThese four years, puts me back to you and hell!What will next trick be, next success? No doubtWhen I shall think to glide into the grave,There will you wait disguised as beckoning Death,And catch and capture me forevermore!But, God, though I am nothing, be thou all!Contest him for me! Strive, for he is strong!"Already his surprise dies palely outIn laugh of acquiescing impotence.He neither gasps nor hisses: calm and plain—"I also felt and knew—but otherwise!Youout of hand and sight and care of meThese four years, whom I felt, knew, all the while ...Oh, it 's no superstition! It 's a giftO' the gamester that he snuffs the unseen powersWhich help or harm him. Well I knew what lurked,Lay perdue paralyzing me,—drugged, drowsedAnd damnified my soul and body both!Down and down, see where you have dragged me to,You and your malice! I was, four years since,—Well, a poor creature! I became a knave.I squandered my own pence: I plump my purseWith other people's pounds. I practised playBecause I liked it: play turns labor nowBecause there 's profit also in the sport.I gamed with men of equal age and craft:I steal here with a boy as green as grassWhom I have tightened hold on slow and sureThis long while, just to bring about to-dayWhen the boy beats me hollow, buries meIn ruin who was sure to beggar him.Oh, time indeed I should look up and laugh'Surely she closes on me!' Here you stand!"And stand she does: while volubility,With him, keeps on the increase, for his tongueAfter long locking-up is loosed for once."Certain the taunt is happy!" he resumes:"So, I it was allured you—only I—I, and none other—to this spectacle—Your triumph, my despair—you woman-fiendThat front me! Well, I have my wish, then! SeeThe low wide brow oppressed by sweeps of hairDarker and darker as they coil and swatheThe crowned corpse-wanness whence the eyes burn black,Not asleep now! not pin-points dwarfed beneathEither great bridging eyebrow—poor blank beads—Babies, I 've pleased to pity in my time:How they protrude and glow immense with hate!The long-triumphant nose attains—retainsJust the perfection; and there 's scarlet-skeinMy ancient enemy, her lip and lip,Sense-free, sense-frighting lips clenched cold and boldBecause of chin, that based resolve beneath!Then the columnar neck completes the wholeGreek-sculpture-baffling body! Do I see?Can I observe? You wait next word to come?Well, wait and want! since no one blight I bidConsume one least perfection. Each and all,As they are rightly shocking now to me,So may they still continue! Value them?Ay, as the vendor knows the money-worthO£ his Greek statue, fools aspire to buy,And he to see the back of! Let as laugh!You have absolved me from my sin at least!You stand stout, strong, in the rude health of hate,No touch of the tame timid nullityMy cowardice, forsooth, has practised on!Ay, while you seemed to hint some fine fifth actOf tragedy should freeze blood, end the farce,I never doubted all was joke. I kept,Maybe, an eye alert on paragraphs,Newspaper-notice,—let no inquest slip,Accident, disappearance: sound and safeWere you, my victim, not of mind to die!So, my worst fancy that could spoil the smoothOf pillow, and arrest descent of sleep,Was 'Into what dim hole can she have dived,She and her wrongs, her woe that 's wearing fleshAnd blood away?' Whereas, see, sorrow swells!Or, fattened, fulsome, have you fed on me,Sucked out my substance? How much gloss, I pray,O'erbloomed those hair-swathes when there crept from youTo me that craze, else unaccountable,Which urged me to contest our county-seatWith whom but my own brother's nominee?Did that mouth's pulp glow ruby from carmineWhile I misused my moment, pushed,—one word,—One hair's-breadth more of gesture,—idiot-likePast passion, floundered on to the grotesque,And lost the heiress in a grin? At least,You made no such mistake! You tickled fish,Landed your prize the true artistic way!How did the smug young curate rise to tuneOf 'Friend, a fatal fact divides us. LoveSuits me no longer. I have suffered shame,Betrayal: past is past; the future—yours—Shall never be contaminate by mine!I might have spared me this confession, not—Oh, never by some hideousest of lies,Easy, impenetrable! No! but say,By just the quiet answer—"I am cold."Falsehood avaunt, each shadow of thee, hence!Had happier fortune willed ... but dreams are vain.Now, leave me—yes, for pity's sake!' Aha,Who fails to see the curate as his faceReddened and whitened, wanted handkerchiefAt wrinkling brow and twinkling eye, untilOut burst the proper 'Angel, whom the fiendHas thought to smirch,—thy whiteness, at one wipeOf holy cambric, shall disgrace the swan!Mine be the task' ... and so forth! Fool? not he!Cunning in flavors, rather! What but sourSuspected makes the sweetness doubly sweet,And what stings love from faint to flamboyantBut the fear-sprinkle? Even horror helps—Love's flame in me by such recited wrongDrenched, quenched, indeed? It burns the fiercelier thence!'Why, I have known men never love their wivesTill somebody—myself, suppose—had 'drenchedAnd quenched love,' so the blockheads whined: as ifThe fluid fire that lifts the torpid limbWere a wrong done to palsy. But I thrilledNo palsied person: half my age, or less,The curate was, I 'll wager: o'er young bloodYour beauty triumphed! Eh, but—was ithe?Then, itwashe, I heard of! None beside!How frank you were about the audacious boyWho fell upon you like a thunderbolt—Passion and protestation! He it wasReservedin petto!Ay, and 'rich' beside—'Rich'—how supremely did disdain curl nose!All that I heard was—'wedded to a priest;'Informants sunk youth, riches and the rest.And so my lawless love disparted loves,That loves might come together with a rush!Surely this last achievement sucked me dry:Indeed, that way my wits went. Mistress-queen,Be merciful and let your subject slinkInto dark safety! He 's a beggar, see—Do not turn back his ship, Australia-bound,And bid her land him right amid some crowdOf creditors, assembled by your curse!Don't cause the very rope to crack (you can!)Whereon he spends his last (friend's) sixpence, justThe moment when he hoped to hang himself!Be satisfied you beat him!"She replies—"Beat him! I do. To all that you confessOf abject failure, I extend belief.Your very face confirms it: God is just!Let my face—fix your eyes!—in turn confirmWhat I shall say. All-abject's but half truth;Add to all-abject knave as perfect fool!Sois it you probed human nature,soPrognosticated of me? Lay these wordsTo heart then, or where God meant heart should lurk!That moment when you first revealed yourself,My simple impulse prompted—end forthwithThe ruin of a life uprooted thusTo surely perish! How should such spoiled treeHenceforward balk the wind of its worst sport,Fail to go falling deeper, falling downFrom sin to sin until some depth were reachedDoomed to the weakest by the wickedestOf weak and wicked human-kind? But when,That self-display made absolute,—beholdA new revealment!—round you pleased to veer,Propose me what should prompt annul the past,Make me 'amends by marriage'—in your phrase,Incorporate me henceforth, body and soul,With soul and body which mere brushing pastBrought leprosy upon me—'marry' these!Why, then despair broke, reassurance dawned,Clear-sighted was I that who hurled contemptAs I—thank God!—at the contemptible,Was scarce an utter weakling. Rent awayBy treason from my rightful pride of place,I was not destined to the shame below.A cleft had caught me: I might perish there,But thence to be dislodged and whirled at lastWhere the black torrent sweeps the sewage—no!'Bare breast be on hard rock,' laughed out my soulIn gratitude, 'howe'er rock's grip may grind!The plain, rough, wretched holdfast shall sufficeThis wreck of me!' The wind,—I broke in bloomAt passage of,—which stripped me bole and branch,Twisted me up and tossed me here,—turns back,And, playful ever, would replant the spoil?Be satisfied, not one least leaf that's mineShall henceforth help wind's sport to exercise!Rather I give such remnant to the rockWhich never dreamed a straw would settle there.Rock may not thank me, may not feel my breast,Even: enough thatIfeel, hard and cold,Its safety my salvation. Safe and saved,I lived, live. When the tempter shall persuadeHis prey to slip down, slide off, trust the wind,—Now that I know if God or Satan bePrince of the Power of the Air,—then, then, indeed,Let my life end and degradation too!""Good!" he smiles, "true Lord Byron!" 'Tree and rock:Rock,'—there's advancement! He's at first a youth,Rich, worthless therefore; next he grows a priest:Youth, riches prove a notable resource,When to leave me for their possessor glutsMalice abundantly; and now, last change,The young rich parson represents a rock—Bloodstone, no doubt. He's Evangelical?Your Ritualists prefer the Church for spouse!"She speaks."I have a story to relate.There was a parish-priest, my father knew,Elderly, poor: I used to pity himBefore I learned what woes are pity-worth.Elderly was grown old now, scanty meansWere straitening fast to poverty, besideThe ailments which await in such a case.Limited every way, a perfect manWithin the bounds built up and up since birthBreast-high about him till the outside worldWas blank save o'erhead one blue bit of sky—Faith: he had faith in dogma, small or great,As in the fact that if he clave his skullHe'd find a brain there: who proves such a factNo falsehood by experiment at priceOf soul and body? The one rule of lifeDelivered him in childhood was 'Obey!Labor!' He had obeyed and labored—tame,True to the mill-track blinked on from above.Some scholarship he may have gained in youth:Gone—dropt or flung behind. Some blossom-flake,Spring's boon, descends on every vernal head,I used to think; but January joinsDecember, as his year had known no May;Trouble its snow-deposit,—cold and old!I heard it was his will to take a wife,A helpmate. Duty bade him tend and teach—How? with experience null, nor sympathyAbundant,—while himself worked dogma dead,Who would play ministrant to sickness, age,Womankind, childhood? These demand a wife.Supply the want, then! theirs the wife; for him—No coarsest sample of the proper sexBut would have served his purpose equallyWith God's own angel,—let but knowledge matchHer coarseness: zeal does only half the work.I saw this—knew the purblind honest drudgeWas wearing out his simple blameless life,And wanted help beneath a burden—borneTo treasure-house or dust-heap, what cared I?Partner he needed: I proposed myself,Nor much surprised him—duty was so clear!Gratitude? What for? Gain of Paradise—Escape, perhaps, from the dire penaltyOf who hides talent in a napkin? No:His scruple was—should I be strong enough—In body? since of weakness in the mind,Weariness in the heart—no fear of these?He took me as these Arctic voyagersTake an aspirant to their toil and pain:Can he endure them?—that 's the point, and not—Will he? Who would not, rather! Whereupon,I pleaded far more earnestly for leaveTo give myself away, than you to gainWhat you called priceless till you gained the heartAnd soul and body! which, as beggars serveExtorted alms, you straightway spat upon.Not so my husband,—for I gained my suit,And had my value put at once to proof.Ask him! These four years I have died awayIn village-life. The village? UglinessAt best and filthiness at worst, inside.Outside, sterility—earth sown with saltOr what keeps even grass from growing fresh.The life? I teach the poor and learn, myself,That commonplace to such stupidityIs all-recondite. Being brutalizedTheir true need is brute-language, cheery gruntsAnd kindly cluckings, no articulateNonsense that 's elsewhere knowledge. Tend the sick,Sickened myself at pig-perversity,Cat-craft, dog-snarling—maybe, snapping" ..."Brief:You eat that root of bitterness called Man—Raw: I prefer it cooked, with social sauce!So, he was not the rich youth after all!Well, I mistook. But somewhere needs must beThe compensation. If not young nor rich" ..."You interrupt!""Because you 've daubed enoughBistre for background. Play the artist now,Produce your figure well-relieved in front!The contrast—do not I anticipate?Though neither rich nor young—what then? 'T is allForgotten, all this ignobility,In the dear home, the darling word, the smile,The something sweeter" ..."Yes, you interrupt.I have my purpose and proceed. Who livesWith beasts assumes beast-nature, look and voice,And, much more, thought, for beasts think. SelfishnessIn us met selfishness in them, deservedSuch answer as it gained. My husband, bentOn saving his own soul by saving theirs,—They, bent on being saved if saving soulIncluded body's getting bread and cheeseSomehow in life and somehow after death,—Both parties were alike in the same boat,One danger, therefore one equality.Safety induces culture: culture seeksTo institute, extend and multiplyThe difference between safe man and man,Able to live alone now; progress meansWhat but abandonment of fellowship?We were in common danger, still stuck close.No new books,—were the old ones mastered yet?No pictures and no music: these divert—What from? the staving danger off! You paintThe waterspout above, you set to wordsThe roaring of the tempest round you? Thanks!Amusement? Talk at end of the tired dayOf the more tiresome morrow! I transcribedThe page on page of sermon-scrawlings—stoppedIntellect's eye and ear to sense and sound—Vainly: the sound and sense would penetrateTo brain and plague there in despite of meMaddened to know more moral good were doneHad we two simply sallied forth and preachedI' the 'Green' they call their grimy,—I with twangOf long-disused guitar,—with cut and slashOf much-misvalued horsewhip he,—to bidThe peaceable come dance, the peace-breakerPay in his person! Whereas—Heaven and Hell,Excite with that, restrain with this!—so dealtHis drugs my husband; as he dosed himself,He drenched his cattle: and, for all my partWas just to dub the mortar, never fearBut drugs, hand pestled at, have poisoned nose!Heaven he let pass, left wisely undescribed:As applicable therefore to the sleepI want, that knows no waking—as to what 'sConceived of as the proper prize to temptSouls less world-weary: there, no fault to find!But Hell he made explicit. After death,Life: man created new, ingeniouslyPerfect for a vindictive purpose now,That man, first fashioned in beneficence,Was proved a failure; intellect at lengthReplacing old obtuseness, memoryMade mindful of delinquent's bygone deedsNow that remorse was vain, which life-long layDormant when lesson might be laid to heart;New gift of observation up and downAnd round man's self, new power to apprehendEach necessary consequence of actIn man for well or ill—things obsolete—Just granted to supplant the idiocyMan's only guide while act was yet to choose,With ill or well momentously its fruit;A faculty of immense sufferingConferred on mind and body,—mind, erewhileUnvisited by one compunctious dreamDuring sin's drunken slumber, startled up,Stung through and through by sin's significanceNow that the holy was abolished—justAs body which, alive, broke down beneathKnowledge, lay helpless in the path to good,Failed to accomplish aught legitimate,Achieve aught worthy,—which grew old in youth,And at its longest fell a cut-down flower,—Dying, this too revived by miracleTo bear no end of burden now that backSupported torture to no use at all,And live imperishably potent—sinceLife's potency was impotent to wardOne plague off which made earth a hell before.This doctrine, which one healthy view of things,One sane sight of the general ordinance—Nature—and its particular object—man,—Which one mere eye-cast at the characterOf Who made these and gave man sense to boot,Had dissipated once and evermore,—This doctrine I have dosed our flock withal.Why? Because none believed it.TheydesireSuch Heaven and dread such Hell, whom every dayThe alehouse tempts from one, a dog-fight bidsDefy the other? All the harm is doneOurselves—done my good husband who in youthPerhaps read Dickens, done myself who stillCould play both Bach and Brahms. Such life I lead—Thanks to you, knave! You learn its quality—Thanks to me, fool!"He eyes her earnestly,But she continues."—Life which, thanks once moreTo you, arch-knave as exquisitest fool,I acquiescingly—I gratefullyTake back again to heart! and hence this speechWhich yesterday had spared you. Four years longLife—I began to find intolerable,Only this moment. Ere your entry just,The leap of heart which answered, spite of me,A friend's first summons, first provocative,Authoritative, nay, compulsive callTo quit, though for a single day, my houseOf bondage—made return seem horrible.I heard again a human lucid laughAll trust, no fear; again saw earth pursueIts narrow busy way amid small cares,Smaller contentments, much weeds, some few flowers,—Never suspicious of a thunderboltAvenging presently each daisy's death.I recognized the beech-tree, knew the thrushRepeated his old music-phrase,—all right,How wrong was I, then! But your entry brokeIllusion, bade me back to bounds at once.I honestly submit my soul: which sprangAt love, and losing love lies signed and sealed'Failure.' No love more? then, no beauty moreWhich tends to breed love! Purify my powers,Effortless till some other world procuresSome other chance of prize! or, if none be,—Nor second world nor chance,—undesecrateDie then this aftergrowth of heart, surmisedWhere May's precipitation left June blank!Better have failed in the high aim, as I,Than vulgarly in the low aim succeedAs, God be thanked, I do not! UglinessHad I called beauty, falsehood—truth, and you—My lover! No—this earth's unchanged for me,By his enchantment whom God made the PrinceO' the Power o' the Air, into a Heaven: there isHeaven, since there is Heaven's simulation—earth.I sit possessed in patience; prison-roofShall break one day and Heaven beam overhead."His smile is done with; he speaks bitterly."Take my congratulations, and permitI wish myself had proved as teachable!—Or, no! until you taught me, could I learn,A lesson from experience ne'er till nowConceded? Please you listen while I showHow thoroughly you estimate my worthAnd yours—the immeasurably superior! IBelieved at least in one thing, first to last,—Your love to me: I was the vile and youThe precious; I abused you, I betrayed,But doubted—never! Why else go my wayJudas-like plodding to this Potters' FieldWhere fate now finds me? What has dinned my earAnd dogged my step? The spectre with the shriek'Such she was, such were you, whose punishmentIs just!' And such she was not, all the while!She never owned a love to outrage, faithTo pay with falsehood! For, my heart knows this—Love once and you love always. Why, it 's downHere in the Album: every lover knowsLove may use hate but—turn to hate, itself—Turn even to indifference—no, indeed!Well, I have been spellbound, deluded likeThe witless negro by the Obeah-manWho bids him wither: so, his eye grows dim,His arm slack, arrow misses aim and spearGoes wandering wide,—and all the woe becauseHe proved untrue to Fetish, who, he finds,Was just a feather-phantom! I wronged love,Am ruined,—and there was no love to wrong!""No love? Ah, dead love! I invoke thy ghostTo show the murderer where thy heart poured lifeAt summons of the stroke he doubts was dealtOn pasteboard and pretence! Not love, my love?I changed for you the very laws of life:Made you the standard of all right, all fair.No genius but you could have been, no sage,No sufferer—which is grandest—for the truth!My hero—where the heroic only hidTo burst from hiding, brighten earth one day!Age and decline were man's maturity;Face, form were nature's type: more grace, more strength,What had they been but just superfluous gauds,Lawless divergence? I have danced through dayOn tiptoe at the music of a word,Have wondered where was darkness gone as nightBurst out in stars at brilliance of a smile!Lonely, I placed the chair to help me seatYour fancied presence; in companionship,I kept my finger constant to your gloveGlued to my breast; then—where was all the world?I schemed—not dreamed—how I might die some deathShould save your finger aching! Who createsDestroys, he only: I had laughed to scornWhatever angel tried to shake my faithAnd make you seem unworthy: you yourselfOnly could do that! With a touch 't was done.'Give me all, trust me wholly!' At the word,I did give, I did trust—and thereuponThe touch did follow. Ah, the quiet smile,The masterfully-folded arm in arm,As trick obtained its triumph one time more!In turn, my soul too triumphs in defeat:Treason like faith moves mountains: love is gone!"He paces to and fro, stops, stands quite closeAnd calls her by her name. Then—"God forgives:Forgive you, delegate of God, brought nearAs never priests could bring him to this soulThat prays you both—forgive me! I abase—Know myself mad and monstrous utterlyIn all I did that moment; but as GodGives me this knowledge—heart to feel and tongueTo testify—so be you gracious too!Judge no man by the solitary workOf—well, they do say and I can believe—The devil in him: his, the moment,—mineThe life—your life!"He names her name again."You were just—merciful as just, you wereIn giving me no respite: punishmentFollowed offending. Sane and sound once more,The patient thanks decision, promptitude,Which flung him prone and fastened him from hurt,Haply to others, surely to himself.I wake and would not you had spared one pang.All's well that ends well!"Yet again her name."Hadyouno fault? Why must you change, forsooth,Parts, why reverse positions, spoil the play?Why did your nobleness look up to me,Not down on the ignoble thing confessed?Was it your part to stoop, or lift the low?Wherefore did God exalt you? Who would teachThe brute man's tameness and intelligenceMust never drop the dominating eye:Wink—and what wonder if the mad fit break,Followed by stripes and fasting? Sound and sane,My life, chastised now, couches at your foot.Accept, redeem me! Do your eyes ask 'How?'I stand here penniless, a beggar; talkWhat idle trash I may, this final blowOf fortune fells me.Idisburse, indeed,This boy his winnings? when each bubble-schemeThat danced athwart my brain, a minute since,The worse the better,—of repairing straightMy misadventure by fresh enterprise,Capture of other boys in foolishnessHis fellows,—when these fancies fade awayAt first sight of the lost so long, the foundSo late, the lady of my life, beforeWhose presence I, the lost, am also foundIncapable of one least touch of meanExpedient, I who teemed with plot and wile—That family of snakes your eye bids flee!Listen! Our troublesomest dreams die offIn daylight: I awake, and dream is—where?I rouse up from the past: one touch dispelsEngland and all here. I secured long sinceA certain refuge, solitary homeTo hide in, should the head strike work one day,The hand forget its cunning, or perhapsSociety grow savage,—there to endMy life's remainder, which, say what fools will,Is or should be the best of life,—its fruit,All tends to, root and stem and leaf and flower.Come with me, love, loved once, loved only, come,Blend loves there! Let this parenthetic doubtOf love, in me, have been the trial testAppointed to all flesh at some one stageOf soul's achievement,—when the strong man doubtsHis strength, the good man whether goodness be,The artist in the dark seeks, fails to findVocation, and the saint forswears his shrine.What if the lover may elude, no moreThan these, probative dark, must search the skyVainly for love, his soul's star? But the orbBreaks from eclipse: I breathe again: I love!Tempted, I fell; but fallen—fallen lieHere at your feet, see! Leave this poor pretenceOf union with a nature and its needsRepugnant to your needs and nature! Nay,False, beyond falsity you reprehendIn me, is such mock marriage with such mereMan-mask as—whom you witless wrong, beside,By that expenditure of heart and brainHe recks no more of than would yonder treeIf watered with your life-blood: rains and dewsAnswer its ends sufficiently, while meOne drop saves—sends to flower and fruit at lastThe laggard virtue in the soul which elseCumbers the ground! Quicken me! Call me yours—Yours and the world's—yours and the world's and God's!Yes, for you can, you only! Think! ConfirmYour instinct! Say, a minute since, I seemedThe castaway you count me,—all the moreApparent shall the angelic potencyLift me from out perdition's deep of deepsTo light and life and love!—that's love for you—Love that already dares match might with yours.You loved one worthy,—in your estimate,—When time was; you descried the unworthy taint,And where was love then? No such test could e'erTry my love: but you hate me and revile;Hatred, revilement—had you these to bear,Would you, as I do, nor revile, nor hate,But simply love on, love the more, perchance?Abide by your own proof! 'Your love was love:Its ghost knows no forgetting!' Heart of mine,Would that I dared remember! Too unwiseWere he who lost a treasure, did himselfEnlarge upon the sparkling catalogueOf gems to her his queen who trusted lateThe keeper of her caskets! Can it beThat I, custodian of such relic stillAs your contempt permits me to retain,All I dare hug to breast is—'How your gloveBurst and displayed the long thin lily streak!'What may have followed—that is forfeit now!I hope the proud man has grown humble! True—One grace of humbleness absents itself—Silence! yet love lies deeper than all words,And not the spoken but the speechless loveWaits answer ere I rise and go my way."Whereupon, yet one other time the name.To end she looks the large deliberate look,Even prolongs it somewhat; then the soulBursts forth in a clear laugh that lengthens on,On, till—thinned, softened, silvered, one might sayThe bitter runnel hides itself in sand,Moistens the hard gray grimly comic speech."Ay—give the baffled angler even yetHis supreme triumph as he hales to shoreA second time the fish once 'scaped from hook—So artfully has new bait hidden oldBlood-imbrued iron! Ay, no barb's beneathThe gilded minnow here! You bid break trust,This time, with who trusts me,—not simply bidMe trust you, me who ruined but myself,In trusting but myself! Since, thanks to you,I know the feel of sin and shame,—be sure,I shall obey you and impose them bothOn one who happens to be ignorantAlthough my husband—for the lure is love,Your love! Try other tackle, fisher-friend!Repentance, expiation, hopes and fears,What you had been, may yet be, would I butProve helpmate to my hero—one and allThese silks and worsteds round the hook seduceHardly the late torn throat and mangled tongue.Pack up, I pray, the whole assortment prompt!Who wonders at variety of wileIn the Arch-cheat? You are the Adversary!Your fate is of your choosing: have your choice!Wander the world,—God has some end to serve,Ere he suppress you! He waits: I endure,But interpose no finger-tip, forsooth,To stop your passage to the pit. EnoughThat I am stable, uninvolved by youIn the rush downwards: free I gaze and fixed;Your smiles, your tears, prayers, curses move alikeMy crowned contempt. You kneel? Prostrate yourself!To earth, and would the whole world saw you there!"Whereupon—"All right!" carelessly beginsSomebody from outside, who mounts the stair,And sends his voice for herald of approach:Half in half out the doorway as the doorGives way to push."Old fellow, all's no good!The train's your portion! Lay the blame on me!I'm no diplomatist, and Bismarck's selfHad hardly braved the awful Aunt at broachOf proposition—so has world-reputePreceded the illustrious stranger! Ah!"—Quick the voice changes to astonishment,Then horror, as the youth stops, sees, and knows.

And after one more look, with face still white,The younger does go, while the elder standsOccupied by the elm at window there.

And after one more look, with face still white,

The younger does go, while the elder stands

Occupied by the elm at window there.

Occupied by the elm; and, as its shadeHas crept clock-hand-wise till it ticks at fernFive inches further to the South,—the doorOpens abruptly, some one enters sharp,The elder man returned to wait the youth:Never observes the room's new occupant,Throws hat on table, stoops quick, elbow proppedOver the Album wide there, bends down browA cogitative minute, whistles shrill,Then,—with a cheery-hopeless laugh-and-loseAir of defiance to fate visiblyCasting the toils about him—mouths once more'Hail, calm acclivity, salubrious spot!'Then clasps-to cover, sends book spinning offT' other side table, looks up, starts erectFull-face with her who—roused from that abstruseQuestion 'Will next tick tip the fern or no?'—Fronts him as fully.

Occupied by the elm; and, as its shade

Has crept clock-hand-wise till it ticks at fern

Five inches further to the South,—the door

Opens abruptly, some one enters sharp,

The elder man returned to wait the youth:

Never observes the room's new occupant,

Throws hat on table, stoops quick, elbow propped

Over the Album wide there, bends down brow

A cogitative minute, whistles shrill,

Then,—with a cheery-hopeless laugh-and-lose

Air of defiance to fate visibly

Casting the toils about him—mouths once more

'Hail, calm acclivity, salubrious spot!'

Then clasps-to cover, sends book spinning off

T' other side table, looks up, starts erect

Full-face with her who—roused from that abstruse

Question 'Will next tick tip the fern or no?'—

Fronts him as fully.

All her languor breaks,Away withers at once the wearinessFrom the black-blooded brow, anger and hateConvulse. Speech follows slowlier, but at last—

All her languor breaks,

Away withers at once the weariness

From the black-blooded brow, anger and hate

Convulse. Speech follows slowlier, but at last—

"You here! I felt, I knew it would befall!Knew, by some subtle undivinableTrick of the trickster, I should, silly-sooth,Late or soon, somehow be allured to leaveSafe hiding and come take of him arrears,My torment due on four years' respite! TimeTo pluck the bird's healed, breast of down o'er wound!Have your success! Be satisfied this soleSeeing you has undone all heaven could doThese four years, puts me back to you and hell!What will next trick be, next success? No doubtWhen I shall think to glide into the grave,There will you wait disguised as beckoning Death,And catch and capture me forevermore!But, God, though I am nothing, be thou all!Contest him for me! Strive, for he is strong!"

"You here! I felt, I knew it would befall!

Knew, by some subtle undivinable

Trick of the trickster, I should, silly-sooth,

Late or soon, somehow be allured to leave

Safe hiding and come take of him arrears,

My torment due on four years' respite! Time

To pluck the bird's healed, breast of down o'er wound!

Have your success! Be satisfied this sole

Seeing you has undone all heaven could do

These four years, puts me back to you and hell!

What will next trick be, next success? No doubt

When I shall think to glide into the grave,

There will you wait disguised as beckoning Death,

And catch and capture me forevermore!

But, God, though I am nothing, be thou all!

Contest him for me! Strive, for he is strong!"

Already his surprise dies palely outIn laugh of acquiescing impotence.He neither gasps nor hisses: calm and plain—

Already his surprise dies palely out

In laugh of acquiescing impotence.

He neither gasps nor hisses: calm and plain—

"I also felt and knew—but otherwise!Youout of hand and sight and care of meThese four years, whom I felt, knew, all the while ...Oh, it 's no superstition! It 's a giftO' the gamester that he snuffs the unseen powersWhich help or harm him. Well I knew what lurked,Lay perdue paralyzing me,—drugged, drowsedAnd damnified my soul and body both!Down and down, see where you have dragged me to,You and your malice! I was, four years since,—Well, a poor creature! I became a knave.I squandered my own pence: I plump my purseWith other people's pounds. I practised playBecause I liked it: play turns labor nowBecause there 's profit also in the sport.I gamed with men of equal age and craft:I steal here with a boy as green as grassWhom I have tightened hold on slow and sureThis long while, just to bring about to-dayWhen the boy beats me hollow, buries meIn ruin who was sure to beggar him.Oh, time indeed I should look up and laugh'Surely she closes on me!' Here you stand!"

"I also felt and knew—but otherwise!

Youout of hand and sight and care of me

These four years, whom I felt, knew, all the while ...

Oh, it 's no superstition! It 's a gift

O' the gamester that he snuffs the unseen powers

Which help or harm him. Well I knew what lurked,

Lay perdue paralyzing me,—drugged, drowsed

And damnified my soul and body both!

Down and down, see where you have dragged me to,

You and your malice! I was, four years since,

—Well, a poor creature! I became a knave.

I squandered my own pence: I plump my purse

With other people's pounds. I practised play

Because I liked it: play turns labor now

Because there 's profit also in the sport.

I gamed with men of equal age and craft:

I steal here with a boy as green as grass

Whom I have tightened hold on slow and sure

This long while, just to bring about to-day

When the boy beats me hollow, buries me

In ruin who was sure to beggar him.

Oh, time indeed I should look up and laugh

'Surely she closes on me!' Here you stand!"

And stand she does: while volubility,With him, keeps on the increase, for his tongueAfter long locking-up is loosed for once.

And stand she does: while volubility,

With him, keeps on the increase, for his tongue

After long locking-up is loosed for once.

"Certain the taunt is happy!" he resumes:"So, I it was allured you—only I—I, and none other—to this spectacle—Your triumph, my despair—you woman-fiendThat front me! Well, I have my wish, then! SeeThe low wide brow oppressed by sweeps of hairDarker and darker as they coil and swatheThe crowned corpse-wanness whence the eyes burn black,Not asleep now! not pin-points dwarfed beneathEither great bridging eyebrow—poor blank beads—Babies, I 've pleased to pity in my time:How they protrude and glow immense with hate!The long-triumphant nose attains—retainsJust the perfection; and there 's scarlet-skeinMy ancient enemy, her lip and lip,Sense-free, sense-frighting lips clenched cold and boldBecause of chin, that based resolve beneath!Then the columnar neck completes the wholeGreek-sculpture-baffling body! Do I see?Can I observe? You wait next word to come?Well, wait and want! since no one blight I bidConsume one least perfection. Each and all,As they are rightly shocking now to me,So may they still continue! Value them?Ay, as the vendor knows the money-worthO£ his Greek statue, fools aspire to buy,And he to see the back of! Let as laugh!You have absolved me from my sin at least!You stand stout, strong, in the rude health of hate,No touch of the tame timid nullityMy cowardice, forsooth, has practised on!Ay, while you seemed to hint some fine fifth actOf tragedy should freeze blood, end the farce,I never doubted all was joke. I kept,Maybe, an eye alert on paragraphs,Newspaper-notice,—let no inquest slip,Accident, disappearance: sound and safeWere you, my victim, not of mind to die!So, my worst fancy that could spoil the smoothOf pillow, and arrest descent of sleep,Was 'Into what dim hole can she have dived,She and her wrongs, her woe that 's wearing fleshAnd blood away?' Whereas, see, sorrow swells!Or, fattened, fulsome, have you fed on me,Sucked out my substance? How much gloss, I pray,O'erbloomed those hair-swathes when there crept from youTo me that craze, else unaccountable,Which urged me to contest our county-seatWith whom but my own brother's nominee?Did that mouth's pulp glow ruby from carmineWhile I misused my moment, pushed,—one word,—One hair's-breadth more of gesture,—idiot-likePast passion, floundered on to the grotesque,And lost the heiress in a grin? At least,You made no such mistake! You tickled fish,Landed your prize the true artistic way!How did the smug young curate rise to tuneOf 'Friend, a fatal fact divides us. LoveSuits me no longer. I have suffered shame,Betrayal: past is past; the future—yours—Shall never be contaminate by mine!I might have spared me this confession, not—Oh, never by some hideousest of lies,Easy, impenetrable! No! but say,By just the quiet answer—"I am cold."Falsehood avaunt, each shadow of thee, hence!Had happier fortune willed ... but dreams are vain.Now, leave me—yes, for pity's sake!' Aha,Who fails to see the curate as his faceReddened and whitened, wanted handkerchiefAt wrinkling brow and twinkling eye, untilOut burst the proper 'Angel, whom the fiendHas thought to smirch,—thy whiteness, at one wipeOf holy cambric, shall disgrace the swan!Mine be the task' ... and so forth! Fool? not he!Cunning in flavors, rather! What but sourSuspected makes the sweetness doubly sweet,And what stings love from faint to flamboyantBut the fear-sprinkle? Even horror helps—Love's flame in me by such recited wrongDrenched, quenched, indeed? It burns the fiercelier thence!'Why, I have known men never love their wivesTill somebody—myself, suppose—had 'drenchedAnd quenched love,' so the blockheads whined: as ifThe fluid fire that lifts the torpid limbWere a wrong done to palsy. But I thrilledNo palsied person: half my age, or less,The curate was, I 'll wager: o'er young bloodYour beauty triumphed! Eh, but—was ithe?Then, itwashe, I heard of! None beside!How frank you were about the audacious boyWho fell upon you like a thunderbolt—Passion and protestation! He it wasReservedin petto!Ay, and 'rich' beside—'Rich'—how supremely did disdain curl nose!All that I heard was—'wedded to a priest;'Informants sunk youth, riches and the rest.And so my lawless love disparted loves,That loves might come together with a rush!Surely this last achievement sucked me dry:Indeed, that way my wits went. Mistress-queen,Be merciful and let your subject slinkInto dark safety! He 's a beggar, see—Do not turn back his ship, Australia-bound,And bid her land him right amid some crowdOf creditors, assembled by your curse!Don't cause the very rope to crack (you can!)Whereon he spends his last (friend's) sixpence, justThe moment when he hoped to hang himself!Be satisfied you beat him!"

"Certain the taunt is happy!" he resumes:

"So, I it was allured you—only I

—I, and none other—to this spectacle—

Your triumph, my despair—you woman-fiend

That front me! Well, I have my wish, then! See

The low wide brow oppressed by sweeps of hair

Darker and darker as they coil and swathe

The crowned corpse-wanness whence the eyes burn black,

Not asleep now! not pin-points dwarfed beneath

Either great bridging eyebrow—poor blank beads—

Babies, I 've pleased to pity in my time:

How they protrude and glow immense with hate!

The long-triumphant nose attains—retains

Just the perfection; and there 's scarlet-skein

My ancient enemy, her lip and lip,

Sense-free, sense-frighting lips clenched cold and bold

Because of chin, that based resolve beneath!

Then the columnar neck completes the whole

Greek-sculpture-baffling body! Do I see?

Can I observe? You wait next word to come?

Well, wait and want! since no one blight I bid

Consume one least perfection. Each and all,

As they are rightly shocking now to me,

So may they still continue! Value them?

Ay, as the vendor knows the money-worth

O£ his Greek statue, fools aspire to buy,

And he to see the back of! Let as laugh!

You have absolved me from my sin at least!

You stand stout, strong, in the rude health of hate,

No touch of the tame timid nullity

My cowardice, forsooth, has practised on!

Ay, while you seemed to hint some fine fifth act

Of tragedy should freeze blood, end the farce,

I never doubted all was joke. I kept,

Maybe, an eye alert on paragraphs,

Newspaper-notice,—let no inquest slip,

Accident, disappearance: sound and safe

Were you, my victim, not of mind to die!

So, my worst fancy that could spoil the smooth

Of pillow, and arrest descent of sleep,

Was 'Into what dim hole can she have dived,

She and her wrongs, her woe that 's wearing flesh

And blood away?' Whereas, see, sorrow swells!

Or, fattened, fulsome, have you fed on me,

Sucked out my substance? How much gloss, I pray,

O'erbloomed those hair-swathes when there crept from you

To me that craze, else unaccountable,

Which urged me to contest our county-seat

With whom but my own brother's nominee?

Did that mouth's pulp glow ruby from carmine

While I misused my moment, pushed,—one word,—

One hair's-breadth more of gesture,—idiot-like

Past passion, floundered on to the grotesque,

And lost the heiress in a grin? At least,

You made no such mistake! You tickled fish,

Landed your prize the true artistic way!

How did the smug young curate rise to tune

Of 'Friend, a fatal fact divides us. Love

Suits me no longer. I have suffered shame,

Betrayal: past is past; the future—yours—

Shall never be contaminate by mine!

I might have spared me this confession, not

—Oh, never by some hideousest of lies,

Easy, impenetrable! No! but say,

By just the quiet answer—"I am cold."

Falsehood avaunt, each shadow of thee, hence!

Had happier fortune willed ... but dreams are vain.

Now, leave me—yes, for pity's sake!' Aha,

Who fails to see the curate as his face

Reddened and whitened, wanted handkerchief

At wrinkling brow and twinkling eye, until

Out burst the proper 'Angel, whom the fiend

Has thought to smirch,—thy whiteness, at one wipe

Of holy cambric, shall disgrace the swan!

Mine be the task' ... and so forth! Fool? not he!

Cunning in flavors, rather! What but sour

Suspected makes the sweetness doubly sweet,

And what stings love from faint to flamboyant

But the fear-sprinkle? Even horror helps—

Love's flame in me by such recited wrong

Drenched, quenched, indeed? It burns the fiercelier thence!'

Why, I have known men never love their wives

Till somebody—myself, suppose—had 'drenched

And quenched love,' so the blockheads whined: as if

The fluid fire that lifts the torpid limb

Were a wrong done to palsy. But I thrilled

No palsied person: half my age, or less,

The curate was, I 'll wager: o'er young blood

Your beauty triumphed! Eh, but—was ithe?

Then, itwashe, I heard of! None beside!

How frank you were about the audacious boy

Who fell upon you like a thunderbolt—

Passion and protestation! He it was

Reservedin petto!Ay, and 'rich' beside—

'Rich'—how supremely did disdain curl nose!

All that I heard was—'wedded to a priest;'

Informants sunk youth, riches and the rest.

And so my lawless love disparted loves,

That loves might come together with a rush!

Surely this last achievement sucked me dry:

Indeed, that way my wits went. Mistress-queen,

Be merciful and let your subject slink

Into dark safety! He 's a beggar, see—

Do not turn back his ship, Australia-bound,

And bid her land him right amid some crowd

Of creditors, assembled by your curse!

Don't cause the very rope to crack (you can!)

Whereon he spends his last (friend's) sixpence, just

The moment when he hoped to hang himself!

Be satisfied you beat him!"

She replies—

"Beat him! I do. To all that you confessOf abject failure, I extend belief.Your very face confirms it: God is just!Let my face—fix your eyes!—in turn confirmWhat I shall say. All-abject's but half truth;Add to all-abject knave as perfect fool!Sois it you probed human nature,soPrognosticated of me? Lay these wordsTo heart then, or where God meant heart should lurk!That moment when you first revealed yourself,My simple impulse prompted—end forthwithThe ruin of a life uprooted thusTo surely perish! How should such spoiled treeHenceforward balk the wind of its worst sport,Fail to go falling deeper, falling downFrom sin to sin until some depth were reachedDoomed to the weakest by the wickedestOf weak and wicked human-kind? But when,That self-display made absolute,—beholdA new revealment!—round you pleased to veer,Propose me what should prompt annul the past,Make me 'amends by marriage'—in your phrase,Incorporate me henceforth, body and soul,With soul and body which mere brushing pastBrought leprosy upon me—'marry' these!Why, then despair broke, reassurance dawned,Clear-sighted was I that who hurled contemptAs I—thank God!—at the contemptible,Was scarce an utter weakling. Rent awayBy treason from my rightful pride of place,I was not destined to the shame below.A cleft had caught me: I might perish there,But thence to be dislodged and whirled at lastWhere the black torrent sweeps the sewage—no!'Bare breast be on hard rock,' laughed out my soulIn gratitude, 'howe'er rock's grip may grind!The plain, rough, wretched holdfast shall sufficeThis wreck of me!' The wind,—I broke in bloomAt passage of,—which stripped me bole and branch,Twisted me up and tossed me here,—turns back,And, playful ever, would replant the spoil?Be satisfied, not one least leaf that's mineShall henceforth help wind's sport to exercise!Rather I give such remnant to the rockWhich never dreamed a straw would settle there.Rock may not thank me, may not feel my breast,Even: enough thatIfeel, hard and cold,Its safety my salvation. Safe and saved,I lived, live. When the tempter shall persuadeHis prey to slip down, slide off, trust the wind,—Now that I know if God or Satan bePrince of the Power of the Air,—then, then, indeed,Let my life end and degradation too!"

"Beat him! I do. To all that you confess

Of abject failure, I extend belief.

Your very face confirms it: God is just!

Let my face—fix your eyes!—in turn confirm

What I shall say. All-abject's but half truth;

Add to all-abject knave as perfect fool!

Sois it you probed human nature,so

Prognosticated of me? Lay these words

To heart then, or where God meant heart should lurk!

That moment when you first revealed yourself,

My simple impulse prompted—end forthwith

The ruin of a life uprooted thus

To surely perish! How should such spoiled tree

Henceforward balk the wind of its worst sport,

Fail to go falling deeper, falling down

From sin to sin until some depth were reached

Doomed to the weakest by the wickedest

Of weak and wicked human-kind? But when,

That self-display made absolute,—behold

A new revealment!—round you pleased to veer,

Propose me what should prompt annul the past,

Make me 'amends by marriage'—in your phrase,

Incorporate me henceforth, body and soul,

With soul and body which mere brushing past

Brought leprosy upon me—'marry' these!

Why, then despair broke, reassurance dawned,

Clear-sighted was I that who hurled contempt

As I—thank God!—at the contemptible,

Was scarce an utter weakling. Rent away

By treason from my rightful pride of place,

I was not destined to the shame below.

A cleft had caught me: I might perish there,

But thence to be dislodged and whirled at last

Where the black torrent sweeps the sewage—no!

'Bare breast be on hard rock,' laughed out my soul

In gratitude, 'howe'er rock's grip may grind!

The plain, rough, wretched holdfast shall suffice

This wreck of me!' The wind,—I broke in bloom

At passage of,—which stripped me bole and branch,

Twisted me up and tossed me here,—turns back,

And, playful ever, would replant the spoil?

Be satisfied, not one least leaf that's mine

Shall henceforth help wind's sport to exercise!

Rather I give such remnant to the rock

Which never dreamed a straw would settle there.

Rock may not thank me, may not feel my breast,

Even: enough thatIfeel, hard and cold,

Its safety my salvation. Safe and saved,

I lived, live. When the tempter shall persuade

His prey to slip down, slide off, trust the wind,—

Now that I know if God or Satan be

Prince of the Power of the Air,—then, then, indeed,

Let my life end and degradation too!"

"Good!" he smiles, "true Lord Byron!" 'Tree and rock:Rock,'—there's advancement! He's at first a youth,Rich, worthless therefore; next he grows a priest:Youth, riches prove a notable resource,When to leave me for their possessor glutsMalice abundantly; and now, last change,The young rich parson represents a rock—Bloodstone, no doubt. He's Evangelical?Your Ritualists prefer the Church for spouse!"

"Good!" he smiles, "true Lord Byron!" 'Tree and rock:

Rock,'—there's advancement! He's at first a youth,

Rich, worthless therefore; next he grows a priest:

Youth, riches prove a notable resource,

When to leave me for their possessor gluts

Malice abundantly; and now, last change,

The young rich parson represents a rock

—Bloodstone, no doubt. He's Evangelical?

Your Ritualists prefer the Church for spouse!"

She speaks.

"I have a story to relate.There was a parish-priest, my father knew,Elderly, poor: I used to pity himBefore I learned what woes are pity-worth.Elderly was grown old now, scanty meansWere straitening fast to poverty, besideThe ailments which await in such a case.Limited every way, a perfect manWithin the bounds built up and up since birthBreast-high about him till the outside worldWas blank save o'erhead one blue bit of sky—Faith: he had faith in dogma, small or great,As in the fact that if he clave his skullHe'd find a brain there: who proves such a factNo falsehood by experiment at priceOf soul and body? The one rule of lifeDelivered him in childhood was 'Obey!Labor!' He had obeyed and labored—tame,True to the mill-track blinked on from above.Some scholarship he may have gained in youth:Gone—dropt or flung behind. Some blossom-flake,Spring's boon, descends on every vernal head,I used to think; but January joinsDecember, as his year had known no May;Trouble its snow-deposit,—cold and old!I heard it was his will to take a wife,A helpmate. Duty bade him tend and teach—How? with experience null, nor sympathyAbundant,—while himself worked dogma dead,Who would play ministrant to sickness, age,Womankind, childhood? These demand a wife.Supply the want, then! theirs the wife; for him—No coarsest sample of the proper sexBut would have served his purpose equallyWith God's own angel,—let but knowledge matchHer coarseness: zeal does only half the work.I saw this—knew the purblind honest drudgeWas wearing out his simple blameless life,And wanted help beneath a burden—borneTo treasure-house or dust-heap, what cared I?Partner he needed: I proposed myself,Nor much surprised him—duty was so clear!Gratitude? What for? Gain of Paradise—Escape, perhaps, from the dire penaltyOf who hides talent in a napkin? No:His scruple was—should I be strong enough—In body? since of weakness in the mind,Weariness in the heart—no fear of these?He took me as these Arctic voyagersTake an aspirant to their toil and pain:Can he endure them?—that 's the point, and not—Will he? Who would not, rather! Whereupon,I pleaded far more earnestly for leaveTo give myself away, than you to gainWhat you called priceless till you gained the heartAnd soul and body! which, as beggars serveExtorted alms, you straightway spat upon.Not so my husband,—for I gained my suit,And had my value put at once to proof.Ask him! These four years I have died awayIn village-life. The village? UglinessAt best and filthiness at worst, inside.Outside, sterility—earth sown with saltOr what keeps even grass from growing fresh.The life? I teach the poor and learn, myself,That commonplace to such stupidityIs all-recondite. Being brutalizedTheir true need is brute-language, cheery gruntsAnd kindly cluckings, no articulateNonsense that 's elsewhere knowledge. Tend the sick,Sickened myself at pig-perversity,Cat-craft, dog-snarling—maybe, snapping" ...

"I have a story to relate.

There was a parish-priest, my father knew,

Elderly, poor: I used to pity him

Before I learned what woes are pity-worth.

Elderly was grown old now, scanty means

Were straitening fast to poverty, beside

The ailments which await in such a case.

Limited every way, a perfect man

Within the bounds built up and up since birth

Breast-high about him till the outside world

Was blank save o'erhead one blue bit of sky—

Faith: he had faith in dogma, small or great,

As in the fact that if he clave his skull

He'd find a brain there: who proves such a fact

No falsehood by experiment at price

Of soul and body? The one rule of life

Delivered him in childhood was 'Obey!

Labor!' He had obeyed and labored—tame,

True to the mill-track blinked on from above.

Some scholarship he may have gained in youth:

Gone—dropt or flung behind. Some blossom-flake,

Spring's boon, descends on every vernal head,

I used to think; but January joins

December, as his year had known no May;

Trouble its snow-deposit,—cold and old!

I heard it was his will to take a wife,

A helpmate. Duty bade him tend and teach—

How? with experience null, nor sympathy

Abundant,—while himself worked dogma dead,

Who would play ministrant to sickness, age,

Womankind, childhood? These demand a wife.

Supply the want, then! theirs the wife; for him—

No coarsest sample of the proper sex

But would have served his purpose equally

With God's own angel,—let but knowledge match

Her coarseness: zeal does only half the work.

I saw this—knew the purblind honest drudge

Was wearing out his simple blameless life,

And wanted help beneath a burden—borne

To treasure-house or dust-heap, what cared I?

Partner he needed: I proposed myself,

Nor much surprised him—duty was so clear!

Gratitude? What for? Gain of Paradise—

Escape, perhaps, from the dire penalty

Of who hides talent in a napkin? No:

His scruple was—should I be strong enough

—In body? since of weakness in the mind,

Weariness in the heart—no fear of these?

He took me as these Arctic voyagers

Take an aspirant to their toil and pain:

Can he endure them?—that 's the point, and not

—Will he? Who would not, rather! Whereupon,

I pleaded far more earnestly for leave

To give myself away, than you to gain

What you called priceless till you gained the heart

And soul and body! which, as beggars serve

Extorted alms, you straightway spat upon.

Not so my husband,—for I gained my suit,

And had my value put at once to proof.

Ask him! These four years I have died away

In village-life. The village? Ugliness

At best and filthiness at worst, inside.

Outside, sterility—earth sown with salt

Or what keeps even grass from growing fresh.

The life? I teach the poor and learn, myself,

That commonplace to such stupidity

Is all-recondite. Being brutalized

Their true need is brute-language, cheery grunts

And kindly cluckings, no articulate

Nonsense that 's elsewhere knowledge. Tend the sick,

Sickened myself at pig-perversity,

Cat-craft, dog-snarling—maybe, snapping" ...

"Brief:You eat that root of bitterness called Man—Raw: I prefer it cooked, with social sauce!So, he was not the rich youth after all!Well, I mistook. But somewhere needs must beThe compensation. If not young nor rich" ...

"Brief:

You eat that root of bitterness called Man

—Raw: I prefer it cooked, with social sauce!

So, he was not the rich youth after all!

Well, I mistook. But somewhere needs must be

The compensation. If not young nor rich" ...

"You interrupt!"

"Because you 've daubed enoughBistre for background. Play the artist now,Produce your figure well-relieved in front!The contrast—do not I anticipate?Though neither rich nor young—what then? 'T is allForgotten, all this ignobility,In the dear home, the darling word, the smile,The something sweeter" ...

"Because you 've daubed enough

Bistre for background. Play the artist now,

Produce your figure well-relieved in front!

The contrast—do not I anticipate?

Though neither rich nor young—what then? 'T is all

Forgotten, all this ignobility,

In the dear home, the darling word, the smile,

The something sweeter" ...

"Yes, you interrupt.I have my purpose and proceed. Who livesWith beasts assumes beast-nature, look and voice,And, much more, thought, for beasts think. SelfishnessIn us met selfishness in them, deservedSuch answer as it gained. My husband, bentOn saving his own soul by saving theirs,—They, bent on being saved if saving soulIncluded body's getting bread and cheeseSomehow in life and somehow after death,—Both parties were alike in the same boat,One danger, therefore one equality.Safety induces culture: culture seeksTo institute, extend and multiplyThe difference between safe man and man,Able to live alone now; progress meansWhat but abandonment of fellowship?We were in common danger, still stuck close.No new books,—were the old ones mastered yet?No pictures and no music: these divert—What from? the staving danger off! You paintThe waterspout above, you set to wordsThe roaring of the tempest round you? Thanks!Amusement? Talk at end of the tired dayOf the more tiresome morrow! I transcribedThe page on page of sermon-scrawlings—stoppedIntellect's eye and ear to sense and sound—Vainly: the sound and sense would penetrateTo brain and plague there in despite of meMaddened to know more moral good were doneHad we two simply sallied forth and preachedI' the 'Green' they call their grimy,—I with twangOf long-disused guitar,—with cut and slashOf much-misvalued horsewhip he,—to bidThe peaceable come dance, the peace-breakerPay in his person! Whereas—Heaven and Hell,Excite with that, restrain with this!—so dealtHis drugs my husband; as he dosed himself,He drenched his cattle: and, for all my partWas just to dub the mortar, never fearBut drugs, hand pestled at, have poisoned nose!Heaven he let pass, left wisely undescribed:As applicable therefore to the sleepI want, that knows no waking—as to what 'sConceived of as the proper prize to temptSouls less world-weary: there, no fault to find!But Hell he made explicit. After death,Life: man created new, ingeniouslyPerfect for a vindictive purpose now,That man, first fashioned in beneficence,Was proved a failure; intellect at lengthReplacing old obtuseness, memoryMade mindful of delinquent's bygone deedsNow that remorse was vain, which life-long layDormant when lesson might be laid to heart;New gift of observation up and downAnd round man's self, new power to apprehendEach necessary consequence of actIn man for well or ill—things obsolete—Just granted to supplant the idiocyMan's only guide while act was yet to choose,With ill or well momentously its fruit;A faculty of immense sufferingConferred on mind and body,—mind, erewhileUnvisited by one compunctious dreamDuring sin's drunken slumber, startled up,Stung through and through by sin's significanceNow that the holy was abolished—justAs body which, alive, broke down beneathKnowledge, lay helpless in the path to good,Failed to accomplish aught legitimate,Achieve aught worthy,—which grew old in youth,And at its longest fell a cut-down flower,—Dying, this too revived by miracleTo bear no end of burden now that backSupported torture to no use at all,And live imperishably potent—sinceLife's potency was impotent to wardOne plague off which made earth a hell before.This doctrine, which one healthy view of things,One sane sight of the general ordinance—Nature—and its particular object—man,—Which one mere eye-cast at the characterOf Who made these and gave man sense to boot,Had dissipated once and evermore,—This doctrine I have dosed our flock withal.Why? Because none believed it.TheydesireSuch Heaven and dread such Hell, whom every dayThe alehouse tempts from one, a dog-fight bidsDefy the other? All the harm is doneOurselves—done my good husband who in youthPerhaps read Dickens, done myself who stillCould play both Bach and Brahms. Such life I lead—Thanks to you, knave! You learn its quality—Thanks to me, fool!"

"Yes, you interrupt.

I have my purpose and proceed. Who lives

With beasts assumes beast-nature, look and voice,

And, much more, thought, for beasts think. Selfishness

In us met selfishness in them, deserved

Such answer as it gained. My husband, bent

On saving his own soul by saving theirs,—

They, bent on being saved if saving soul

Included body's getting bread and cheese

Somehow in life and somehow after death,—

Both parties were alike in the same boat,

One danger, therefore one equality.

Safety induces culture: culture seeks

To institute, extend and multiply

The difference between safe man and man,

Able to live alone now; progress means

What but abandonment of fellowship?

We were in common danger, still stuck close.

No new books,—were the old ones mastered yet?

No pictures and no music: these divert

—What from? the staving danger off! You paint

The waterspout above, you set to words

The roaring of the tempest round you? Thanks!

Amusement? Talk at end of the tired day

Of the more tiresome morrow! I transcribed

The page on page of sermon-scrawlings—stopped

Intellect's eye and ear to sense and sound—

Vainly: the sound and sense would penetrate

To brain and plague there in despite of me

Maddened to know more moral good were done

Had we two simply sallied forth and preached

I' the 'Green' they call their grimy,—I with twang

Of long-disused guitar,—with cut and slash

Of much-misvalued horsewhip he,—to bid

The peaceable come dance, the peace-breaker

Pay in his person! Whereas—Heaven and Hell,

Excite with that, restrain with this!—so dealt

His drugs my husband; as he dosed himself,

He drenched his cattle: and, for all my part

Was just to dub the mortar, never fear

But drugs, hand pestled at, have poisoned nose!

Heaven he let pass, left wisely undescribed:

As applicable therefore to the sleep

I want, that knows no waking—as to what 's

Conceived of as the proper prize to tempt

Souls less world-weary: there, no fault to find!

But Hell he made explicit. After death,

Life: man created new, ingeniously

Perfect for a vindictive purpose now,

That man, first fashioned in beneficence,

Was proved a failure; intellect at length

Replacing old obtuseness, memory

Made mindful of delinquent's bygone deeds

Now that remorse was vain, which life-long lay

Dormant when lesson might be laid to heart;

New gift of observation up and down

And round man's self, new power to apprehend

Each necessary consequence of act

In man for well or ill—things obsolete—

Just granted to supplant the idiocy

Man's only guide while act was yet to choose,

With ill or well momentously its fruit;

A faculty of immense suffering

Conferred on mind and body,—mind, erewhile

Unvisited by one compunctious dream

During sin's drunken slumber, startled up,

Stung through and through by sin's significance

Now that the holy was abolished—just

As body which, alive, broke down beneath

Knowledge, lay helpless in the path to good,

Failed to accomplish aught legitimate,

Achieve aught worthy,—which grew old in youth,

And at its longest fell a cut-down flower,—

Dying, this too revived by miracle

To bear no end of burden now that back

Supported torture to no use at all,

And live imperishably potent—since

Life's potency was impotent to ward

One plague off which made earth a hell before.

This doctrine, which one healthy view of things,

One sane sight of the general ordinance—

Nature—and its particular object—man,—

Which one mere eye-cast at the character

Of Who made these and gave man sense to boot,

Had dissipated once and evermore,—

This doctrine I have dosed our flock withal.

Why? Because none believed it.Theydesire

Such Heaven and dread such Hell, whom every day

The alehouse tempts from one, a dog-fight bids

Defy the other? All the harm is done

Ourselves—done my good husband who in youth

Perhaps read Dickens, done myself who still

Could play both Bach and Brahms. Such life I lead—

Thanks to you, knave! You learn its quality—

Thanks to me, fool!"

He eyes her earnestly,But she continues.

He eyes her earnestly,

But she continues.

"—Life which, thanks once moreTo you, arch-knave as exquisitest fool,I acquiescingly—I gratefullyTake back again to heart! and hence this speechWhich yesterday had spared you. Four years longLife—I began to find intolerable,Only this moment. Ere your entry just,The leap of heart which answered, spite of me,A friend's first summons, first provocative,Authoritative, nay, compulsive callTo quit, though for a single day, my houseOf bondage—made return seem horrible.I heard again a human lucid laughAll trust, no fear; again saw earth pursueIts narrow busy way amid small cares,Smaller contentments, much weeds, some few flowers,—Never suspicious of a thunderboltAvenging presently each daisy's death.I recognized the beech-tree, knew the thrushRepeated his old music-phrase,—all right,How wrong was I, then! But your entry brokeIllusion, bade me back to bounds at once.I honestly submit my soul: which sprangAt love, and losing love lies signed and sealed'Failure.' No love more? then, no beauty moreWhich tends to breed love! Purify my powers,Effortless till some other world procuresSome other chance of prize! or, if none be,—Nor second world nor chance,—undesecrateDie then this aftergrowth of heart, surmisedWhere May's precipitation left June blank!Better have failed in the high aim, as I,Than vulgarly in the low aim succeedAs, God be thanked, I do not! UglinessHad I called beauty, falsehood—truth, and you—My lover! No—this earth's unchanged for me,By his enchantment whom God made the PrinceO' the Power o' the Air, into a Heaven: there isHeaven, since there is Heaven's simulation—earth.I sit possessed in patience; prison-roofShall break one day and Heaven beam overhead."

"—Life which, thanks once more

To you, arch-knave as exquisitest fool,

I acquiescingly—I gratefully

Take back again to heart! and hence this speech

Which yesterday had spared you. Four years long

Life—I began to find intolerable,

Only this moment. Ere your entry just,

The leap of heart which answered, spite of me,

A friend's first summons, first provocative,

Authoritative, nay, compulsive call

To quit, though for a single day, my house

Of bondage—made return seem horrible.

I heard again a human lucid laugh

All trust, no fear; again saw earth pursue

Its narrow busy way amid small cares,

Smaller contentments, much weeds, some few flowers,—

Never suspicious of a thunderbolt

Avenging presently each daisy's death.

I recognized the beech-tree, knew the thrush

Repeated his old music-phrase,—all right,

How wrong was I, then! But your entry broke

Illusion, bade me back to bounds at once.

I honestly submit my soul: which sprang

At love, and losing love lies signed and sealed

'Failure.' No love more? then, no beauty more

Which tends to breed love! Purify my powers,

Effortless till some other world procures

Some other chance of prize! or, if none be,—

Nor second world nor chance,—undesecrate

Die then this aftergrowth of heart, surmised

Where May's precipitation left June blank!

Better have failed in the high aim, as I,

Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed

As, God be thanked, I do not! Ugliness

Had I called beauty, falsehood—truth, and you—

My lover! No—this earth's unchanged for me,

By his enchantment whom God made the Prince

O' the Power o' the Air, into a Heaven: there is

Heaven, since there is Heaven's simulation—earth.

I sit possessed in patience; prison-roof

Shall break one day and Heaven beam overhead."

His smile is done with; he speaks bitterly.

"Take my congratulations, and permitI wish myself had proved as teachable!—Or, no! until you taught me, could I learn,A lesson from experience ne'er till nowConceded? Please you listen while I showHow thoroughly you estimate my worthAnd yours—the immeasurably superior! IBelieved at least in one thing, first to last,—Your love to me: I was the vile and youThe precious; I abused you, I betrayed,But doubted—never! Why else go my wayJudas-like plodding to this Potters' FieldWhere fate now finds me? What has dinned my earAnd dogged my step? The spectre with the shriek'Such she was, such were you, whose punishmentIs just!' And such she was not, all the while!She never owned a love to outrage, faithTo pay with falsehood! For, my heart knows this—Love once and you love always. Why, it 's downHere in the Album: every lover knowsLove may use hate but—turn to hate, itself—Turn even to indifference—no, indeed!Well, I have been spellbound, deluded likeThe witless negro by the Obeah-manWho bids him wither: so, his eye grows dim,His arm slack, arrow misses aim and spearGoes wandering wide,—and all the woe becauseHe proved untrue to Fetish, who, he finds,Was just a feather-phantom! I wronged love,Am ruined,—and there was no love to wrong!"

"Take my congratulations, and permit

I wish myself had proved as teachable!

—Or, no! until you taught me, could I learn,

A lesson from experience ne'er till now

Conceded? Please you listen while I show

How thoroughly you estimate my worth

And yours—the immeasurably superior! I

Believed at least in one thing, first to last,—

Your love to me: I was the vile and you

The precious; I abused you, I betrayed,

But doubted—never! Why else go my way

Judas-like plodding to this Potters' Field

Where fate now finds me? What has dinned my ear

And dogged my step? The spectre with the shriek

'Such she was, such were you, whose punishment

Is just!' And such she was not, all the while!

She never owned a love to outrage, faith

To pay with falsehood! For, my heart knows this—

Love once and you love always. Why, it 's down

Here in the Album: every lover knows

Love may use hate but—turn to hate, itself—

Turn even to indifference—no, indeed!

Well, I have been spellbound, deluded like

The witless negro by the Obeah-man

Who bids him wither: so, his eye grows dim,

His arm slack, arrow misses aim and spear

Goes wandering wide,—and all the woe because

He proved untrue to Fetish, who, he finds,

Was just a feather-phantom! I wronged love,

Am ruined,—and there was no love to wrong!"

"No love? Ah, dead love! I invoke thy ghostTo show the murderer where thy heart poured lifeAt summons of the stroke he doubts was dealtOn pasteboard and pretence! Not love, my love?I changed for you the very laws of life:Made you the standard of all right, all fair.No genius but you could have been, no sage,No sufferer—which is grandest—for the truth!My hero—where the heroic only hidTo burst from hiding, brighten earth one day!Age and decline were man's maturity;Face, form were nature's type: more grace, more strength,What had they been but just superfluous gauds,Lawless divergence? I have danced through dayOn tiptoe at the music of a word,Have wondered where was darkness gone as nightBurst out in stars at brilliance of a smile!Lonely, I placed the chair to help me seatYour fancied presence; in companionship,I kept my finger constant to your gloveGlued to my breast; then—where was all the world?I schemed—not dreamed—how I might die some deathShould save your finger aching! Who createsDestroys, he only: I had laughed to scornWhatever angel tried to shake my faithAnd make you seem unworthy: you yourselfOnly could do that! With a touch 't was done.'Give me all, trust me wholly!' At the word,I did give, I did trust—and thereuponThe touch did follow. Ah, the quiet smile,The masterfully-folded arm in arm,As trick obtained its triumph one time more!In turn, my soul too triumphs in defeat:Treason like faith moves mountains: love is gone!"

"No love? Ah, dead love! I invoke thy ghost

To show the murderer where thy heart poured life

At summons of the stroke he doubts was dealt

On pasteboard and pretence! Not love, my love?

I changed for you the very laws of life:

Made you the standard of all right, all fair.

No genius but you could have been, no sage,

No sufferer—which is grandest—for the truth!

My hero—where the heroic only hid

To burst from hiding, brighten earth one day!

Age and decline were man's maturity;

Face, form were nature's type: more grace, more strength,

What had they been but just superfluous gauds,

Lawless divergence? I have danced through day

On tiptoe at the music of a word,

Have wondered where was darkness gone as night

Burst out in stars at brilliance of a smile!

Lonely, I placed the chair to help me seat

Your fancied presence; in companionship,

I kept my finger constant to your glove

Glued to my breast; then—where was all the world?

I schemed—not dreamed—how I might die some death

Should save your finger aching! Who creates

Destroys, he only: I had laughed to scorn

Whatever angel tried to shake my faith

And make you seem unworthy: you yourself

Only could do that! With a touch 't was done.

'Give me all, trust me wholly!' At the word,

I did give, I did trust—and thereupon

The touch did follow. Ah, the quiet smile,

The masterfully-folded arm in arm,

As trick obtained its triumph one time more!

In turn, my soul too triumphs in defeat:

Treason like faith moves mountains: love is gone!"

He paces to and fro, stops, stands quite closeAnd calls her by her name. Then—

He paces to and fro, stops, stands quite close

And calls her by her name. Then—

"God forgives:Forgive you, delegate of God, brought nearAs never priests could bring him to this soulThat prays you both—forgive me! I abase—Know myself mad and monstrous utterlyIn all I did that moment; but as GodGives me this knowledge—heart to feel and tongueTo testify—so be you gracious too!Judge no man by the solitary workOf—well, they do say and I can believe—The devil in him: his, the moment,—mineThe life—your life!"

"God forgives:

Forgive you, delegate of God, brought near

As never priests could bring him to this soul

That prays you both—forgive me! I abase—

Know myself mad and monstrous utterly

In all I did that moment; but as God

Gives me this knowledge—heart to feel and tongue

To testify—so be you gracious too!

Judge no man by the solitary work

Of—well, they do say and I can believe—

The devil in him: his, the moment,—mine

The life—your life!"

He names her name again.

"You were just—merciful as just, you wereIn giving me no respite: punishmentFollowed offending. Sane and sound once more,The patient thanks decision, promptitude,Which flung him prone and fastened him from hurt,Haply to others, surely to himself.I wake and would not you had spared one pang.All's well that ends well!"

"You were just—merciful as just, you were

In giving me no respite: punishment

Followed offending. Sane and sound once more,

The patient thanks decision, promptitude,

Which flung him prone and fastened him from hurt,

Haply to others, surely to himself.

I wake and would not you had spared one pang.

All's well that ends well!"

Yet again her name.

"Hadyouno fault? Why must you change, forsooth,Parts, why reverse positions, spoil the play?Why did your nobleness look up to me,Not down on the ignoble thing confessed?Was it your part to stoop, or lift the low?Wherefore did God exalt you? Who would teachThe brute man's tameness and intelligenceMust never drop the dominating eye:Wink—and what wonder if the mad fit break,Followed by stripes and fasting? Sound and sane,My life, chastised now, couches at your foot.Accept, redeem me! Do your eyes ask 'How?'I stand here penniless, a beggar; talkWhat idle trash I may, this final blowOf fortune fells me.Idisburse, indeed,This boy his winnings? when each bubble-schemeThat danced athwart my brain, a minute since,The worse the better,—of repairing straightMy misadventure by fresh enterprise,Capture of other boys in foolishnessHis fellows,—when these fancies fade awayAt first sight of the lost so long, the foundSo late, the lady of my life, beforeWhose presence I, the lost, am also foundIncapable of one least touch of meanExpedient, I who teemed with plot and wile—That family of snakes your eye bids flee!Listen! Our troublesomest dreams die offIn daylight: I awake, and dream is—where?I rouse up from the past: one touch dispelsEngland and all here. I secured long sinceA certain refuge, solitary homeTo hide in, should the head strike work one day,The hand forget its cunning, or perhapsSociety grow savage,—there to endMy life's remainder, which, say what fools will,Is or should be the best of life,—its fruit,All tends to, root and stem and leaf and flower.Come with me, love, loved once, loved only, come,Blend loves there! Let this parenthetic doubtOf love, in me, have been the trial testAppointed to all flesh at some one stageOf soul's achievement,—when the strong man doubtsHis strength, the good man whether goodness be,The artist in the dark seeks, fails to findVocation, and the saint forswears his shrine.What if the lover may elude, no moreThan these, probative dark, must search the skyVainly for love, his soul's star? But the orbBreaks from eclipse: I breathe again: I love!Tempted, I fell; but fallen—fallen lieHere at your feet, see! Leave this poor pretenceOf union with a nature and its needsRepugnant to your needs and nature! Nay,False, beyond falsity you reprehendIn me, is such mock marriage with such mereMan-mask as—whom you witless wrong, beside,By that expenditure of heart and brainHe recks no more of than would yonder treeIf watered with your life-blood: rains and dewsAnswer its ends sufficiently, while meOne drop saves—sends to flower and fruit at lastThe laggard virtue in the soul which elseCumbers the ground! Quicken me! Call me yours—Yours and the world's—yours and the world's and God's!Yes, for you can, you only! Think! ConfirmYour instinct! Say, a minute since, I seemedThe castaway you count me,—all the moreApparent shall the angelic potencyLift me from out perdition's deep of deepsTo light and life and love!—that's love for you—Love that already dares match might with yours.You loved one worthy,—in your estimate,—When time was; you descried the unworthy taint,And where was love then? No such test could e'erTry my love: but you hate me and revile;Hatred, revilement—had you these to bear,Would you, as I do, nor revile, nor hate,But simply love on, love the more, perchance?Abide by your own proof! 'Your love was love:Its ghost knows no forgetting!' Heart of mine,Would that I dared remember! Too unwiseWere he who lost a treasure, did himselfEnlarge upon the sparkling catalogueOf gems to her his queen who trusted lateThe keeper of her caskets! Can it beThat I, custodian of such relic stillAs your contempt permits me to retain,All I dare hug to breast is—'How your gloveBurst and displayed the long thin lily streak!'What may have followed—that is forfeit now!I hope the proud man has grown humble! True—One grace of humbleness absents itself—Silence! yet love lies deeper than all words,And not the spoken but the speechless loveWaits answer ere I rise and go my way."

"Hadyouno fault? Why must you change, forsooth,

Parts, why reverse positions, spoil the play?

Why did your nobleness look up to me,

Not down on the ignoble thing confessed?

Was it your part to stoop, or lift the low?

Wherefore did God exalt you? Who would teach

The brute man's tameness and intelligence

Must never drop the dominating eye:

Wink—and what wonder if the mad fit break,

Followed by stripes and fasting? Sound and sane,

My life, chastised now, couches at your foot.

Accept, redeem me! Do your eyes ask 'How?'

I stand here penniless, a beggar; talk

What idle trash I may, this final blow

Of fortune fells me.Idisburse, indeed,

This boy his winnings? when each bubble-scheme

That danced athwart my brain, a minute since,

The worse the better,—of repairing straight

My misadventure by fresh enterprise,

Capture of other boys in foolishness

His fellows,—when these fancies fade away

At first sight of the lost so long, the found

So late, the lady of my life, before

Whose presence I, the lost, am also found

Incapable of one least touch of mean

Expedient, I who teemed with plot and wile—

That family of snakes your eye bids flee!

Listen! Our troublesomest dreams die off

In daylight: I awake, and dream is—where?

I rouse up from the past: one touch dispels

England and all here. I secured long since

A certain refuge, solitary home

To hide in, should the head strike work one day,

The hand forget its cunning, or perhaps

Society grow savage,—there to end

My life's remainder, which, say what fools will,

Is or should be the best of life,—its fruit,

All tends to, root and stem and leaf and flower.

Come with me, love, loved once, loved only, come,

Blend loves there! Let this parenthetic doubt

Of love, in me, have been the trial test

Appointed to all flesh at some one stage

Of soul's achievement,—when the strong man doubts

His strength, the good man whether goodness be,

The artist in the dark seeks, fails to find

Vocation, and the saint forswears his shrine.

What if the lover may elude, no more

Than these, probative dark, must search the sky

Vainly for love, his soul's star? But the orb

Breaks from eclipse: I breathe again: I love!

Tempted, I fell; but fallen—fallen lie

Here at your feet, see! Leave this poor pretence

Of union with a nature and its needs

Repugnant to your needs and nature! Nay,

False, beyond falsity you reprehend

In me, is such mock marriage with such mere

Man-mask as—whom you witless wrong, beside,

By that expenditure of heart and brain

He recks no more of than would yonder tree

If watered with your life-blood: rains and dews

Answer its ends sufficiently, while me

One drop saves—sends to flower and fruit at last

The laggard virtue in the soul which else

Cumbers the ground! Quicken me! Call me yours—

Yours and the world's—yours and the world's and God's!

Yes, for you can, you only! Think! Confirm

Your instinct! Say, a minute since, I seemed

The castaway you count me,—all the more

Apparent shall the angelic potency

Lift me from out perdition's deep of deeps

To light and life and love!—that's love for you—

Love that already dares match might with yours.

You loved one worthy,—in your estimate,—

When time was; you descried the unworthy taint,

And where was love then? No such test could e'er

Try my love: but you hate me and revile;

Hatred, revilement—had you these to bear,

Would you, as I do, nor revile, nor hate,

But simply love on, love the more, perchance?

Abide by your own proof! 'Your love was love:

Its ghost knows no forgetting!' Heart of mine,

Would that I dared remember! Too unwise

Were he who lost a treasure, did himself

Enlarge upon the sparkling catalogue

Of gems to her his queen who trusted late

The keeper of her caskets! Can it be

That I, custodian of such relic still

As your contempt permits me to retain,

All I dare hug to breast is—'How your glove

Burst and displayed the long thin lily streak!'

What may have followed—that is forfeit now!

I hope the proud man has grown humble! True—

One grace of humbleness absents itself—

Silence! yet love lies deeper than all words,

And not the spoken but the speechless love

Waits answer ere I rise and go my way."

Whereupon, yet one other time the name.

To end she looks the large deliberate look,Even prolongs it somewhat; then the soulBursts forth in a clear laugh that lengthens on,On, till—thinned, softened, silvered, one might sayThe bitter runnel hides itself in sand,Moistens the hard gray grimly comic speech.

To end she looks the large deliberate look,

Even prolongs it somewhat; then the soul

Bursts forth in a clear laugh that lengthens on,

On, till—thinned, softened, silvered, one might say

The bitter runnel hides itself in sand,

Moistens the hard gray grimly comic speech.

"Ay—give the baffled angler even yetHis supreme triumph as he hales to shoreA second time the fish once 'scaped from hook—So artfully has new bait hidden oldBlood-imbrued iron! Ay, no barb's beneathThe gilded minnow here! You bid break trust,This time, with who trusts me,—not simply bidMe trust you, me who ruined but myself,In trusting but myself! Since, thanks to you,I know the feel of sin and shame,—be sure,I shall obey you and impose them bothOn one who happens to be ignorantAlthough my husband—for the lure is love,Your love! Try other tackle, fisher-friend!Repentance, expiation, hopes and fears,What you had been, may yet be, would I butProve helpmate to my hero—one and allThese silks and worsteds round the hook seduceHardly the late torn throat and mangled tongue.Pack up, I pray, the whole assortment prompt!Who wonders at variety of wileIn the Arch-cheat? You are the Adversary!Your fate is of your choosing: have your choice!Wander the world,—God has some end to serve,Ere he suppress you! He waits: I endure,But interpose no finger-tip, forsooth,To stop your passage to the pit. EnoughThat I am stable, uninvolved by youIn the rush downwards: free I gaze and fixed;Your smiles, your tears, prayers, curses move alikeMy crowned contempt. You kneel? Prostrate yourself!To earth, and would the whole world saw you there!"

"Ay—give the baffled angler even yet

His supreme triumph as he hales to shore

A second time the fish once 'scaped from hook—

So artfully has new bait hidden old

Blood-imbrued iron! Ay, no barb's beneath

The gilded minnow here! You bid break trust,

This time, with who trusts me,—not simply bid

Me trust you, me who ruined but myself,

In trusting but myself! Since, thanks to you,

I know the feel of sin and shame,—be sure,

I shall obey you and impose them both

On one who happens to be ignorant

Although my husband—for the lure is love,

Your love! Try other tackle, fisher-friend!

Repentance, expiation, hopes and fears,

What you had been, may yet be, would I but

Prove helpmate to my hero—one and all

These silks and worsteds round the hook seduce

Hardly the late torn throat and mangled tongue.

Pack up, I pray, the whole assortment prompt!

Who wonders at variety of wile

In the Arch-cheat? You are the Adversary!

Your fate is of your choosing: have your choice!

Wander the world,—God has some end to serve,

Ere he suppress you! He waits: I endure,

But interpose no finger-tip, forsooth,

To stop your passage to the pit. Enough

That I am stable, uninvolved by you

In the rush downwards: free I gaze and fixed;

Your smiles, your tears, prayers, curses move alike

My crowned contempt. You kneel? Prostrate yourself!

To earth, and would the whole world saw you there!"

Whereupon—"All right!" carelessly beginsSomebody from outside, who mounts the stair,And sends his voice for herald of approach:Half in half out the doorway as the doorGives way to push.

Whereupon—"All right!" carelessly begins

Somebody from outside, who mounts the stair,

And sends his voice for herald of approach:

Half in half out the doorway as the door

Gives way to push.

"Old fellow, all's no good!The train's your portion! Lay the blame on me!I'm no diplomatist, and Bismarck's selfHad hardly braved the awful Aunt at broachOf proposition—so has world-reputePreceded the illustrious stranger! Ah!"—

"Old fellow, all's no good!

The train's your portion! Lay the blame on me!

I'm no diplomatist, and Bismarck's self

Had hardly braved the awful Aunt at broach

Of proposition—so has world-repute

Preceded the illustrious stranger! Ah!"—

Quick the voice changes to astonishment,Then horror, as the youth stops, sees, and knows.

Quick the voice changes to astonishment,

Then horror, as the youth stops, sees, and knows.

Back to Index Next