IV.With those fair orbs which lit her common air}That which should be her guardian planet there}Now cold if radiant did the wife compare?}If so, alas we lose the Chaldee's powerTo shape the life if we neglect the hour.And in the crowd was now their only meeting—They who from crowds should so have hail'd retreating.But in the crowd if eye encounter'd eye,Whence came her blush, or wherefore heaved his sigh?Ah! woe when lost the Heavenly confidence,Man's gentle right, and woman's strong defence!—Like the frank sunflower, Household Love to-dayMust ope its leaves;—what shades it, brings decay.
IV.
With those fair orbs which lit her common air}That which should be her guardian planet there}Now cold if radiant did the wife compare?}If so, alas we lose the Chaldee's powerTo shape the life if we neglect the hour.And in the crowd was now their only meeting—They who from crowds should so have hail'd retreating.But in the crowd if eye encounter'd eye,Whence came her blush, or wherefore heaved his sigh?Ah! woe when lost the Heavenly confidence,Man's gentle right, and woman's strong defence!—Like the frank sunflower, Household Love to-dayMust ope its leaves;—what shades it, brings decay.
V.The world look'd on, and construed, as it stillInterprets, all it knows not into ill."Man's home is sacred," flattering proverbs say;Yes, if you give the home to men's survey,But if that sanctum be obscured or screen'd,In every shadow doubt suggests a fiend:So churchyards seen beneath a daylight skyAre holy to the clown who saunters by;But vex his vision by the glimmering light,And straight the holiness expires in fright;He hears a goblin in the whispering grass,And cries "Heaven save us!"—at the Parson's ass!"Was ever Lord so newly wed so cold?Poor thing!—forsaken ere a year be told!Doubtless some wanton—whom we know not, true,But those proud sinners are so wary too!Oh! for the good old days—one never heardOf men so shocking under George the Third!"So ran the gossip. With the gossip cameThe brood it hatch'd—consolers to the dame.The soft and wily wooers, who beginThrough sliding pity, the smooth ways to sin.My lord is absent at the great debate,Go, soothe his lady's unprotected state;Go, gallant,—go, and wish the cruel HeavenTo thee such virtue, now so wrong'd, had given!Yes, round her flock'd the young world's fairest ones,The soft Rose-Garden's incense-breathing sons:Roused from his calm, Lord Ruthven's watchful eyeMark'd the new clouds that darken'd round his sky;And raptured saw—though for his earth too far—How fleets and fades each cloud before that stainless Star.
V.
The world look'd on, and construed, as it stillInterprets, all it knows not into ill."Man's home is sacred," flattering proverbs say;Yes, if you give the home to men's survey,But if that sanctum be obscured or screen'd,In every shadow doubt suggests a fiend:So churchyards seen beneath a daylight skyAre holy to the clown who saunters by;But vex his vision by the glimmering light,And straight the holiness expires in fright;He hears a goblin in the whispering grass,And cries "Heaven save us!"—at the Parson's ass!"Was ever Lord so newly wed so cold?Poor thing!—forsaken ere a year be told!Doubtless some wanton—whom we know not, true,But those proud sinners are so wary too!Oh! for the good old days—one never heardOf men so shocking under George the Third!"So ran the gossip. With the gossip cameThe brood it hatch'd—consolers to the dame.The soft and wily wooers, who beginThrough sliding pity, the smooth ways to sin.My lord is absent at the great debate,Go, soothe his lady's unprotected state;Go, gallant,—go, and wish the cruel HeavenTo thee such virtue, now so wrong'd, had given!Yes, round her flock'd the young world's fairest ones,The soft Rose-Garden's incense-breathing sons:Roused from his calm, Lord Ruthven's watchful eyeMark'd the new clouds that darken'd round his sky;And raptured saw—though for his earth too far—How fleets and fades each cloud before that stainless Star.
VI.Now came the graver trial, though unseenBy him who knew not where the grief had been—He knew not that an earlier love had steel'dHer heart to his—that curse, at least conceal'd;Enough of sorrow in his lonely lot—The why, what matter—that she loved him not?One night, when Revel was in Ruthven's hall,He near'd the brilliant cynosure of all:"Deign" (thus he whisper'd) "to receive with graceHim who may hold the honours of my race:—When the last Ruthven dies, behold his heir!"He said, she turn'd—O Heaven!—and Harcourt there!Harcourt the same as when her glance he charm'd,For surer conquest by compassion arm'd—The same, save where a softer shadow, castO'er his bright looks, reflected the sad Past!Now, when unguarded and in crowds alone,The Future dark—the household gods o'erthrown;Now, when those looks (that seem, the while they grieve,Ne'er to reproach)—can pity best deceive;The sole affection she of right can claim—Now, Virtue, tremble not—the Tempter came!
VI.
Now came the graver trial, though unseenBy him who knew not where the grief had been—He knew not that an earlier love had steel'dHer heart to his—that curse, at least conceal'd;Enough of sorrow in his lonely lot—The why, what matter—that she loved him not?
One night, when Revel was in Ruthven's hall,He near'd the brilliant cynosure of all:"Deign" (thus he whisper'd) "to receive with graceHim who may hold the honours of my race:—When the last Ruthven dies, behold his heir!"He said, she turn'd—O Heaven!—and Harcourt there!Harcourt the same as when her glance he charm'd,For surer conquest by compassion arm'd—The same, save where a softer shadow, castO'er his bright looks, reflected the sad Past!Now, when unguarded and in crowds alone,The Future dark—the household gods o'erthrown;Now, when those looks (that seem, the while they grieve,Ne'er to reproach)—can pity best deceive;The sole affection she of right can claim—Now, Virtue, tremble not—the Tempter came!
VII.He came, resolved to triumph and avenge—Sure of a heart whose sorrow spoke no change;Pleased at the thought to bind again the chain—For they who love not still can love to reign;Calm in the deeper and more fell designTo sever those whom outward fetters join—To watch the discord Scandal rumours round,Fret every sore, and fester every wound;Could he but make Dissension firm and sure,Success would render larger schemes secure;"Let Ruthven die but childless!" ran his prayer,And in the lover's sigh cold avarice prompts the heir.He came and daily came, and daily schemed—Soft, grave, and reverent, but the friend he seem'd.These distant cousins, from their earliest days,To different goals had trod their varying ways:If Ruthven oft with generous hand suppliedWhat were call'd luxuries, did Shoreditch decide,But what no Jury of Mayfair could doubtAre just the things life cannot live without;Yet gifts are sometimes as offences view'd,And envy is the mean man's gratitude;And, truth to own, whate'er the one bestow'd,More from his own large, careless nature flow'dThan through the channels tenderer sources send,When Favour equals—since it asks a Friend.But Ruthven loved not, in the days gone by,The cold, quick shrewdness of that stealthy eye,That spendthrift recklessness, which still was notThe generous folly which itself forgot.You love the prodigal; the miser loathe,Yet oft the clockwork is the same in both:Ope but the works—the penury and excessChime from one point—the central selfishness:—And though men said (for those, who wear with easeThe vulgar vices, seldom much displease),"His follies injure but himself alone!"His follies spared no welfare but his own:Mankind he deem'd the epitome of self,And never laid that volume on the shelf.Somewhat of this, had Ruthven mark'd before—Now he was less acute, or Harcourt more:The first absorb'd in sorrow or in thought;The last in craft's smooth lessons deeper taught.Not over anxious to be undeceivedRuthven reform in what was rot believed;They held the same opinions on the state,And were congenial—in the last debate;Harcourt had wish'd to join the patriot crewWho botch our old laws with a patch of new;Ruthven the wish approved; and found the seat—And so the Cousins' union grew complete.Well then at board behold the constant guest,With love as yet by eyes alone exprest:From the past vows he dared not yet invokeThe ancient Voice;—yet of the past he spoke.Whene'er expected least, he seem'd to glideA faithful shadow to her haunted side.But why relate how men their victims woo!—He left undone no art that can undo.
VII.
He came, resolved to triumph and avenge—Sure of a heart whose sorrow spoke no change;Pleased at the thought to bind again the chain—For they who love not still can love to reign;Calm in the deeper and more fell designTo sever those whom outward fetters join—To watch the discord Scandal rumours round,Fret every sore, and fester every wound;Could he but make Dissension firm and sure,Success would render larger schemes secure;"Let Ruthven die but childless!" ran his prayer,And in the lover's sigh cold avarice prompts the heir.He came and daily came, and daily schemed—Soft, grave, and reverent, but the friend he seem'd.These distant cousins, from their earliest days,To different goals had trod their varying ways:If Ruthven oft with generous hand suppliedWhat were call'd luxuries, did Shoreditch decide,But what no Jury of Mayfair could doubtAre just the things life cannot live without;Yet gifts are sometimes as offences view'd,And envy is the mean man's gratitude;And, truth to own, whate'er the one bestow'd,More from his own large, careless nature flow'dThan through the channels tenderer sources send,When Favour equals—since it asks a Friend.But Ruthven loved not, in the days gone by,The cold, quick shrewdness of that stealthy eye,That spendthrift recklessness, which still was notThe generous folly which itself forgot.You love the prodigal; the miser loathe,Yet oft the clockwork is the same in both:Ope but the works—the penury and excessChime from one point—the central selfishness:—And though men said (for those, who wear with easeThe vulgar vices, seldom much displease),"His follies injure but himself alone!"His follies spared no welfare but his own:Mankind he deem'd the epitome of self,And never laid that volume on the shelf.Somewhat of this, had Ruthven mark'd before—Now he was less acute, or Harcourt more:The first absorb'd in sorrow or in thought;The last in craft's smooth lessons deeper taught.Not over anxious to be undeceivedRuthven reform in what was rot believed;They held the same opinions on the state,And were congenial—in the last debate;Harcourt had wish'd to join the patriot crewWho botch our old laws with a patch of new;Ruthven the wish approved; and found the seat—And so the Cousins' union grew complete.
Well then at board behold the constant guest,With love as yet by eyes alone exprest:From the past vows he dared not yet invokeThe ancient Voice;—yet of the past he spoke.Whene'er expected least, he seem'd to glideA faithful shadow to her haunted side.But why relate how men their victims woo!—He left undone no art that can undo.
VIII.And what deem'd Constance now, that, face to face,She could the contrast of the Portraits trace?—Could see the image of the soul in eachBy thought reflected on the waves of speech—Could listen here (as when the Master's easeGlides with light touch along melodious keys)To those rich sounds which, flung to every gale,Genius awakes from Wisdom's music scale;And there admire when lively Fashion woundIts toy of small talk into jingling sound.Like those French trifles, elegant enough,Which serve at once for music and for snuff,Some minds there are which men you ask to dineTake out, wind up, and circle with the wine.Two tunes they boast; this Flattery—Scandal that;The one A sharp—the other something flat:Such was the mind that for display and useCased inricoco, Harcourt could produce—Touch the one spring, an air that charm'd the townTripp'd out and jigg'd some absent virtue down;Touch next the other, and the bauble plays"Fly from the world" or "Once in happier days."For Flattery, when a Woman's heart its aim,Writes itselfSentiment—a prettier name.And to be just to Harcourt and his art,Few Lauzuns better play'd a Werter's part;He dress'd it well, and Nature kindly gaveHis brow the paleness and his locks the wave.Mournful his smile, unconscious seem'd his sigh;You'd swear that Goethe had him in his eye.Well these had duped when young Romance surveysLife's outlines—lost amid its own soft haze.Compared with Ruthven still doth Harcourt seemThe true Hyperion of the Delian dream.Ah, ofttimes Love its own wild choice will blame,Slip the blind bondage, yet doat on the same.Was it thus wilful, Constance, still with thee,Or did the reason set the fancy free?
VIII.
And what deem'd Constance now, that, face to face,She could the contrast of the Portraits trace?—Could see the image of the soul in eachBy thought reflected on the waves of speech—Could listen here (as when the Master's easeGlides with light touch along melodious keys)To those rich sounds which, flung to every gale,Genius awakes from Wisdom's music scale;And there admire when lively Fashion woundIts toy of small talk into jingling sound.Like those French trifles, elegant enough,Which serve at once for music and for snuff,Some minds there are which men you ask to dineTake out, wind up, and circle with the wine.Two tunes they boast; this Flattery—Scandal that;The one A sharp—the other something flat:Such was the mind that for display and useCased inricoco, Harcourt could produce—Touch the one spring, an air that charm'd the townTripp'd out and jigg'd some absent virtue down;Touch next the other, and the bauble plays"Fly from the world" or "Once in happier days."For Flattery, when a Woman's heart its aim,Writes itselfSentiment—a prettier name.And to be just to Harcourt and his art,Few Lauzuns better play'd a Werter's part;He dress'd it well, and Nature kindly gaveHis brow the paleness and his locks the wave.Mournful his smile, unconscious seem'd his sigh;You'd swear that Goethe had him in his eye.Well these had duped when young Romance surveysLife's outlines—lost amid its own soft haze.Compared with Ruthven still doth Harcourt seemThe true Hyperion of the Delian dream.Ah, ofttimes Love its own wild choice will blame,Slip the blind bondage, yet doat on the same.Was it thus wilful, Constance, still with thee,Or did the reason set the fancy free?
I.The later summer in that second springWhen the turf glistens with the fairy ring,When oak and elm assume a livelier green,And starry buds on water-flowers are seen;When parent nests the new-fledged goldfinch leaves,And earliest song in airiest meshes weaves;When fields wave undulous with golden corn,And August fills his Amalthæan horn—The later summer shone on Ruthven's towers,And Lord and wife (with guests to cheer the hours,Not faced alone) to that grey pile return'd;Harcourt with these, and Seaton, who had learn'dEno' to call him from his world of strife,To watch that Home which makes the Woman's life.Not ev'n to Juliet Constance had betray'dThose griefs the House-gods if they cause should shade,Nor friendship now in truth the grief could share—}A dying parent needed Juliet's care,}In climes where Death comes soft—in Tuscan air.}And least to Seaton would his child have shownOne hidden wound; her heart still spared his own.But when the father trembling at her sideSaw the smooth tempter, not the watchful guide,—Saw through the quicksands flow each sever'd life,Here the cold Lord and there the courted wife,Then fearful, wrathful—yet uncertain still;For warning ofttimes makes more sure the ill,Or fires suspicion to believe the worst,Or bids temptation be more fondly nurst;—Nought ripens evil like too prompt a blame,And virtue totters if you sap its shame;—Uncertain thus came Seaton, with the rest,His prudence watchful, and his fears supprest,Resolved to learn what fault, if fault were there,Had outlaw'd Constance from a husband's care,And left the heart (the soul's frail fort) unbarr'd,For youth to storm. "Well age," he sigh'd, "shall guard."
I.
The later summer in that second springWhen the turf glistens with the fairy ring,When oak and elm assume a livelier green,And starry buds on water-flowers are seen;When parent nests the new-fledged goldfinch leaves,And earliest song in airiest meshes weaves;When fields wave undulous with golden corn,And August fills his Amalthæan horn—The later summer shone on Ruthven's towers,And Lord and wife (with guests to cheer the hours,Not faced alone) to that grey pile return'd;Harcourt with these, and Seaton, who had learn'dEno' to call him from his world of strife,To watch that Home which makes the Woman's life.Not ev'n to Juliet Constance had betray'dThose griefs the House-gods if they cause should shade,Nor friendship now in truth the grief could share—}A dying parent needed Juliet's care,}In climes where Death comes soft—in Tuscan air.}And least to Seaton would his child have shownOne hidden wound; her heart still spared his own.But when the father trembling at her sideSaw the smooth tempter, not the watchful guide,—Saw through the quicksands flow each sever'd life,Here the cold Lord and there the courted wife,Then fearful, wrathful—yet uncertain still;For warning ofttimes makes more sure the ill,Or fires suspicion to believe the worst,Or bids temptation be more fondly nurst;—Nought ripens evil like too prompt a blame,And virtue totters if you sap its shame;—Uncertain thus came Seaton, with the rest,His prudence watchful, and his fears supprest,Resolved to learn what fault, if fault were there,Had outlaw'd Constance from a husband's care,And left the heart (the soul's frail fort) unbarr'd,For youth to storm. "Well age," he sigh'd, "shall guard."
II.Meantime, the cheek of Constance lost its rose,Food brought no relish, slumber no repose:The wasted form pined hour by hour away,But still the proud lip struggled to be gay;And Ruthven still the proud lip could deceive,Till the proud man forgot the proud in smiling grieve!
II.
Meantime, the cheek of Constance lost its rose,Food brought no relish, slumber no repose:The wasted form pined hour by hour away,But still the proud lip struggled to be gay;And Ruthven still the proud lip could deceive,Till the proud man forgot the proud in smiling grieve!
III.In that old pile there was a huge square tower,Whence look'd the warder in its days of power;Still, in the arch below, the eye could tellWhere on the steel-clad van the grim portcullis fell;And from the arrow-headed casements, deepSunk in the walls of the abandon'd keep,The gaze look'd kingly in its wide commandO'er all the features of the subject land;From town and hamlet, copse and vale, ariseThe hundred spires of Ruthven's baronies;And town and hamlet, copse and vale, around,Its arms of peace the azure Avon wound.
III.
In that old pile there was a huge square tower,Whence look'd the warder in its days of power;Still, in the arch below, the eye could tellWhere on the steel-clad van the grim portcullis fell;And from the arrow-headed casements, deepSunk in the walls of the abandon'd keep,The gaze look'd kingly in its wide commandO'er all the features of the subject land;From town and hamlet, copse and vale, ariseThe hundred spires of Ruthven's baronies;And town and hamlet, copse and vale, around,Its arms of peace the azure Avon wound.
IV.A lonely chamber in this rugged tower,The lonely lady made her favourite bower—From her more brilliant chambers crept a stair,That, through a waste of ruin, ended there;And there, unseen, unwitness'd, none intrude,Nor vex the spirit from the solitude.How, in what toil or luxury of mind,Could she the solace or the Lethe find?Music or books?—nay, rather, might be guess'dThe art her maiden leisure loved the best;For there the easel and the hues were brought,Though all unseen the fictions that they wrought.Harcourt more bold the change in Constance made;Sure, love lies hidden in that depth of shade!That cheek how hueless, and that eye how dim,—"Wherefore," he thought and smiled, "if not for him?"More now his manner and his words, disarm'dOf their past craft, the anxious sire alarm'd.True, there was nought in Constance to reprove,But still what hypocrite like lawless love?One eve, as in the oriel's arch'd recessPensive he ponder'd, linking guess with guess,Words reach'd his ear—if indistinct—yet plainEnough to pierce the heart and chill the vein.'Tis Constance, answering in a faltering toneSome suit; and what—was by the answer shown"Yes!—in an hour," it said.—"Well, be it so."—"The place?"—"Yon keep."—"Thou wilt not fail me!"—"No!"'Tis said;—she first, then Harcourt, quits the room."Would," groan'd the Sire, "my child were in the tomb!"He gasp'd for breath, the fever on his brow—"Was it too late?—What boots all warning now?If saved to-day—to-morrow, and the same}Danger and hazard! had he spared the shame}To leave the last lost Virtue but a name."}
IV.
A lonely chamber in this rugged tower,The lonely lady made her favourite bower—From her more brilliant chambers crept a stair,That, through a waste of ruin, ended there;And there, unseen, unwitness'd, none intrude,Nor vex the spirit from the solitude.How, in what toil or luxury of mind,Could she the solace or the Lethe find?Music or books?—nay, rather, might be guess'dThe art her maiden leisure loved the best;For there the easel and the hues were brought,Though all unseen the fictions that they wrought.Harcourt more bold the change in Constance made;Sure, love lies hidden in that depth of shade!That cheek how hueless, and that eye how dim,—"Wherefore," he thought and smiled, "if not for him?"More now his manner and his words, disarm'dOf their past craft, the anxious sire alarm'd.True, there was nought in Constance to reprove,But still what hypocrite like lawless love?One eve, as in the oriel's arch'd recessPensive he ponder'd, linking guess with guess,Words reach'd his ear—if indistinct—yet plainEnough to pierce the heart and chill the vein.'Tis Constance, answering in a faltering toneSome suit; and what—was by the answer shown"Yes!—in an hour," it said.—"Well, be it so."—"The place?"—"Yon keep."—"Thou wilt not fail me!"—"No!"'Tis said;—she first, then Harcourt, quits the room."Would," groan'd the Sire, "my child were in the tomb!"He gasp'd for breath, the fever on his brow—"Was it too late?—What boots all warning now?If saved to-day—to-morrow, and the same}Danger and hazard! had he spared the shame}To leave the last lost Virtue but a name."}
V.Sickening and faint, he gain'd the outer air,Reach'd the still lake, and saw the master there;Listless lay Ruthven, droopingly the boughsVeil'd from the daylight melancholy brows;Listless he lay, and with indifferent eyeWatch'd the wave darken as the cloud swept by.The father bounded to the idler's side—}"Awake, cold guardian of a soul!" he cried;}"Why, sworn to cherish, fail'st thou ev'n to guide?"}"Why?" echoed Ruthven's heart—his eye shot flame—"Dare she complain, or he presume to blame?"Thus ran the thought, he spoke not;—silent longAs Pride kept back the angry burst of wrong.At length he rose, shook off the hand that prest,And calmly said, "I listen for the rest—Whatever charge be in thy words convey'd,Speak;—I will answer when the charge is made!"
V.
Sickening and faint, he gain'd the outer air,Reach'd the still lake, and saw the master there;Listless lay Ruthven, droopingly the boughsVeil'd from the daylight melancholy brows;Listless he lay, and with indifferent eyeWatch'd the wave darken as the cloud swept by.The father bounded to the idler's side—}"Awake, cold guardian of a soul!" he cried;}"Why, sworn to cherish, fail'st thou ev'n to guide?"}"Why?" echoed Ruthven's heart—his eye shot flame—"Dare she complain, or he presume to blame?"Thus ran the thought, he spoke not;—silent longAs Pride kept back the angry burst of wrong.At length he rose, shook off the hand that prest,And calmly said, "I listen for the rest—Whatever charge be in thy words convey'd,Speak;—I will answer when the charge is made!"
VI.Like many an offspring of our Saxon clime,Who makes one seven-day labour-week of time,Who deems reprieve a sloth, repose a dearth,And strikes the Sabbath of the soul from earth;In Seaton's life the Adam-curse was strong;He loved each wind that whirl'd the sails along;He loved the dust that wrapt the hurrying wheel;And, form'd to act, but rarely paused to feel.Thus men who saw him move among mankind,Saw the hard purpose and the scheming mind,And the skill'd steering of a sober brain,Prudence the compass and the needle gain.But now, each layer of custom swept away,The Man's great nature leapt into the day:He stretch'd his arms, and terrible and wild,His voice went forth—"I gave thee, Man, my child;I gave her young and innocent—a thingFresh from the Heaven, no stain upon its wing;One form'd to love, and to be loved, and now(Few moons have faded since the solemn vow)How do I find thou hast discharged the trust?Account!—nay, frown not—to thy God thou must,Pale, wretched, worn, and dying: Ruthven, stillThese lips should bless thee, couldst thou only kill.But is that all?—Death is a holy name,Tears for the dead dishonour not!—but Shame!O blind, to bid her every hour compareWith thine his love—with thy contempt his care!Yea, if the light'ning blast thee, I, the Sire,Tell thee thy heart of steel attracts the fire;Hadst thou but loved her, that meek soul I know—Know all"—His passion falter'd in its flow;He paused an instant, then before the feetOf Ruthven fell. "Have mercy! Save her yet!Take back thy gold: say, did I not endure,And can again, the burthen of the poor?But she—the light, pride, angel, of my life—God speaks in me—O husband, save thy wife!"
VI.
Like many an offspring of our Saxon clime,Who makes one seven-day labour-week of time,Who deems reprieve a sloth, repose a dearth,And strikes the Sabbath of the soul from earth;In Seaton's life the Adam-curse was strong;He loved each wind that whirl'd the sails along;He loved the dust that wrapt the hurrying wheel;And, form'd to act, but rarely paused to feel.Thus men who saw him move among mankind,Saw the hard purpose and the scheming mind,And the skill'd steering of a sober brain,Prudence the compass and the needle gain.But now, each layer of custom swept away,The Man's great nature leapt into the day:He stretch'd his arms, and terrible and wild,His voice went forth—"I gave thee, Man, my child;I gave her young and innocent—a thingFresh from the Heaven, no stain upon its wing;One form'd to love, and to be loved, and now(Few moons have faded since the solemn vow)How do I find thou hast discharged the trust?Account!—nay, frown not—to thy God thou must,Pale, wretched, worn, and dying: Ruthven, stillThese lips should bless thee, couldst thou only kill.But is that all?—Death is a holy name,Tears for the dead dishonour not!—but Shame!O blind, to bid her every hour compareWith thine his love—with thy contempt his care!Yea, if the light'ning blast thee, I, the Sire,Tell thee thy heart of steel attracts the fire;Hadst thou but loved her, that meek soul I know—Know all"—His passion falter'd in its flow;He paused an instant, then before the feetOf Ruthven fell. "Have mercy! Save her yet!Take back thy gold: say, did I not endure,And can again, the burthen of the poor?But she—the light, pride, angel, of my life—God speaks in me—O husband, save thy wife!"
VII."Save! and from whom, old Man?" Yet, as he spoke,A gleam of horror on his senses broke;"From whom? What! know'st thou not who made the first,Though fading fancy, youth's warm visions nurst?This Harcourt—this"—he stopp'd abrupt—appall'd!Those words how gladly had his lips recall'd;For at the words—the name—all life seem'd goneFrom Ruthven's image:—as a shape of stone,Speechless and motionless he stood! At lengthThe storm suspended burst in all its strength:"And this to me—at last to me!" he cried,"Thine be the curse, who hast love to hate allied:Why, when my life on that one hope I cast,Why didst thou chain my future to her past—Why not a breath to say, 'She loved before;Pause yet to question, if the love be o'er!'Didst thou not know how well I loved her—howWorthy the Altar was the holy vow?That in the wildest hour my suit had known,Hadst thou but said, 'Her heart is not her own,'Thou hadst left the chalice with a taste of sweet?I—I had brought the Wanderer to her feet—Had seen those eyes through grateful softness shine,Nor turn'd—O God!—with loathing fear from mine;And from the sunshine of her happy breastDrawn one bright memory to console the rest!—But now, thy work is done—till now, methought,There was one plank to which the shipwreck'd caught.Forbearance—patience might obtain at lastThe distant haven—see! the dream is past—She loves another! In that sentence—harkThe crowning thunder!—the last gleam is dark;Time's wave on wave can but the more dissever;The world's vast space one void for ever and for ever!"
VII.
"Save! and from whom, old Man?" Yet, as he spoke,A gleam of horror on his senses broke;"From whom? What! know'st thou not who made the first,Though fading fancy, youth's warm visions nurst?This Harcourt—this"—he stopp'd abrupt—appall'd!Those words how gladly had his lips recall'd;For at the words—the name—all life seem'd goneFrom Ruthven's image:—as a shape of stone,Speechless and motionless he stood! At lengthThe storm suspended burst in all its strength:"And this to me—at last to me!" he cried,"Thine be the curse, who hast love to hate allied:Why, when my life on that one hope I cast,Why didst thou chain my future to her past—Why not a breath to say, 'She loved before;Pause yet to question, if the love be o'er!'Didst thou not know how well I loved her—howWorthy the Altar was the holy vow?That in the wildest hour my suit had known,Hadst thou but said, 'Her heart is not her own,'Thou hadst left the chalice with a taste of sweet?I—I had brought the Wanderer to her feet—Had seen those eyes through grateful softness shine,Nor turn'd—O God!—with loathing fear from mine;And from the sunshine of her happy breastDrawn one bright memory to console the rest!—But now, thy work is done—till now, methought,There was one plank to which the shipwreck'd caught.Forbearance—patience might obtain at lastThe distant haven—see! the dream is past—She loves another! In that sentence—harkThe crowning thunder!—the last gleam is dark;Time's wave on wave can but the more dissever;The world's vast space one void for ever and for ever!"
VIII.Humbled from all his anger, and too lateConvinced whose fault had shaped the daughter's fate,The father heard; and in his hands he veil'dHis face abash'd, and voice to courage fail'd;For how excuse—and how console? And so,As when the tomb shuts up the ended woe,Over that burst of anguish closed the drearAbyss of silence—sound's chill sepulchre!At length he dared the timorous looks to raise,But gone the form on which he fear'd to gaze.Calm at his feet the wave crept murmuring;Calm sail'd the cygnet with its folded wing;Gently above his head the lime-tree stirr'd,The green leaves rustling to the restless bird;But he who, in the beautiful of life,Alone with him should share the heart at strife,Had left him there to the earth's happy smile—Ah! if the storms within earth's calmness could beguile!
VIII.
Humbled from all his anger, and too lateConvinced whose fault had shaped the daughter's fate,The father heard; and in his hands he veil'dHis face abash'd, and voice to courage fail'd;For how excuse—and how console? And so,As when the tomb shuts up the ended woe,Over that burst of anguish closed the drearAbyss of silence—sound's chill sepulchre!At length he dared the timorous looks to raise,But gone the form on which he fear'd to gaze.Calm at his feet the wave crept murmuring;Calm sail'd the cygnet with its folded wing;Gently above his head the lime-tree stirr'd,The green leaves rustling to the restless bird;But he who, in the beautiful of life,Alone with him should share the heart at strife,Had left him there to the earth's happy smile—Ah! if the storms within earth's calmness could beguile!
IX.With a swift step, and with disorder'd mind,Through which one purpose still its clue could find,Lord Ruthven sought his home. "Yes, mine no more,"So mused his soul, "to hope or to deplore;No more to watch the heart's Aurora breakO'er that loved face, the light to life to speak—No more, without a weakness that degrades,Can Fancy steal from Truth's eternal shades!Yes, we must part! But if one holier thoughtStill guards that shrine my fated footstep sought,Perchance, at least, I yet her soul may save,And leave her this one hope—a husband's grave!"
IX.
With a swift step, and with disorder'd mind,Through which one purpose still its clue could find,Lord Ruthven sought his home. "Yes, mine no more,"So mused his soul, "to hope or to deplore;No more to watch the heart's Aurora breakO'er that loved face, the light to life to speak—No more, without a weakness that degrades,Can Fancy steal from Truth's eternal shades!Yes, we must part! But if one holier thoughtStill guards that shrine my fated footstep sought,Perchance, at least, I yet her soul may save,And leave her this one hope—a husband's grave!"
X.Home gain'd, he asks—they tell him—her retreat:He winds the stairs, and midway halts to meetHis rival passing from that mystic room,With a changed face, half sarcasm and half gloom.Writhed Ruthven's lip—his hands he clench'd;—his breastHeaved with man's natural wrath; the wrath the man supprest."Her name, at least, I will not make the gageOf that foul strife whose cause a husband's rage."So, with the calmness of his lion eye,He glanced on Harcourt, and he pass'd him by.
X.
Home gain'd, he asks—they tell him—her retreat:He winds the stairs, and midway halts to meetHis rival passing from that mystic room,With a changed face, half sarcasm and half gloom.Writhed Ruthven's lip—his hands he clench'd;—his breastHeaved with man's natural wrath; the wrath the man supprest."Her name, at least, I will not make the gageOf that foul strife whose cause a husband's rage."So, with the calmness of his lion eye,He glanced on Harcourt, and he pass'd him by.
XI.And now he gains, and pauses at the door—}Why beats so loud the heart so stern before?}He nerved his pride—one effort, and 'tis o'er.}Thus, with a quiet mien, he enters:—thereKneels Constance yonder—can she kneel in prayer?What object doth that meek devotion chainIn yon dark niche? Before his steps can gainHer side, she starts, confused, dismay'd, and pale,And o'er the object draws the curtain veil.But there the implements of art betrayWhat thus the conscience dare not give to day.A portrait? whose but his, the loved and lost,Of a sweet past the melancholy ghost?So Ruthven guess'd—more dark his visage grown,And thus he spoke:—"Once more we meet alone.Once more—be tranquil—hear me! not to upbraid,And not to threat, thy presence I invade;But if the pledge I gave thee I have kept,If not the husband's rights the wife hath wept,If thou hast shared whatever gifts be mine—Wealth, honour, freedom, all unbought, beenTHINE,Hear me—O hear me, for thy father's sake!For the full heart that thy disgrace would break!By all thine early innocence—by allThe woman's Eden—wither'd with her fall—I, whom thou hast denied the right to guide,Implore the daughter, not command the bride;Protect—nor only from the sin and shame,Protect fromslander—thine, my Mother's—name!For hers thou bearest now! and in her graveHer name thou honourest, if thine own thou save!I know thou lov'st another! Dost thou start?From him, as me—the time hath come to part;And ere for ever I relieve thy view—The one thou lov'st must be an exile too.Be silent still, and fear not lest my voiceBetray thy secret—Flight shall seemhischoice;A fair excuse—a mission to some clime,Where—weep'st thou still? For thee there's hope in time!This heart is not of iron, and the wormThat gnaws the thought, soon ravages the form;And then, perchance, thy years may run the courseWhich flows through love undarken'd by remorse.And now, farewell for ever!" As he spoke,From her cold silence with a bound she broke,And clasp'd his hand. "Oh, leave me not! or know,Before thou goest, the heart that wrong'd thee so,But wrongs no more.""No more?—Oh, spurn the lie;Harcourt but now hath left thee! Well—deny!""Yes, he hath left me!" "And he urged the suitThat—but thou madden'st me! false lips, be mute!"—"He urged the suit—it is for ever o'er;Dead with the folly youth's crude fancies bore,One word, nay less, one gesture" (and she blush'd)"Struck dumb the suit, the scorn'd presumption crush'd."—"What! and yon portrait curtain'd with such care?""There did I point and say 'My heart is there!'"Amazed, bewilder'd—struggling half with fearAnd half delight—his steps the curtain near.He lifts the veil: that face—It is his own!But not the face her later gaze had known;Not stern, nor sad, nor cold,—but in those eyes,The wooing softness love unmix'd supplies;The fond smile beaming the glad lips above,Bright as when radiant with the words "I love."An instant mute—oh, canst thou guess the rest?The next his Constance clinging to his breast;All from the proud reserve, at once alliedTo the girl's modesty, the woman's pride,Melting in sobs and happy tears—and wordsSwept into music from long-silent chords.Then came the dear confession, full at last.Then stream'd life's Future on the fading Past;And as a sudden footstep nears the door,As a third shadow dims the threshold floor—As Seaton, entering in his black despair,Pauses the tears, the joy, the heaven to share—The happy Ruthven raised his princely head,"Give her again—this day in truth we wed!"And when the spring the earth's fresh glory weavesIn merry sunbeams and green quivering leaves,A joy-bell ringing through a cloudless airKnells Harcourt's hopes and welcomes Ruthven's heir.
XI.
And now he gains, and pauses at the door—}Why beats so loud the heart so stern before?}He nerved his pride—one effort, and 'tis o'er.}Thus, with a quiet mien, he enters:—thereKneels Constance yonder—can she kneel in prayer?What object doth that meek devotion chainIn yon dark niche? Before his steps can gainHer side, she starts, confused, dismay'd, and pale,And o'er the object draws the curtain veil.But there the implements of art betrayWhat thus the conscience dare not give to day.A portrait? whose but his, the loved and lost,Of a sweet past the melancholy ghost?So Ruthven guess'd—more dark his visage grown,And thus he spoke:—"Once more we meet alone.Once more—be tranquil—hear me! not to upbraid,And not to threat, thy presence I invade;But if the pledge I gave thee I have kept,If not the husband's rights the wife hath wept,If thou hast shared whatever gifts be mine—Wealth, honour, freedom, all unbought, beenTHINE,Hear me—O hear me, for thy father's sake!For the full heart that thy disgrace would break!By all thine early innocence—by allThe woman's Eden—wither'd with her fall—I, whom thou hast denied the right to guide,Implore the daughter, not command the bride;Protect—nor only from the sin and shame,Protect fromslander—thine, my Mother's—name!For hers thou bearest now! and in her graveHer name thou honourest, if thine own thou save!I know thou lov'st another! Dost thou start?From him, as me—the time hath come to part;And ere for ever I relieve thy view—The one thou lov'st must be an exile too.Be silent still, and fear not lest my voiceBetray thy secret—Flight shall seemhischoice;A fair excuse—a mission to some clime,Where—weep'st thou still? For thee there's hope in time!This heart is not of iron, and the wormThat gnaws the thought, soon ravages the form;And then, perchance, thy years may run the courseWhich flows through love undarken'd by remorse.And now, farewell for ever!" As he spoke,From her cold silence with a bound she broke,And clasp'd his hand. "Oh, leave me not! or know,Before thou goest, the heart that wrong'd thee so,But wrongs no more."
"No more?—Oh, spurn the lie;Harcourt but now hath left thee! Well—deny!""Yes, he hath left me!" "And he urged the suitThat—but thou madden'st me! false lips, be mute!"—"He urged the suit—it is for ever o'er;Dead with the folly youth's crude fancies bore,One word, nay less, one gesture" (and she blush'd)"Struck dumb the suit, the scorn'd presumption crush'd."—"What! and yon portrait curtain'd with such care?""There did I point and say 'My heart is there!'"
Amazed, bewilder'd—struggling half with fearAnd half delight—his steps the curtain near.He lifts the veil: that face—It is his own!But not the face her later gaze had known;Not stern, nor sad, nor cold,—but in those eyes,The wooing softness love unmix'd supplies;The fond smile beaming the glad lips above,Bright as when radiant with the words "I love."An instant mute—oh, canst thou guess the rest?The next his Constance clinging to his breast;All from the proud reserve, at once alliedTo the girl's modesty, the woman's pride,Melting in sobs and happy tears—and wordsSwept into music from long-silent chords.Then came the dear confession, full at last.Then stream'd life's Future on the fading Past;And as a sudden footstep nears the door,As a third shadow dims the threshold floor—As Seaton, entering in his black despair,Pauses the tears, the joy, the heaven to share—The happy Ruthven raised his princely head,"Give her again—this day in truth we wed!"
And when the spring the earth's fresh glory weavesIn merry sunbeams and green quivering leaves,A joy-bell ringing through a cloudless airKnells Harcourt's hopes and welcomes Ruthven's heir.
FOOTNOTES[A]Imitated from Horace (Lib. ii., Od. 3).Quà pinus ingens albaque populusUmbram hospitalem consociare amantRamis, et obliquo laboratLympha fugax trepidare rivo.—Horat. Carm., ii. 3.[B]Schiller.
[A]Imitated from Horace (Lib. ii., Od. 3).Quà pinus ingens albaque populusUmbram hospitalem consociare amantRamis, et obliquo laboratLympha fugax trepidare rivo.—Horat. Carm., ii. 3.
[A]Imitated from Horace (Lib. ii., Od. 3).
Quà pinus ingens albaque populusUmbram hospitalem consociare amantRamis, et obliquo laboratLympha fugax trepidare rivo.—Horat. Carm., ii. 3.
Quà pinus ingens albaque populusUmbram hospitalem consociare amantRamis, et obliquo laboratLympha fugax trepidare rivo.—Horat. Carm., ii. 3.
[B]Schiller.
[B]Schiller.
This Poem was originally composed in very early youth. It was first published in 1831, and though unfortunately coupled with a very jejune and puerile burlesque called 'The Siamese Twins' (which to my great satisfaction has been long since forgotten), it was honoured by a very complimentary notice in theEdinburgh Review, and found general favour with those who chanced to read it. In the present edition, although the conception and the general structure remain the same, many passages have been wholly re-written, and the diction throughout carefully revised, and often materially altered. I have sought, in short, from an affection for the subject (too partial it may be) to give to the ideas which visited me in the freshness of youth, whatever aid from expression they could obtain in the taste and culture of mature manhood. No doubt, however, faults of exuberance in form, as in fancy, still remain, and betray the age in which we scarcely look beyond the Spring that delights us, nor comprehend that the multitude of the blossoms can be injurious to the bearing of the tree. Nevertheless, such faults may find more indulgence among my younger readers than those of an opposite nature, incident to the style, closer and more compressed, which my present theories of verse have led me to adopt in most of the poems I have composed of late years.
It will be observed that the design of this poem is that of a picture. It is intended to portray the great Patriot Poet in the three cardinal divisions of life—Youth, Manhood, and Age. The first part is founded upon the well-known, though ill-authenticated, tradition of the Italian lady or ladies seeing Milton asleep under a tree in the gardens of his college, and leaving some tributary verses beside the sleeper. Taking full advantage of this legend, and presuming to infer from Milton's Italian verses (as his biographers have done before me) that in his tour through Italy he did not escape the influence of the master passion, I have ventured to connect, by a single thread of romantic fiction, the segments of a poem in which narrative after all is subservient to description. This idea belongs to the temerity of youth, but I trust it has been subjected to restrictions more reverent than those ordinarily imposed on poetic licence.
"Such sights as youthful poets dreamOn summer eve by haunted stream."—L'Allegro.
"Such sights as youthful poets dreamOn summer eve by haunted stream."—L'Allegro.
"Such sights as youthful poets dreamOn summer eve by haunted stream."—L'Allegro.
I.It was the Minstrel's merry month of June;Silent and sultry glow'd the breezeless noon;Along the flowers the bee went murmuring;Life in its myriad forms was on the wing;Play'd on the green leaves with the quiv'ring beam,Sang from the grove, and sparkled from the stream,When, where yon beech-tree veil'd the soft'ning ray,On violet-banks young Milton dreaming lay.For him the Earth below, the Heaven above,Doubled each charm in the clear glass of youth;And the vague spirit of unsettled loveRoved through the visions that precede the truth,While Poesy's low voice so hymn'd through allThat ev'n the very air was musical.
I.
It was the Minstrel's merry month of June;Silent and sultry glow'd the breezeless noon;Along the flowers the bee went murmuring;Life in its myriad forms was on the wing;Play'd on the green leaves with the quiv'ring beam,Sang from the grove, and sparkled from the stream,When, where yon beech-tree veil'd the soft'ning ray,On violet-banks young Milton dreaming lay.
For him the Earth below, the Heaven above,Doubled each charm in the clear glass of youth;And the vague spirit of unsettled loveRoved through the visions that precede the truth,While Poesy's low voice so hymn'd through allThat ev'n the very air was musical.
II.The sunbeam rested, where it pierced the boughs,On locks whose gold reflected back the gleaming;On Thought's fair temple in majestic browsOn Love's bright portal—lips that smiled in dreaming.Dreams he of Nymph half hid in sparry cave?Or of his own Sabrina chastely "sittingUnder the glassy cool translucent wave,"The loose train of her amber tresses knitting?Or that far shadow, yet but faintly view'd,Where the Four Rivers take their parent springs,Which shall come forth from starry solitude,In the last days of angel-visitings,When, soaring upward from the nether storm,The Heaven of Heavens shall earthly guest receive,And in the long-lost Eden smile thy form,Fairer than all thy daughters, fairest Eve?
II.
The sunbeam rested, where it pierced the boughs,On locks whose gold reflected back the gleaming;On Thought's fair temple in majestic browsOn Love's bright portal—lips that smiled in dreaming.
Dreams he of Nymph half hid in sparry cave?Or of his own Sabrina chastely "sittingUnder the glassy cool translucent wave,"The loose train of her amber tresses knitting?Or that far shadow, yet but faintly view'd,Where the Four Rivers take their parent springs,Which shall come forth from starry solitude,In the last days of angel-visitings,When, soaring upward from the nether storm,The Heaven of Heavens shall earthly guest receive,And in the long-lost Eden smile thy form,Fairer than all thy daughters, fairest Eve?
III.Has the dull Earth a being to compareWith those that haunt that spirit-world—the brain?Can shapes material vie with forms of air,Nature with Phantasy?—O question vain!Lo, by the Dreamer, fresh from heavenly hands,Youth's dream-inspirer—Virgin Woman stands.She came, a stranger from the Southern skies,And careless o'er the cloister'd garden stray'd,Till, pausing, violets on the bank to cull,Over the Dreamer bent the Beautiful.Silent, with lifted hand and lips apart,Silent she stood, and gazed away her heart.Like purple Mænad fruits, when down the gladeShoots the warm sunbeam,—into darksome glowLight kiss'd the ringlets wreathing brows of snow;And softer than the rosy hues that flushHer native heaven, when Tuscan morns arise,The sweet cheek brighten'd with the sweeter blush,As virgin love from out delighted eyesDawn'd as Aurora dawns.—Thus look'd the maid,And still the sleeper dream'd beneath the shade.Image of Soul and Love! So Psyche creptTo the still chamber where her Eros slept;While the light gladden'd round his face serene,[A]As light doth ever,—when Love first is seen.Felt he the touch of her dark locks descending,Or with his breath her breathing fused and blending,That, like a bird we startle from the spray,Pass'd the light Sleep with sudden wings away?Sighing he woke, and waking he beheld;The sigh was silenced, as the look was spell'd;Look charming look, the love that ever liesIn human hearts, like light'ning in the air,Flash'd in the moment from those meeting eyes,And open'd all the Heaven!O Youth, beware!For either, light should but forewarn the gaze;Woe follows love, as darkness doth the blaze!
III.
Has the dull Earth a being to compareWith those that haunt that spirit-world—the brain?Can shapes material vie with forms of air,Nature with Phantasy?—O question vain!Lo, by the Dreamer, fresh from heavenly hands,Youth's dream-inspirer—Virgin Woman stands.She came, a stranger from the Southern skies,And careless o'er the cloister'd garden stray'd,Till, pausing, violets on the bank to cull,Over the Dreamer bent the Beautiful.
Silent, with lifted hand and lips apart,Silent she stood, and gazed away her heart.Like purple Mænad fruits, when down the gladeShoots the warm sunbeam,—into darksome glowLight kiss'd the ringlets wreathing brows of snow;And softer than the rosy hues that flushHer native heaven, when Tuscan morns arise,The sweet cheek brighten'd with the sweeter blush,As virgin love from out delighted eyesDawn'd as Aurora dawns.—
Thus look'd the maid,And still the sleeper dream'd beneath the shade.
Image of Soul and Love! So Psyche creptTo the still chamber where her Eros slept;While the light gladden'd round his face serene,[A]As light doth ever,—when Love first is seen.
Felt he the touch of her dark locks descending,Or with his breath her breathing fused and blending,That, like a bird we startle from the spray,Pass'd the light Sleep with sudden wings away?Sighing he woke, and waking he beheld;The sigh was silenced, as the look was spell'd;Look charming look, the love that ever liesIn human hearts, like light'ning in the air,Flash'd in the moment from those meeting eyes,And open'd all the Heaven!
O Youth, beware!For either, light should but forewarn the gaze;Woe follows love, as darkness doth the blaze!
IV.And their eyes met—one moment and no more;Moment in time that centred years in feeling.As when to Thetis, on her cavern'd shore,Knelt her young King,—he rose, and murmur'd, kneeling.Low though the murmur, it dissolved the charmWhich had in silence chain'd the modest feet;And maiden shame and woman's swift alarmCrimson'd her cheek and in her pulses beat:She turn'd, and, as a spell that leaves the placeIt fill'd with phantom beauty cold and bare,She fled;—and over disenchanted spaceRush'd back the common air!
IV.
And their eyes met—one moment and no more;Moment in time that centred years in feeling.As when to Thetis, on her cavern'd shore,Knelt her young King,—he rose, and murmur'd, kneeling.Low though the murmur, it dissolved the charmWhich had in silence chain'd the modest feet;And maiden shame and woman's swift alarmCrimson'd her cheek and in her pulses beat:She turn'd, and, as a spell that leaves the placeIt fill'd with phantom beauty cold and bare,She fled;—and over disenchanted spaceRush'd back the common air!
V.Time waned—and thoughts intense, and grave and high,With sterner truths foreshadow'd Minstrel dreams;Yet never vanish'd from the Minstrel's eyeThat meteor blended with the morning beams.Time waned, and ripe became the long desire,Which, nursed in youth, with restless manhood grewA passion—to behold that heart of Earth,Yet trembling with the silver Mantuan lyre,To knightly arms by Tasso tuned anew:—So the fair Pilgrim left his father's hearth.Into his soul he drunk the lofty lore,Floating like air around the clime of song;Beheld the starry sage,[B]what time he boreFor truth's dear glory the immortal wrong;Communed majestic with majestic minds;And all the glorious wanderer heard or sawOr felt or learn'd or dream'd, were as the windsThat swell'd the sails of his triumphant soul;As then, ev'n then, with ardour yet in awe,It swept Time's ocean to its distant goal.
V.
Time waned—and thoughts intense, and grave and high,With sterner truths foreshadow'd Minstrel dreams;Yet never vanish'd from the Minstrel's eyeThat meteor blended with the morning beams.Time waned, and ripe became the long desire,Which, nursed in youth, with restless manhood grewA passion—to behold that heart of Earth,Yet trembling with the silver Mantuan lyre,To knightly arms by Tasso tuned anew:—So the fair Pilgrim left his father's hearth.Into his soul he drunk the lofty lore,Floating like air around the clime of song;Beheld the starry sage,[B]what time he boreFor truth's dear glory the immortal wrong;Communed majestic with majestic minds;And all the glorious wanderer heard or sawOr felt or learn'd or dream'd, were as the windsThat swell'd the sails of his triumphant soul;As then, ev'n then, with ardour yet in awe,It swept Time's ocean to its distant goal.