X."True was the preface to thy gloomy tale;Pity can soothe not—counsel not avail,"Said Morvale, moodily. "What bliss foregone!What years of rich life wasted! What a throneIn the arch-heaven abandon'd! And for what?Darkness and gold!—the slave's most slavish lot!Thy choice forsook the light—the day divine—God's loving air—for bondage and the mine!Oh! what delight to struggle side by sideWith one loved soother!—up the steep to guideHer steps—as clinging to thy hardier form,She treads the thorn and smiles upon the storm!And when firm will and gallant heart had wonThe hill-top opening to the steadfast sun,Look o'er the perils of the vanquish'd way,And bless the toil through which the victory lay,And murmur—'Which the sweeter fate, to dareWith thee the evil, or with thee to shareThe good?' Nay, haunting must thine error be;Thee Camdeo gave the blest Amrita tree,[M]The ambrosia of the gods,—to scorn the prize,And choose the Champac[N]for its golden dyes:Thou hast forsaken—(thou must bear the grief)—The immortal fruitage for the withering leaf!""Nay," answer'd Arden, writhing, "cease to chide;Who taunts the ordeal should the fire have tried.If Fortune's priests had train'd thy soul, like mine,}To worship Fortune's as the holiest shrine,}Perchance my error, cynic, had been thine!"}"Pardon," said Morvale; "and my taunt to shame,Know me thus weak,—I envy while I blame;Thou hast been loved!And had I err'd like thee;Mine had been crime, from which thy soul is free,Thy gentler breast the traitor could forgive——""Never!" cried Arden—"Does the Traitor live?"And as the ear that hissing whisper thrill'd,That calm stern eye the very life-blood chill'd;For there, the instinct Cain bequeath'd us spoke,And from the chain the wild's fierce savage broke."O yes!" the fiery Alien thus renew'd;"I know how holy life by law is view'd;I know how all life's glory may be marr'd,If safe the clay, which, as life's all, ye guard.Law—Law! what is it but the word for gold?Revenge is crime, if taken—Law if sold!Vile tongues, vile scribes, may rot your name away,But Law protects you,—with a fine to pay!The child dishonour'd, the adulterous wife,Gold requites all, save this base garment—life!So,lifealone is sacred!—so, your lawHems the worm's carcass with a godhead's awe:So, if some mighty wrong with black despairBlots out your sun, and taints to plague the air;If with a human impulse shrinks the soulBack from the dross which compensates the whole;If from the babbling court, the legal toil,And the lash'd lackey's guerdon, ye recoil,And seize your vengeance with your own right arm,How every dastard quivers with alarm!Mine be the heart, that can itself defend—Hate to the foe, devotion to the friend!—The fearless trust, and the relentless strife:Honour unsold, and wrong avenged with life!"He ceased, with trembling lip and haughty crest,The native heathen labouring in the breast!As waves some pine, with all its storm of boughs,O'er the black gulf Norwegian winds arouse,Shook that strong spirit, gloomy and sublime,Bending with troubled thought above the abyss of crime!
X.
"True was the preface to thy gloomy tale;Pity can soothe not—counsel not avail,"Said Morvale, moodily. "What bliss foregone!What years of rich life wasted! What a throneIn the arch-heaven abandon'd! And for what?Darkness and gold!—the slave's most slavish lot!Thy choice forsook the light—the day divine—God's loving air—for bondage and the mine!Oh! what delight to struggle side by sideWith one loved soother!—up the steep to guideHer steps—as clinging to thy hardier form,She treads the thorn and smiles upon the storm!And when firm will and gallant heart had wonThe hill-top opening to the steadfast sun,Look o'er the perils of the vanquish'd way,And bless the toil through which the victory lay,And murmur—'Which the sweeter fate, to dareWith thee the evil, or with thee to shareThe good?' Nay, haunting must thine error be;Thee Camdeo gave the blest Amrita tree,[M]The ambrosia of the gods,—to scorn the prize,And choose the Champac[N]for its golden dyes:Thou hast forsaken—(thou must bear the grief)—The immortal fruitage for the withering leaf!"
"Nay," answer'd Arden, writhing, "cease to chide;Who taunts the ordeal should the fire have tried.If Fortune's priests had train'd thy soul, like mine,}To worship Fortune's as the holiest shrine,}Perchance my error, cynic, had been thine!"}
"Pardon," said Morvale; "and my taunt to shame,Know me thus weak,—I envy while I blame;Thou hast been loved!And had I err'd like thee;Mine had been crime, from which thy soul is free,Thy gentler breast the traitor could forgive——""Never!" cried Arden—"Does the Traitor live?"And as the ear that hissing whisper thrill'd,That calm stern eye the very life-blood chill'd;For there, the instinct Cain bequeath'd us spoke,And from the chain the wild's fierce savage broke."O yes!" the fiery Alien thus renew'd;"I know how holy life by law is view'd;I know how all life's glory may be marr'd,If safe the clay, which, as life's all, ye guard.Law—Law! what is it but the word for gold?Revenge is crime, if taken—Law if sold!Vile tongues, vile scribes, may rot your name away,But Law protects you,—with a fine to pay!The child dishonour'd, the adulterous wife,Gold requites all, save this base garment—life!So,lifealone is sacred!—so, your lawHems the worm's carcass with a godhead's awe:So, if some mighty wrong with black despairBlots out your sun, and taints to plague the air;If with a human impulse shrinks the soulBack from the dross which compensates the whole;If from the babbling court, the legal toil,And the lash'd lackey's guerdon, ye recoil,And seize your vengeance with your own right arm,How every dastard quivers with alarm!Mine be the heart, that can itself defend—Hate to the foe, devotion to the friend!—The fearless trust, and the relentless strife:Honour unsold, and wrong avenged with life!"He ceased, with trembling lip and haughty crest,The native heathen labouring in the breast!As waves some pine, with all its storm of boughs,O'er the black gulf Norwegian winds arouse,Shook that strong spirit, gloomy and sublime,Bending with troubled thought above the abyss of crime!
XI.Long was the silence, till to calm restoredThe moody Indian and the startled lord."And yet," resumed the first, with softer mien,And lip that smiled, half mocking, yet serene,"Not long thy sorrow dimm'd thy life;—unlessMen's envy wrong thee, thou mightst more confessOf loves, perchance as true and as deceived;Of rose-wreaths wither'd in the hands that weaved.Talk to the world of Arden's dazzling lord,}And tales of joyous love go round the board;}Who, though adoring less, by beauty more adored?"}"Ill dost thou read the human heart, my friend,If bounding man's life with the novel's end;Where lovers married, ever after love—To birds alone the turtle and the dove!Where wicked men (if I be of the gang)Repent, turn hermits, or cut throats and hang!Our souls repent,—our lives but rarely change;Grief halts awhile, then goads us on to range.More woo'd than wooing, scarce I feign'd to feel—What magic to the magnet draws the steel?Wealth soon grew mine, the parasital fameConceal'd the nature while it deck'd the name;Kinsman on kinsman died, each death brought gold;In birth, wealth, fame, strange charms the sex behold!The outward grace the life of courts bestows,The tongue that learns unconsciously to gloze,All drew to mine the fates I could but mar;And Aphroditè was my native star!Forgive the boast, not blessings these, but banes,If spring sows only flowers, small fruit the autumn gains!I mark my grave coevals gather roundTheir harvest-home, with sheaves for garners bound;And I, that planted but the garden, seeHow the blooms fade! no harvest waits for me!""Yet didst thou never love again? as o'erThe soft stream, gliding by the enamell'd shore,Didst thou ne'er pause, and in some lovelier valeMoor thy light prow, and furl thy silken sail?""But once," said Arden; "years on years had fled,And half it soothed to think my Mary dead.For I had sworn (could faith, could honour less?)My hearth at least to priestly loneliness;To wed no other while she lived, and be,If found at last, for late atonement free.I kept the vow, till this ambiguous doom,Half wed, half widow'd, took a funeral gloom;So many years had pass'd, no tidings gain'd,The chance so slight that yet the earth retain'd,At length, though doubtful, I believed that timeHad from the altar ta'en the ban of crime.Impulse, occasion, what you will, at lastSeized one warm moment to abjure the past.
XI.
Long was the silence, till to calm restoredThe moody Indian and the startled lord."And yet," resumed the first, with softer mien,And lip that smiled, half mocking, yet serene,"Not long thy sorrow dimm'd thy life;—unlessMen's envy wrong thee, thou mightst more confessOf loves, perchance as true and as deceived;Of rose-wreaths wither'd in the hands that weaved.Talk to the world of Arden's dazzling lord,}And tales of joyous love go round the board;}Who, though adoring less, by beauty more adored?"}
"Ill dost thou read the human heart, my friend,If bounding man's life with the novel's end;Where lovers married, ever after love—To birds alone the turtle and the dove!Where wicked men (if I be of the gang)Repent, turn hermits, or cut throats and hang!Our souls repent,—our lives but rarely change;Grief halts awhile, then goads us on to range.More woo'd than wooing, scarce I feign'd to feel—What magic to the magnet draws the steel?Wealth soon grew mine, the parasital fameConceal'd the nature while it deck'd the name;Kinsman on kinsman died, each death brought gold;In birth, wealth, fame, strange charms the sex behold!The outward grace the life of courts bestows,The tongue that learns unconsciously to gloze,All drew to mine the fates I could but mar;And Aphroditè was my native star!Forgive the boast, not blessings these, but banes,If spring sows only flowers, small fruit the autumn gains!I mark my grave coevals gather roundTheir harvest-home, with sheaves for garners bound;And I, that planted but the garden, seeHow the blooms fade! no harvest waits for me!"
"Yet didst thou never love again? as o'erThe soft stream, gliding by the enamell'd shore,Didst thou ne'er pause, and in some lovelier valeMoor thy light prow, and furl thy silken sail?""But once," said Arden; "years on years had fled,And half it soothed to think my Mary dead.For I had sworn (could faith, could honour less?)My hearth at least to priestly loneliness;To wed no other while she lived, and be,If found at last, for late atonement free.I kept the vow, till this ambiguous doom,Half wed, half widow'd, took a funeral gloom;So many years had pass'd, no tidings gain'd,The chance so slight that yet the earth retain'd,At length, though doubtful, I believed that timeHad from the altar ta'en the ban of crime.Impulse, occasion, what you will, at lastSeized one warm moment to abjure the past.
XII."Far other, she, who charm'd me thus awhile,Thought in each glance, and mind in every smile;Genius was hers, with all the Iris dyesThat paint on cloud the arch that spans the skies;Wild in caprice, impassion'd, and yet coy,Woman when mournful, a frank child in joy;The Phidian dream, in one concentring all}The thousand spells with which the charmers thrall,}And pleasing most the eye which years begin to pall.}I do not say I loved her as, in truth,We only love when life is in its youth;But here at least I thought to fix my doom,And from the weary waste reclaim a home.Enough I loved, to woo, to win, to bindTo her my fate, if Heaven had so assign'd!The nuptial day was fix'd, the plighting kissGlow'd on my lips;—that moment the abyss,Which, hid by moss-grown time, yet yawn'd as wideBeneath my feet, divorced me from her side.A letter came—Clanalbin's hand; what madeTreason so bold to brave the man betray'd?I break the seal—O Heaven! my Mary yetLived; in want's weeds the wretch his victim met;Track'd to her home (a beggar's squalid cell!),}Told all the penitence that lips could tell:}'Come back and plead thyself, and all may yet be well!'}Had I a choice? could I delay to choose?—Here conscience dragg'd me, there it might excuse."Few hurried lines, obscurely dark with allThe war within, my later vows recall,Breathe passionate prayer—for hopeless pardon sue,And shape soft words to soothe the stern adieu.So, as some soul the beckoning ghost obeys,The haunting shadow of the vanish'd daysLures to the grave of Youth my charmèd tread,And sighs, 'At length thou shalt appease the Dead!'"Scarce had I reach'd the shores of England, ereNew pomps spring round me,—I am Arden's heir!The last pretender to the princely line,Whose flag had waved from towers in Palestine,Borne to our dark Walhalla,—left me poorIn all which sheds a blessing on the boor.—Yes, thou art right! how, at each sickening graspFor the heart's food, had gold befool'd my clasp!Gorged with a satrap's treasure, the soul's dearthEnvied the pauper crawling to his hearth.""But Mary—she—thy wife before Heaven's eye?""Lost as before!" was Arden's anguish-cry;"Not beggary, famine—not her child (for whom,What could she hope from earth?—as stern a doom!)Could bow the steel of that proud chastity,Which scorn'd as alms the atonement due from me!Out of the sense of wrong her grandeur grown,She look'd on shame from Sorrow as a throne.Once more more she fled;—no sign!—again the sameVain track—vain chase!—Notherewas I to blame!""Thou track the outcast!" mutter'd Morvale!—"No!Too far from Luxury lies the world of Woe!""Henceforth," sigh'd Arden, "hope, aim, end, confinedTo one—my heart, if tortured, is resign'd;So lately seen, oh! sure she liveth yet!Once found—oh! strong thine eloquence, Regret!The palace and the coronal, the gaudsWith which our vanity our will defrauds,—These may not tempt her, but the simple words'I love thee still,' will touch on surer chords,And youth rush back with that young melody,To the lone moonlight and the trysting-tree!"As the tale ceased, the fields behind them lay,—The huge town once more open'd on the way;The whir of wheels, the galliard cavalcade;The crowd of pleasure, and the roar of trade;The solemn abbey soaring through the dunAnd reeking air, in which sunk slow the sun;The dusky trees, the sultry flakes of green;The haunts where Fashion yawns away the spleen;—Vista on vista widens to revealEase on the wing, and Labour at the wheel!The friends grew silent in that common roar,The Real around them, the Ideal o'er;So the peculiar life of each, the unseenCore of our being—what we are, have been—The spirit of our memory and our soulSink from the sight, when merged amidst the whole;Yet atom atom never can absorb,Each drop moves rounded in its separate orb.
XII.
"Far other, she, who charm'd me thus awhile,Thought in each glance, and mind in every smile;Genius was hers, with all the Iris dyesThat paint on cloud the arch that spans the skies;Wild in caprice, impassion'd, and yet coy,Woman when mournful, a frank child in joy;The Phidian dream, in one concentring all}The thousand spells with which the charmers thrall,}And pleasing most the eye which years begin to pall.}I do not say I loved her as, in truth,We only love when life is in its youth;But here at least I thought to fix my doom,And from the weary waste reclaim a home.Enough I loved, to woo, to win, to bindTo her my fate, if Heaven had so assign'd!The nuptial day was fix'd, the plighting kissGlow'd on my lips;—that moment the abyss,Which, hid by moss-grown time, yet yawn'd as wideBeneath my feet, divorced me from her side.A letter came—Clanalbin's hand; what madeTreason so bold to brave the man betray'd?I break the seal—O Heaven! my Mary yetLived; in want's weeds the wretch his victim met;Track'd to her home (a beggar's squalid cell!),}Told all the penitence that lips could tell:}'Come back and plead thyself, and all may yet be well!'}Had I a choice? could I delay to choose?—Here conscience dragg'd me, there it might excuse.
"Few hurried lines, obscurely dark with allThe war within, my later vows recall,Breathe passionate prayer—for hopeless pardon sue,And shape soft words to soothe the stern adieu.So, as some soul the beckoning ghost obeys,The haunting shadow of the vanish'd daysLures to the grave of Youth my charmèd tread,And sighs, 'At length thou shalt appease the Dead!'
"Scarce had I reach'd the shores of England, ereNew pomps spring round me,—I am Arden's heir!The last pretender to the princely line,Whose flag had waved from towers in Palestine,Borne to our dark Walhalla,—left me poorIn all which sheds a blessing on the boor.—Yes, thou art right! how, at each sickening graspFor the heart's food, had gold befool'd my clasp!Gorged with a satrap's treasure, the soul's dearthEnvied the pauper crawling to his hearth.""But Mary—she—thy wife before Heaven's eye?""Lost as before!" was Arden's anguish-cry;"Not beggary, famine—not her child (for whom,What could she hope from earth?—as stern a doom!)Could bow the steel of that proud chastity,Which scorn'd as alms the atonement due from me!Out of the sense of wrong her grandeur grown,She look'd on shame from Sorrow as a throne.Once more more she fled;—no sign!—again the sameVain track—vain chase!—Notherewas I to blame!"
"Thou track the outcast!" mutter'd Morvale!—"No!Too far from Luxury lies the world of Woe!"
"Henceforth," sigh'd Arden, "hope, aim, end, confinedTo one—my heart, if tortured, is resign'd;So lately seen, oh! sure she liveth yet!Once found—oh! strong thine eloquence, Regret!The palace and the coronal, the gaudsWith which our vanity our will defrauds,—These may not tempt her, but the simple words'I love thee still,' will touch on surer chords,And youth rush back with that young melody,To the lone moonlight and the trysting-tree!"
As the tale ceased, the fields behind them lay,—The huge town once more open'd on the way;The whir of wheels, the galliard cavalcade;The crowd of pleasure, and the roar of trade;The solemn abbey soaring through the dunAnd reeking air, in which sunk slow the sun;The dusky trees, the sultry flakes of green;The haunts where Fashion yawns away the spleen;—Vista on vista widens to revealEase on the wing, and Labour at the wheel!The friends grew silent in that common roar,The Real around them, the Ideal o'er;So the peculiar life of each, the unseenCore of our being—what we are, have been—The spirit of our memory and our soulSink from the sight, when merged amidst the whole;Yet atom atom never can absorb,Each drop moves rounded in its separate orb.
I.Lord Arden's tale robb'd Morvale's couch of sleep,The star still trembled on the troubled deep,O'er the waste ocean gleam'd its chilling glance,To make more dark the desolate expanse.This contrast of a fate, but vex'd by galesFaint with too full a balm from Rhodian Vales;[O]This light of life all squander'd upon oneRound whom hearts moved, as planets round a sun,Mocks the lone doomhisbarren years endure,As wasted treasure but insults the poor.Back on his soul no faithful echoes castThose tones which make the music of the past.No memories hallow, and no dreams restoreLove's lute, far heard from Youth's Hesperian shore;—The flowers that Arden trampled on the sod,Still left the odour where the step had trod;Those flowers, so wasted!—had forhimbut smiledOne bud,—its breath had perfumed all the wild!He own'd the moral of the reveller's life,So Christian warriors own the sin of strife,—But, oh! how few can lift the soul aboveEarth's twin-born rulers,—Fame and Woman's Love!Just in that time, of all most drear, uponFate's barren hill-tops, gleam'd the coming sun;From nature's face the veil of night withdrawn,Earth smiled, and Heaven was open'd in the dawn!How chanced this change?—how chances all below?What sways the life the moment doth bestow:An impulse, instinct, look, touch, word, or sigh—Unlocks the Hades, or reveals the sky.
I.
Lord Arden's tale robb'd Morvale's couch of sleep,The star still trembled on the troubled deep,O'er the waste ocean gleam'd its chilling glance,To make more dark the desolate expanse.
This contrast of a fate, but vex'd by galesFaint with too full a balm from Rhodian Vales;[O]This light of life all squander'd upon oneRound whom hearts moved, as planets round a sun,Mocks the lone doomhisbarren years endure,As wasted treasure but insults the poor.Back on his soul no faithful echoes castThose tones which make the music of the past.No memories hallow, and no dreams restoreLove's lute, far heard from Youth's Hesperian shore;—The flowers that Arden trampled on the sod,Still left the odour where the step had trod;Those flowers, so wasted!—had forhimbut smiledOne bud,—its breath had perfumed all the wild!He own'd the moral of the reveller's life,So Christian warriors own the sin of strife,—But, oh! how few can lift the soul aboveEarth's twin-born rulers,—Fame and Woman's Love!
Just in that time, of all most drear, uponFate's barren hill-tops, gleam'd the coming sun;From nature's face the veil of night withdrawn,Earth smiled, and Heaven was open'd in the dawn!
How chanced this change?—how chances all below?What sways the life the moment doth bestow:An impulse, instinct, look, touch, word, or sigh—Unlocks the Hades, or reveals the sky.
II.'Twas eve; Calantha had resumed againThe wonted life, recaptured to its chain;In the calm chamber, Morvale sat, and eyedLucy's lithe shape, that seem'd on air to glide;Eyed with complacent, not impassion'd, gaze;So Age looks on, where some fair Childhood plays:Far as soars Childhood from dim Age's scope,Beauty to him who links it not with hope!"Sing me, sweet Lucy," said Calantha, "singOur favourite song—'The Maiden and the King.'Brother, thou lov'st not music, or, at least,But some wild war-song that recalls the East.Who loves not music, still may pause to harkNature's free gladness hymning in the lark:As sings the bird sings Lucy! all her artA voice in which you listen to a heart."A blush of fear, a coy reluctant "nay"Avail her not—thus ran the simple lay:—
II.
'Twas eve; Calantha had resumed againThe wonted life, recaptured to its chain;In the calm chamber, Morvale sat, and eyedLucy's lithe shape, that seem'd on air to glide;Eyed with complacent, not impassion'd, gaze;So Age looks on, where some fair Childhood plays:Far as soars Childhood from dim Age's scope,Beauty to him who links it not with hope!
"Sing me, sweet Lucy," said Calantha, "singOur favourite song—'The Maiden and the King.'Brother, thou lov'st not music, or, at least,But some wild war-song that recalls the East.Who loves not music, still may pause to harkNature's free gladness hymning in the lark:As sings the bird sings Lucy! all her artA voice in which you listen to a heart."
A blush of fear, a coy reluctant "nay"Avail her not—thus ran the simple lay:—
THE MAIDEN AND THE KING.I."And far as sweep the seas below,My sails are on the deep;And far as yonder eagles go,My flag on every keep."Why o'er the rebel world withinExtendeth not the chart?No sail can reach—no arms can winThe kingdom of a heart!"So sigh'd the king—the linden near;A listener heard the sigh,And thus the heart he did not hear,Breathed back the soft reply:—II."And far as sweep the seas below,His sails are on the deep;And far as yonder eagles go,His flag on every keep;"Love,thouart not a king alone,Both slave and king thou art!Who seeks to sway, must stoop to ownThe kingdom of a heart!"So sigh'd the Maid, the linden near,Beneath the lonely sky;Oh, lonelynot!—for angels hearThe humblest human sigh!III.His ships are vanish'd from the main,His banners from the keep;The carnage triumphs on the plain;The tempest on the deep."The purple and the crown are mine"—An Outlaw sigh'd—"no more;But still as greenly grows the vineAround the cottage door!"Rest for the weary pilgrim, Maid,And water from the spring!"Before the humble cottage pray'dThe Man that was a King.Oh, was the threshold that he cross'dThe gate to fairy ground?He would not for the kingdom lost,Have changed the kingdom found!
THE MAIDEN AND THE KING.
THE MAIDEN AND THE KING.
I."And far as sweep the seas below,My sails are on the deep;And far as yonder eagles go,My flag on every keep."Why o'er the rebel world withinExtendeth not the chart?No sail can reach—no arms can winThe kingdom of a heart!"So sigh'd the king—the linden near;A listener heard the sigh,And thus the heart he did not hear,Breathed back the soft reply:—
I.
"And far as sweep the seas below,My sails are on the deep;And far as yonder eagles go,My flag on every keep.
"Why o'er the rebel world withinExtendeth not the chart?No sail can reach—no arms can winThe kingdom of a heart!"
So sigh'd the king—the linden near;A listener heard the sigh,And thus the heart he did not hear,Breathed back the soft reply:—
II."And far as sweep the seas below,His sails are on the deep;And far as yonder eagles go,His flag on every keep;"Love,thouart not a king alone,Both slave and king thou art!Who seeks to sway, must stoop to ownThe kingdom of a heart!"So sigh'd the Maid, the linden near,Beneath the lonely sky;Oh, lonelynot!—for angels hearThe humblest human sigh!
II.
"And far as sweep the seas below,His sails are on the deep;And far as yonder eagles go,His flag on every keep;
"Love,thouart not a king alone,Both slave and king thou art!Who seeks to sway, must stoop to ownThe kingdom of a heart!"
So sigh'd the Maid, the linden near,Beneath the lonely sky;Oh, lonelynot!—for angels hearThe humblest human sigh!
III.His ships are vanish'd from the main,His banners from the keep;The carnage triumphs on the plain;The tempest on the deep."The purple and the crown are mine"—An Outlaw sigh'd—"no more;But still as greenly grows the vineAround the cottage door!"Rest for the weary pilgrim, Maid,And water from the spring!"Before the humble cottage pray'dThe Man that was a King.Oh, was the threshold that he cross'dThe gate to fairy ground?He would not for the kingdom lost,Have changed the kingdom found!
III.
His ships are vanish'd from the main,His banners from the keep;The carnage triumphs on the plain;The tempest on the deep.
"The purple and the crown are mine"—An Outlaw sigh'd—"no more;But still as greenly grows the vineAround the cottage door!
"Rest for the weary pilgrim, Maid,And water from the spring!"Before the humble cottage pray'dThe Man that was a King.
Oh, was the threshold that he cross'dThe gate to fairy ground?He would not for the kingdom lost,Have changed the kingdom found!
Divine interpreter thou art, O Song!To thee all secrets of all hearts belong!How had the lay, as in a mirror, glass'dThe sullen present and the joyless past,Lock'd in the cloister of that lonely soul!—Ere the song ceased, to Lucy's side he stole,And, with the closing cadence, mournfullyLifted his doubtful gaze:—so eye met eye.If thou hast loved, re-ope the magic book;Say, do its annals date not from a look?In which two hearts, unguess'd perchance before,Rush'd each to each, and were as two no more;While all thy being—by some Power, aboveIts will constrain'd—sigh'd, trembling, "This is Love."A look! and lo! they knew themselves alone!Calantha's place was void—the witness gone;They had not mark'd her sad step glide away,When in sweet silence sank, less sweet, the lay;For unto both abruptly came the hourWhen springs the rose-fence round the fairy bower;When earth shut out, all life transferr'd to one,Eachotherlife seems cloud before the sun;It comes, it goes, we know if it departBut by the warmer light and quicken'd heart.And what then chanced? O, leave not told, but guess'd;Is Love a god?—a temple, then, the breast!Not to the crowd in cold detail allowIts delicate worship, its mysterious vow!Around the first sweet homage in the shrineLet the veil fall, and but the Pure divine!Coy as the violet shrinking from the sun,The blush of Virgin Youth first woo'd and won;And scarce less holy from the vulgar earThe tone that trembles but with noble fear:Near to God's throne the solemn stars that moveThe proud to meekness, and the pure to love!Let days pass on; nor count how many swellThe episode of Life's hack chronicle!Changed the abode, of late so stern and drear,How doth the change speak—"Love hath enter'd here!"How lightly sounds the footfall on the floor!How jocund rings sweet laughter, hush'd no more!Wide from two hearts made happy, wide and far,Circles the light in which they breathe and are;Liberal as noontide streams the ambient ray,And fills each crevice in the world with day.And changed is Lucy! where the downcast eye,And the meek fear, when that dark man was by?Lo! as young Una thrall'd the forest-king,She leads the savage in her silken string;Plays with the strength to her in service shown,And mounts with infant whim the woman's throne!Charm'd from his lonely moods and brooding mind,And bound by one to union with his kind,No more the wild man thirsted for the waste;No more, 'mid joy, a joyless one, misplaced;His very form assumed unwonted grace,And bliss gave more than beauty to his face:Let but delighted thought from all things cullSweet food and fair—hiving the Beautiful,And lo! the form shall brighten with the soul!The gods bloom only by joy's nectar bowl.Nor deem it strange that Lucy fail'd to trace}In that dark brow, the birthright of disgrace,}And Europe's ban on Earth's primeval race.}Were she less pure, less harmless, less the child,Not on the savage had the soft one smiled.Ev'n as the young Venetian loved the Moor,Love gains the shrine when Pity opes the door;Love like the Poet, whom it teaches, whereRound it the Homely dwells, invents the Fair;And takes a halo from the air it gildsTo crown a Seraph for the Heaven it builds.And both were children in this world of ours,Maiden and savage! the same mountain flowers,Not trimm'd in gardens, not exchanged their hues,Fresh from the natural sun and hardy dews,For the faint fragrance and the sickly dyesWhich, Art calls forth by walling out the skies:Sochildren both, each seem'd to have forgotHow poor the maid's—how rich the lover's lot;Ne'er did the ignorant Indian pause in fear,Lest friends should pity, and lest foes should sneer."What will the world say?"—question safe and sage;The parrot's world should be his gilded cage;But fly, frank wilding, with free wings unfurl'd,Where thy mate carols—there, behold thy world!And stranger still that no decorous prideWarn'd her, the beggar, from the rich man's side.Sneer, ye world-wise, and deem her ignorance art;She saw her wealth (and blush'd not) in her heart!—Saw through the glare of gold his lonely breast;He had but gold, and hers was all the rest.Pleased in the bliss to her, alas! denied,}Calantha hail'd her brother's plighted bride:}"Glad thou the heart which I made sad," she sigh'd.}Since Arden's tale, but once the friends had met,Nor known to one the other's rapture yet;Some fancied clue, some hope awhile restored,Had from the Babel lured the brilliant lord.The wonted commune Morvale fail'd to miss,—We want no confidant in happiness.Baffled, and sick of hope, wealth, life, and all,One night return'd the noble to his hall;He found some lines, stern, brief, in Morvale's hand,—Brief with dark meaning,—stern with rude command,—Bidding his instant presence. Arden weigh'd}Each word; some threat was in each word convey'd;}A chill shot through his heart—foreboding he obey'd.}
Divine interpreter thou art, O Song!To thee all secrets of all hearts belong!How had the lay, as in a mirror, glass'dThe sullen present and the joyless past,Lock'd in the cloister of that lonely soul!—Ere the song ceased, to Lucy's side he stole,And, with the closing cadence, mournfullyLifted his doubtful gaze:—so eye met eye.
If thou hast loved, re-ope the magic book;Say, do its annals date not from a look?In which two hearts, unguess'd perchance before,Rush'd each to each, and were as two no more;While all thy being—by some Power, aboveIts will constrain'd—sigh'd, trembling, "This is Love."
A look! and lo! they knew themselves alone!Calantha's place was void—the witness gone;They had not mark'd her sad step glide away,When in sweet silence sank, less sweet, the lay;For unto both abruptly came the hourWhen springs the rose-fence round the fairy bower;When earth shut out, all life transferr'd to one,Eachotherlife seems cloud before the sun;It comes, it goes, we know if it departBut by the warmer light and quicken'd heart.
And what then chanced? O, leave not told, but guess'd;Is Love a god?—a temple, then, the breast!Not to the crowd in cold detail allowIts delicate worship, its mysterious vow!Around the first sweet homage in the shrineLet the veil fall, and but the Pure divine!Coy as the violet shrinking from the sun,The blush of Virgin Youth first woo'd and won;And scarce less holy from the vulgar earThe tone that trembles but with noble fear:Near to God's throne the solemn stars that moveThe proud to meekness, and the pure to love!
Let days pass on; nor count how many swellThe episode of Life's hack chronicle!Changed the abode, of late so stern and drear,How doth the change speak—"Love hath enter'd here!"How lightly sounds the footfall on the floor!How jocund rings sweet laughter, hush'd no more!Wide from two hearts made happy, wide and far,Circles the light in which they breathe and are;Liberal as noontide streams the ambient ray,And fills each crevice in the world with day.
And changed is Lucy! where the downcast eye,And the meek fear, when that dark man was by?Lo! as young Una thrall'd the forest-king,She leads the savage in her silken string;Plays with the strength to her in service shown,And mounts with infant whim the woman's throne!Charm'd from his lonely moods and brooding mind,And bound by one to union with his kind,No more the wild man thirsted for the waste;No more, 'mid joy, a joyless one, misplaced;His very form assumed unwonted grace,And bliss gave more than beauty to his face:Let but delighted thought from all things cullSweet food and fair—hiving the Beautiful,And lo! the form shall brighten with the soul!The gods bloom only by joy's nectar bowl.
Nor deem it strange that Lucy fail'd to trace}In that dark brow, the birthright of disgrace,}And Europe's ban on Earth's primeval race.}
Were she less pure, less harmless, less the child,Not on the savage had the soft one smiled.Ev'n as the young Venetian loved the Moor,Love gains the shrine when Pity opes the door;Love like the Poet, whom it teaches, whereRound it the Homely dwells, invents the Fair;And takes a halo from the air it gildsTo crown a Seraph for the Heaven it builds.And both were children in this world of ours,Maiden and savage! the same mountain flowers,Not trimm'd in gardens, not exchanged their hues,Fresh from the natural sun and hardy dews,For the faint fragrance and the sickly dyesWhich, Art calls forth by walling out the skies:Sochildren both, each seem'd to have forgotHow poor the maid's—how rich the lover's lot;Ne'er did the ignorant Indian pause in fear,Lest friends should pity, and lest foes should sneer."What will the world say?"—question safe and sage;The parrot's world should be his gilded cage;But fly, frank wilding, with free wings unfurl'd,Where thy mate carols—there, behold thy world!And stranger still that no decorous prideWarn'd her, the beggar, from the rich man's side.Sneer, ye world-wise, and deem her ignorance art;She saw her wealth (and blush'd not) in her heart!—Saw through the glare of gold his lonely breast;He had but gold, and hers was all the rest.
Pleased in the bliss to her, alas! denied,}Calantha hail'd her brother's plighted bride:}"Glad thou the heart which I made sad," she sigh'd.}Since Arden's tale, but once the friends had met,Nor known to one the other's rapture yet;Some fancied clue, some hope awhile restored,Had from the Babel lured the brilliant lord.The wonted commune Morvale fail'd to miss,—We want no confidant in happiness.
Baffled, and sick of hope, wealth, life, and all,One night return'd the noble to his hall;He found some lines, stern, brief, in Morvale's hand,—Brief with dark meaning,—stern with rude command,—Bidding his instant presence. Arden weigh'd}Each word; some threat was in each word convey'd;}A chill shot through his heart—foreboding he obey'd.}
III.What caused the mandate?—wherefore do I shrink?The stream runs on,—why tarry at the brink?Nay, let us halt, and in the pause betweenSorrow and joy, behold the quiet scene;—The chamber stately in that calm repose,Which Time's serene, sweet conqueror,Artbestows;There, in bright shapes which claim our homage still,Live the grand exiles from the Olympian Hill;Still the pale Queen Cithæron forests know,Turns the proud eye, and lifts the deathful bow;Still on the vast brow of the father-god,Hangs the hush'd thunder of the awful nod;Still fair, as when on Ida's mountain seen,By Troy's young shepherd, Beauty's bashful Queen;Still Ind's divine Iacchus laughing weavesHis crown of clustering grapes and glossy leaves;Still thou, Arch-type of Song, ordain'd to sootheThe rest of Heroes, and with deathless youthCrown the Celestial Brotherhood—dost hold,Brimm'd with the drink of gods, the urn of gold!All live again! The Art which imagesMan's noblest conquest, as it slowly freesThought out of matter, labouring patient on,Till springs a god-world from reluctant stone,Charm'd Morvale more than all the pomp and glowWith which the Painter limns a world we know.'Twas noon, and broken by the gentle gloomOf coolest draperies, through the shadowy room,In moted shaft aslant, the curious rayForced lingering in, through tiers of flowers, its way,Glanced on the lute (just hush'd, to leave behindElysian dreams, the music of the mind),Play'd round the songstress, and with warmer flushSteep'd the young cheek, unconscious of its blush,And fell, as if in worship, at thy base,O sculptured Psyche[P]of the soul-lit face,Bending to earth resign'd the mournful eye,Since earth must prove the pathway to the sky;Doom'd here, below, Love's footprint to explore}Till Jove relents, the destined wandering o'er,}And in celestial halls, Soul meets with Love once more.[Q]}And, side by side, the lovers sat,—their wordsLow mix'd with notes from Lucy's joyous birds,Sole witnesses and fit—those airy things,That, 'midst the bars, can still unfold the wings,And soothe the cell with language, learn'd above;As the caged bird—so on the earth is love!Their talk was of the future; from the heightOf Hope, they saw the landscape bathed in light,And, where the golden dimness veil'd the gaze,Guess'd out the spot, and mark'd the sites of happy days;Till silence came, and the full sense and powerOf the blest Present,—the rich-laden HourThat overshadow'd them, as some hush'd treeWith mellow fruitage bending heavily,—What time, beneath the tender gloom reclined,Dies on the lap of summer-noon the wind!Roused from the lulling spell with startled blushAt such strange power in silence, to the hushThe maid restored the music, while she soughtFresh banks for that sweet river—loving thought."Tell me," she said, "if not too near the gloomOf some sad tale, the rash desire presume;What severs so the chords that should entwineWith one warm bond our sister's heart and thine?Why does she love yet dread thee? what the griefThat shrinks from utterance and disdains relief?Hast thou not been too stern?—nay, pardon! nay,Let thy words chide me,—not thy looks dismay!""Not unto thee, beneath whose starry eyeEach wild wave hushes, did my looks reply;They were the answer to mine own dark thought,Which back the grief, thy smile had banish'd, brought."Well—to the secrets of my soul thy loveHath such sweet right, I lift the veil aboveHome's shattered gods, and show what wounds belongTo writhing honour and revengeless wrong.—"Rear'd in the desert, round its rugged child,All we call life, group'd, menacing and wild;But to man's soul there is an inner life;There, one soft vision smiled away the strife!A fairy shape, that seem'd afar to standOn the lost shores of Youth—the Fairy land;A voice that call'd me 'brother;'—years had fledSince my rough breast had pillow'd that sweet head,Yet still my heart throbb'd with the pressure; stillTears, such as mothers know, my eyes would fill;Prayers, such as fathers pray, my soul would breathe;The oak were sere but for that jasmine-wreath!At length, wealth came; my footsteps left the wild,—Again we met:—to woman grown the child:How did we meet?—that heart to me was dead!The bird, far heard amidst the waste was fled!With earthlier fires that breast had learn'd to burn;And what yet left? but ashes in the urn:Woo'd and abandon'd! all of love, hope, soulLavish'd—now lifeless!—well, were this the whole!But the good name—the virgin's pure renown—Woman's white robe, and Honour's starry crown,Lost, lost, for ever!"O'er his visage pastHis trembling hand,—then, hurriedly and fast,As one who from the knife of torture swerves,Then spurns the pang, as pride the weakness nerves,Resumed—"As yetthatsecret was withheld,All that I saw, was sorrow that repell'd,—A dreary apathy, whose death-like chillFroze back my heart and left us sever'd still."One night I fled that hard indifferent eye;To crowds, the heart that Home rejects, will fly!—Gay glides the dance, soft music fills the hall:I fled, to find, the loneliness through all!Thou know'st but half a brother's bond I claim,—My mother's daughter bears her father's name;My mother's heart had long denied her son,And loath'd the tie that pride had taught to shun.My sister's lips, forbid the bond to own,Left the scorn'd life, a brother breathed, unknown.[R]Not even yet the alien blood confest;Who, in the swart hues of the Eastern guestAnd unfamiliar name, could kindred traceWith the young Beauty of the Northern Race?—Calm in the crowd I stood, when hark, a wordSmote on my ear, and stunn'd the soul that heard!A sound, with withering laughter muttered o'er,Blistering the name—O God!—a sister bore;Nought clear, and nought defined, save scorn alone,—Not heard the name scorn coupled with her own;Somewhat of nuptials fix'd, of broken ties,The foul cause hinted in the vile surmise,The gallant's fame for conquests, lightly won,For homes dishonour'd, and for hearts undone:Not one alone on whom my wrath could seize,From lip to lip the dizzying slander flees;No single ribald separate from the herd,Through the blent hum one stinging tumult stirr'd;One felt, unseen, infection circling thereA bodiless venom in the common air,And as the air impalpable!—so seemThe undistinguished terrors of a dream,Now clear, now dim, transform'd from shape to shape,The gibbering spectres scare us and escape."Fearful the commune, in that dismal night,Between the souls which could no more unite,—The lawful anger and the shaming fears,Man's iron question, woman's burning tears;All that, once utter'd, rend for aye the tiesOf the close bond God fashion'd in the skies.I learn'd at last,—for 'midst my wrath, deep trustIn what I loved, left even passion just;And I believed the word, the lip, the eye,That to my horrid question flash'd reply;—I learn'd at last that but the name was stain'd,Honour was wreck'd, but Purity remain'd.Oh pardon, pardon!—if a doubt that sears,A word that stains, profane such holy ears!So, oft amidst my loneliness, my heartHath communed with itself, and groan'd apart,—Recall'd that night, and in its fierce despair,Shaped some full vengeance from the desert air,—That I forgot what angel, new from Heaven,Sweet spotless listener, to my side was given!"But who the recreant lover?—this, in vainMy question sought; that truth not hard to gain;And my brow darken'd as I breathed the threatFierce in her shrinking ear, 'that wrath should reach him yet!'I left her speechless; when the morning came,}With the fierce pang, writhed the self-tortured frame,}The poison hid by Woe, drain'd by despairing Shame.}"Few words, half-blurr'd by shame, the motive clear'd,For the false wooer, not herself, she feared;'Accept,' she wrote 'O brother, sternly just,The life I yield,—but holy be my dust!Hear my last words, for,themDeath sanctify!Forbear his life for whom it soothes to die.And let my thought, the memory of old time,The soul that flees the stain, nor knew the crime,Strike down thine arm! and see me in the tomb,Stand, like a ghost, between Revenge and Doom!'"I bent, in agony and awe, aboveThe broken idol of my boyhood's love.Echo'd each groan and writhed with every throe,And cried, 'Live yet! O dove, but brood below,Hide with thy wings the vengeance and the guilt,And give my soul thy softness if thou wilt!'And, as I spoke, the heavy eye unclosed,The hand press'd mine, and in the clasp reposed,The wan lip smiled, the weak frame seem'd to winStrange power against the torture-fire within;The leach's skill the heart's strong impulse sped,She lived—she lived:—And my revenge was dead!"She lived!—and, clasp'd within my arms, I vow'dTo leave the secret in its thunder-shroud,To shun all question, to refuse all clue,And close each hope that honour deems its due;But while she lived!—the weak vow halted there,Her life the shield to that it tainted mine to spare!"But to have walk'd into the thronging street,But to have sought the haunt where babblers meet,But to have pluck'd one idler by the sleeve,And asked, 'whowoo'd yon fairhair'd bride, to leave?'And street, and haunt, and every idler's tongue,Had given the name with which the slander rung—To me alone,—tomeof all the throng,The unnatural silence mask'd the face of wrong.But I had sworn! and, of myself in dread,From the loath'd scene, from mine own wrath, I fled."We left the land, in this a home we find.Home! by our hearth the cleaving curse is shrined!Distrust in her—and shame in me; and allThe unspoken past cold present hours recal;And unconfiding hearts, and smiles but rifeWith the bland hollowness of formal life!In vain my sacrifice, she fears me still!Vain her reprieve;—grief barr'd from vent can kill.And then, and then (O joy through agony!)My oath absolves me, and my arm is free!The lofty soul may oft forgive, I own,The lighter wrong that smites itself alone;But vile the nature, that when wrong hath marr'dAll the rich life it was our boast to guardBut weeps the broken heart and blasted name;—Here the mean pardon were the manhood's shame;And I were vilest of the vile, to liveTo see Calantha's grave—and to forgive:Forgive!"There hung such hate upon that word,The weeping listener shudder'd as she heard,And sobb'd—"Hush, hush! lest Man's eternal Foe}Hear thee, and tempt! Oh, never may'st thou know}Beside one deed of Guilt—how blest is guiltless Woe!"}Then, close, and closer, clinging to his side,Frank as the child, and tender as the bride,Words—looks—and tears themselves combine the balm,Lull the fierce pang, and steal the soul to calm!As holy herbs (that rocks with verdure wreathe,And fill with sweets the summer air they breathe,)In winter wither, only to revealDiviner virtues—charged with powers to heal,So are the thoughts of Love!—if Heaven is fair,Blooms for the earth, and perfumes for the air;—Is the Heaven dark?—doth sorrow sear the leaf?They fade from joy to anodynes for grief!From theme to theme she lures his thought afar,From the dark haunt in which its demons are;And with the gentle instinct which divinesInterest more strong than aught which Self entwinesWith its own suffering—changed the course of tears,And led him, child-like, through her own young years.The silent sorrows of a patient mind—Grief's loveliest poem, a soft soul resign'd,Charm'd and aroused——"O tell me more!" he cried;"Ev'n from the infant let me trace the bride.Of thy dear life I am a miser grown,And grudge each smile that did not gild my own;Look back—thyFather?Canst thou not recalHiskiss,hisvoice? Fair orphan! tell me all.""My Father? No!" sigh'd Lucy; "at that nameStill o'er my mother's cheek the fever came;Thus, from the record of each earlier year,That household tie moved less of love than fear;Some wild mysterious awe, some undefinedInstinct of woe was with the name entwined.Lived he?—I knew not; knew not till the lastSad hours, when Memory struggled to the Past,And she—my dying mother—to my breastClasp'd these twain relics—let them speak the rest!"With that, for words no more she could command,She placed a scroll—a portrait—in his hand;And overcome by memories that could brookNot ev'n love's comfort,—veil'd her troubled look,And glided swiftly thence. Nor he detain'd:Spell bound, his gaze upon the portrait strain'd:That brow—those features! that bright lip, which smiledForth from the likeness!—Found Lord Arden's child!The picture spoke as if from Mary's tomb,Death in the smile and mockery in the bloom.The scroll, unseal'd—address'd the obscurer nameThat Arden bore, ere lands and lordship came;And at the close, to which the Indian's eyes}Hurried, these words:—}"In peace thy Mary dies;}Forgive her sternness in her sacrifice!}It had one merit—that I loved!and tillEach pulse is hush'd shall love, yet fly, thee still.Now take thy child! and when she clings with prideTo the strong shelter of a father's side,Tell her, a mother bought the priceless rightTo bless unblushing her she gave to light;Bought it as those who would redeem a pastMust buy—by penance, faithful to the last.Thorns in each path, a grave the only goal,Glides mine, atoning, to my father's soul!"What at this swift revealment—dark and fastAs fleets the cloud-wrack, o'er the Indian past?No more is Lucy free with her sweet dower}Of love and youth! Another has the power}To bar the solemn rite, to blast the marriage bower.}"Will this proud Saxon of the princely lineYield his heart's gem to alien hands like mine?What though the blot denies his rank its heir:}The more his pride will bid his love repair}By loftiest nuptials—O supreme despair!}Shall I divulge the secret! shall I rear,Myself, the barrier,—and the bliss so near?"He scorn'd himself, and raised his drooping crest:"Mine be Man's honour—leave to God the rest!"As thus his high resolve, a sudden cry}Startled his heart. He turn'd: Calantha by!}Why on the portrait glares her haggard eye?}"Whose likeness this? Thou know'st not, brother? speak!What mean that clouded brow—that changing cheek?Thou know'st not!""Yes!"And as the answer came,With Death's strong terror shook the sister's frame,A bitterer pang, an icier shudder, ranThroughhisfierce nature—"Dostthouknow the man?Ha! his own tale! O dull and blinded! how,Flash upon flash, descends the lightning now!Thou, his forsaken—his! And I—who—nay!Look up Calantha; for, befal what may,He shall——"The promise, or the threat, was saidTo ears already deafen'd as the dead!His arm but breaks the fall: the panting breastYet heaves convulsive through the stifling vest.The robe, relax'd, bids doubt—if doubt yet be—Merge the last gleam in starless certainty!Lo there, the fatal gift of love and woeMiming without the image graved below—The same each likeness by each sufferer worn,Or differing but as noonday from the morn.In Lucy's portrait, manhood's earliest youthShone from the clear eye with a light like truth.There, play'd that fearless smile with which we meetThe sward that hides the swamp before our feet;The bright on-looking to the Future, ereOur sins reflect their own dark shadows there:—Calantha's portrait spoke of one in whom,Young yet in years; the heart had lost its bloom;The lip of joy the lip of pride had grown;It smiled—the smile we love to trust had flown.In the collected eye and lofty mienThe graver power experience brings was seen;Beautiful both; and if the manlier faceHad lost youth's candid and luxuriant grace,A charm as fatal as the first it wore,Pleased less—and yet enchain'd and haunted more.And this the man to whom his heart had moved!Whose hand he had clasp'd, whose child he loved!—he loved!This, out of all the universe—O Fate!This, the dark orb, round which revolved his hate;This, the swart star malign, whose baleful rayRuled in his House of Life; and day by day,And hour by hour, upon the tortured pastOne withering, ruthless, demon influence cast!There writhes the victim—there, unmasking, nowThe invoked Alecto frowns from Arden's brow.O'er that fierce nature, roused so late from sleep,Course the black thoughts, and lash to storm the deep.Love flies dismay'd—the sweet delusions, drawnBy Hope, fade ghost-like in the lurid dawn;As when along the parch'd Arabian gloomLife prostrate falls before the dread Simoom,No human mercy the strong whirlwind faced,And its wrath reign'd sole monarch of the waste!
III.
What caused the mandate?—wherefore do I shrink?The stream runs on,—why tarry at the brink?Nay, let us halt, and in the pause betweenSorrow and joy, behold the quiet scene;—The chamber stately in that calm repose,Which Time's serene, sweet conqueror,Artbestows;There, in bright shapes which claim our homage still,Live the grand exiles from the Olympian Hill;Still the pale Queen Cithæron forests know,Turns the proud eye, and lifts the deathful bow;Still on the vast brow of the father-god,Hangs the hush'd thunder of the awful nod;Still fair, as when on Ida's mountain seen,By Troy's young shepherd, Beauty's bashful Queen;Still Ind's divine Iacchus laughing weavesHis crown of clustering grapes and glossy leaves;Still thou, Arch-type of Song, ordain'd to sootheThe rest of Heroes, and with deathless youthCrown the Celestial Brotherhood—dost hold,Brimm'd with the drink of gods, the urn of gold!
All live again! The Art which imagesMan's noblest conquest, as it slowly freesThought out of matter, labouring patient on,Till springs a god-world from reluctant stone,Charm'd Morvale more than all the pomp and glowWith which the Painter limns a world we know.
'Twas noon, and broken by the gentle gloomOf coolest draperies, through the shadowy room,In moted shaft aslant, the curious rayForced lingering in, through tiers of flowers, its way,Glanced on the lute (just hush'd, to leave behindElysian dreams, the music of the mind),Play'd round the songstress, and with warmer flushSteep'd the young cheek, unconscious of its blush,And fell, as if in worship, at thy base,O sculptured Psyche[P]of the soul-lit face,Bending to earth resign'd the mournful eye,Since earth must prove the pathway to the sky;Doom'd here, below, Love's footprint to explore}Till Jove relents, the destined wandering o'er,}And in celestial halls, Soul meets with Love once more.[Q]}
And, side by side, the lovers sat,—their wordsLow mix'd with notes from Lucy's joyous birds,Sole witnesses and fit—those airy things,That, 'midst the bars, can still unfold the wings,And soothe the cell with language, learn'd above;As the caged bird—so on the earth is love!Their talk was of the future; from the heightOf Hope, they saw the landscape bathed in light,And, where the golden dimness veil'd the gaze,Guess'd out the spot, and mark'd the sites of happy days;Till silence came, and the full sense and powerOf the blest Present,—the rich-laden HourThat overshadow'd them, as some hush'd treeWith mellow fruitage bending heavily,—What time, beneath the tender gloom reclined,Dies on the lap of summer-noon the wind!
Roused from the lulling spell with startled blushAt such strange power in silence, to the hushThe maid restored the music, while she soughtFresh banks for that sweet river—loving thought.
"Tell me," she said, "if not too near the gloomOf some sad tale, the rash desire presume;What severs so the chords that should entwineWith one warm bond our sister's heart and thine?Why does she love yet dread thee? what the griefThat shrinks from utterance and disdains relief?Hast thou not been too stern?—nay, pardon! nay,Let thy words chide me,—not thy looks dismay!""Not unto thee, beneath whose starry eyeEach wild wave hushes, did my looks reply;They were the answer to mine own dark thought,Which back the grief, thy smile had banish'd, brought.
"Well—to the secrets of my soul thy loveHath such sweet right, I lift the veil aboveHome's shattered gods, and show what wounds belongTo writhing honour and revengeless wrong.—
"Rear'd in the desert, round its rugged child,All we call life, group'd, menacing and wild;But to man's soul there is an inner life;There, one soft vision smiled away the strife!A fairy shape, that seem'd afar to standOn the lost shores of Youth—the Fairy land;A voice that call'd me 'brother;'—years had fledSince my rough breast had pillow'd that sweet head,Yet still my heart throbb'd with the pressure; stillTears, such as mothers know, my eyes would fill;Prayers, such as fathers pray, my soul would breathe;The oak were sere but for that jasmine-wreath!At length, wealth came; my footsteps left the wild,—Again we met:—to woman grown the child:How did we meet?—that heart to me was dead!The bird, far heard amidst the waste was fled!With earthlier fires that breast had learn'd to burn;And what yet left? but ashes in the urn:Woo'd and abandon'd! all of love, hope, soulLavish'd—now lifeless!—well, were this the whole!But the good name—the virgin's pure renown—Woman's white robe, and Honour's starry crown,Lost, lost, for ever!"
O'er his visage pastHis trembling hand,—then, hurriedly and fast,As one who from the knife of torture swerves,Then spurns the pang, as pride the weakness nerves,Resumed—"As yetthatsecret was withheld,All that I saw, was sorrow that repell'd,—A dreary apathy, whose death-like chillFroze back my heart and left us sever'd still.
"One night I fled that hard indifferent eye;To crowds, the heart that Home rejects, will fly!—Gay glides the dance, soft music fills the hall:I fled, to find, the loneliness through all!Thou know'st but half a brother's bond I claim,—My mother's daughter bears her father's name;My mother's heart had long denied her son,And loath'd the tie that pride had taught to shun.My sister's lips, forbid the bond to own,Left the scorn'd life, a brother breathed, unknown.[R]Not even yet the alien blood confest;Who, in the swart hues of the Eastern guestAnd unfamiliar name, could kindred traceWith the young Beauty of the Northern Race?—Calm in the crowd I stood, when hark, a wordSmote on my ear, and stunn'd the soul that heard!A sound, with withering laughter muttered o'er,Blistering the name—O God!—a sister bore;Nought clear, and nought defined, save scorn alone,—Not heard the name scorn coupled with her own;Somewhat of nuptials fix'd, of broken ties,The foul cause hinted in the vile surmise,The gallant's fame for conquests, lightly won,For homes dishonour'd, and for hearts undone:Not one alone on whom my wrath could seize,From lip to lip the dizzying slander flees;No single ribald separate from the herd,Through the blent hum one stinging tumult stirr'd;One felt, unseen, infection circling thereA bodiless venom in the common air,And as the air impalpable!—so seemThe undistinguished terrors of a dream,Now clear, now dim, transform'd from shape to shape,The gibbering spectres scare us and escape.
"Fearful the commune, in that dismal night,Between the souls which could no more unite,—The lawful anger and the shaming fears,Man's iron question, woman's burning tears;All that, once utter'd, rend for aye the tiesOf the close bond God fashion'd in the skies.I learn'd at last,—for 'midst my wrath, deep trustIn what I loved, left even passion just;And I believed the word, the lip, the eye,That to my horrid question flash'd reply;—I learn'd at last that but the name was stain'd,Honour was wreck'd, but Purity remain'd.Oh pardon, pardon!—if a doubt that sears,A word that stains, profane such holy ears!So, oft amidst my loneliness, my heartHath communed with itself, and groan'd apart,—Recall'd that night, and in its fierce despair,Shaped some full vengeance from the desert air,—That I forgot what angel, new from Heaven,Sweet spotless listener, to my side was given!
"But who the recreant lover?—this, in vainMy question sought; that truth not hard to gain;And my brow darken'd as I breathed the threatFierce in her shrinking ear, 'that wrath should reach him yet!'I left her speechless; when the morning came,}With the fierce pang, writhed the self-tortured frame,}The poison hid by Woe, drain'd by despairing Shame.}
"Few words, half-blurr'd by shame, the motive clear'd,For the false wooer, not herself, she feared;'Accept,' she wrote 'O brother, sternly just,The life I yield,—but holy be my dust!Hear my last words, for,themDeath sanctify!Forbear his life for whom it soothes to die.And let my thought, the memory of old time,The soul that flees the stain, nor knew the crime,Strike down thine arm! and see me in the tomb,Stand, like a ghost, between Revenge and Doom!'
"I bent, in agony and awe, aboveThe broken idol of my boyhood's love.Echo'd each groan and writhed with every throe,And cried, 'Live yet! O dove, but brood below,Hide with thy wings the vengeance and the guilt,And give my soul thy softness if thou wilt!'And, as I spoke, the heavy eye unclosed,The hand press'd mine, and in the clasp reposed,The wan lip smiled, the weak frame seem'd to winStrange power against the torture-fire within;The leach's skill the heart's strong impulse sped,She lived—she lived:—And my revenge was dead!
"She lived!—and, clasp'd within my arms, I vow'dTo leave the secret in its thunder-shroud,To shun all question, to refuse all clue,And close each hope that honour deems its due;But while she lived!—the weak vow halted there,Her life the shield to that it tainted mine to spare!
"But to have walk'd into the thronging street,But to have sought the haunt where babblers meet,But to have pluck'd one idler by the sleeve,And asked, 'whowoo'd yon fairhair'd bride, to leave?'And street, and haunt, and every idler's tongue,Had given the name with which the slander rung—To me alone,—tomeof all the throng,The unnatural silence mask'd the face of wrong.But I had sworn! and, of myself in dread,From the loath'd scene, from mine own wrath, I fled.
"We left the land, in this a home we find.Home! by our hearth the cleaving curse is shrined!Distrust in her—and shame in me; and allThe unspoken past cold present hours recal;And unconfiding hearts, and smiles but rifeWith the bland hollowness of formal life!In vain my sacrifice, she fears me still!Vain her reprieve;—grief barr'd from vent can kill.And then, and then (O joy through agony!)My oath absolves me, and my arm is free!The lofty soul may oft forgive, I own,The lighter wrong that smites itself alone;But vile the nature, that when wrong hath marr'dAll the rich life it was our boast to guardBut weeps the broken heart and blasted name;—Here the mean pardon were the manhood's shame;And I were vilest of the vile, to liveTo see Calantha's grave—and to forgive:Forgive!"
There hung such hate upon that word,The weeping listener shudder'd as she heard,And sobb'd—
"Hush, hush! lest Man's eternal Foe}Hear thee, and tempt! Oh, never may'st thou know}Beside one deed of Guilt—how blest is guiltless Woe!"}Then, close, and closer, clinging to his side,Frank as the child, and tender as the bride,Words—looks—and tears themselves combine the balm,Lull the fierce pang, and steal the soul to calm!As holy herbs (that rocks with verdure wreathe,And fill with sweets the summer air they breathe,)In winter wither, only to revealDiviner virtues—charged with powers to heal,So are the thoughts of Love!—if Heaven is fair,Blooms for the earth, and perfumes for the air;—Is the Heaven dark?—doth sorrow sear the leaf?They fade from joy to anodynes for grief!From theme to theme she lures his thought afar,From the dark haunt in which its demons are;And with the gentle instinct which divinesInterest more strong than aught which Self entwinesWith its own suffering—changed the course of tears,And led him, child-like, through her own young years.The silent sorrows of a patient mind—Grief's loveliest poem, a soft soul resign'd,Charm'd and aroused——"O tell me more!" he cried;"Ev'n from the infant let me trace the bride.Of thy dear life I am a miser grown,And grudge each smile that did not gild my own;Look back—thyFather?Canst thou not recalHiskiss,hisvoice? Fair orphan! tell me all."
"My Father? No!" sigh'd Lucy; "at that nameStill o'er my mother's cheek the fever came;Thus, from the record of each earlier year,That household tie moved less of love than fear;Some wild mysterious awe, some undefinedInstinct of woe was with the name entwined.Lived he?—I knew not; knew not till the lastSad hours, when Memory struggled to the Past,And she—my dying mother—to my breastClasp'd these twain relics—let them speak the rest!"With that, for words no more she could command,She placed a scroll—a portrait—in his hand;And overcome by memories that could brookNot ev'n love's comfort,—veil'd her troubled look,And glided swiftly thence. Nor he detain'd:Spell bound, his gaze upon the portrait strain'd:That brow—those features! that bright lip, which smiledForth from the likeness!—Found Lord Arden's child!The picture spoke as if from Mary's tomb,Death in the smile and mockery in the bloom.The scroll, unseal'd—address'd the obscurer nameThat Arden bore, ere lands and lordship came;And at the close, to which the Indian's eyes}Hurried, these words:—}"In peace thy Mary dies;}Forgive her sternness in her sacrifice!}It had one merit—that I loved!and tillEach pulse is hush'd shall love, yet fly, thee still.Now take thy child! and when she clings with prideTo the strong shelter of a father's side,Tell her, a mother bought the priceless rightTo bless unblushing her she gave to light;Bought it as those who would redeem a pastMust buy—by penance, faithful to the last.Thorns in each path, a grave the only goal,Glides mine, atoning, to my father's soul!"
What at this swift revealment—dark and fastAs fleets the cloud-wrack, o'er the Indian past?No more is Lucy free with her sweet dower}Of love and youth! Another has the power}To bar the solemn rite, to blast the marriage bower.}"Will this proud Saxon of the princely lineYield his heart's gem to alien hands like mine?What though the blot denies his rank its heir:}The more his pride will bid his love repair}By loftiest nuptials—O supreme despair!}Shall I divulge the secret! shall I rear,Myself, the barrier,—and the bliss so near?"
He scorn'd himself, and raised his drooping crest:"Mine be Man's honour—leave to God the rest!"As thus his high resolve, a sudden cry}Startled his heart. He turn'd: Calantha by!}Why on the portrait glares her haggard eye?}
"Whose likeness this? Thou know'st not, brother? speak!What mean that clouded brow—that changing cheek?Thou know'st not!""Yes!"And as the answer came,With Death's strong terror shook the sister's frame,A bitterer pang, an icier shudder, ranThroughhisfierce nature—"Dostthouknow the man?Ha! his own tale! O dull and blinded! how,Flash upon flash, descends the lightning now!Thou, his forsaken—his! And I—who—nay!Look up Calantha; for, befal what may,He shall——"The promise, or the threat, was saidTo ears already deafen'd as the dead!His arm but breaks the fall: the panting breastYet heaves convulsive through the stifling vest.The robe, relax'd, bids doubt—if doubt yet be—Merge the last gleam in starless certainty!Lo there, the fatal gift of love and woeMiming without the image graved below—The same each likeness by each sufferer worn,Or differing but as noonday from the morn.In Lucy's portrait, manhood's earliest youthShone from the clear eye with a light like truth.There, play'd that fearless smile with which we meetThe sward that hides the swamp before our feet;The bright on-looking to the Future, ereOur sins reflect their own dark shadows there:—Calantha's portrait spoke of one in whom,Young yet in years; the heart had lost its bloom;The lip of joy the lip of pride had grown;It smiled—the smile we love to trust had flown.In the collected eye and lofty mienThe graver power experience brings was seen;Beautiful both; and if the manlier faceHad lost youth's candid and luxuriant grace,A charm as fatal as the first it wore,Pleased less—and yet enchain'd and haunted more.
And this the man to whom his heart had moved!Whose hand he had clasp'd, whose child he loved!—he loved!This, out of all the universe—O Fate!This, the dark orb, round which revolved his hate;This, the swart star malign, whose baleful rayRuled in his House of Life; and day by day,And hour by hour, upon the tortured pastOne withering, ruthless, demon influence cast!There writhes the victim—there, unmasking, nowThe invoked Alecto frowns from Arden's brow.O'er that fierce nature, roused so late from sleep,Course the black thoughts, and lash to storm the deep.Love flies dismay'd—the sweet delusions, drawnBy Hope, fade ghost-like in the lurid dawn;As when along the parch'd Arabian gloomLife prostrate falls before the dread Simoom,No human mercy the strong whirlwind faced,And its wrath reign'd sole monarch of the waste!