Wildly he cried—'What words are these?—but one
Sentence I ask—her sire should call thee son! Hist, let the heavens but hear us!—in her life Another lives—if pure she is thy wife! Now answer!'
I had answer'd, as became
The native manhood and the knightly name;
But shall I own it? the suspicious chill,
The world-wise know, froze up the arrested will.
Whose but her lips, sworn never to betray, Had fail'd their oath, and dragg'd my name to day? True, she had left the veil upon the shrine, But set the snare to make confession mine. Thus half resentment, half disdain, repell'd The man's frank justice, and the truth withheld. Yet, so invoked, I scorn'd at least the lie, And met the question with this proud reply:— 'If thou dost doubt thy child, depart secure, My love is sinless, and her soul is pure. This by mine honour, and to Heaven, I swear! Dost thou ask more?—then bid thy child declare; What she proclaims as truth, myself will own; What she withholds, alike I leave unknown; What she demands, I am prepared to yield; Now doubt or spurn me—but my lips are seal'd.' I ceased, and stood with haughty mien and eye, That seem'd all further question to defy; He gazed, as if still spell'd in hope or fear, And hungering for the word that fail'd the ear. At last, and half unconscious, in the thrall Of the cold awe, he groan'd—
'And is this all?
Courage, poor child—there may be justice yet—
Justice, Heaven, justice!'
With this doubtful threat
He turn'd, was gone!—that look of stern despair,
The uncertain footstep tottering down the stair,
The clapping door; and then that void and chill,
Which would be silence, were the conscience still;
That sense of something gone, we would recall;
The soul's dim stun before it feels its fall.
VII.
"Next day, the sire my noble kinsman sought;
One ruling senates must be just, he thought.
What chanced, untold—what follow'd may declare: }
Behold me summon'd to my uncle's chair! }
See his cold eye—I saw my ruin there! } I saw and shrunk not, for a sullen pride Embraced alike the kinsman and the bride: Scorn'd here, the seeming snare by cunning set; And there, coarse thraldom, with rebellion met.
"Brief was my Lord—
'An old man tells me, sir,
You woo his child, to wed her you demur;
Who knows, perhaps (and such his shrewd surmise),
The noose is knit—you but conceal the ties!
Please to inform me, ere I go to court,
How stands the matter?—sir, my time is short.'
"'My Lord,' I answer'd, with unquailing brow,
'Not to such ears should youth its faults avow;
And grant me pardon if I boldly speak,
Youth may have secrets honour shuns to seek.
I own I love, proclaim that love as pure!
If this be sin—its sentence I endure.
All else belongs unto that solemn shrine,
In the veil'd heart, which manhood holds divine.
Men's hearths are sacred, so our laws decree;
Are hearts less sacred? mine at least is free.
Suspect, disown, forsake me, if thou wilt;
I prize the freedom where thou seest the guilt.'
My kinsman's hand half-shaded the keen eye,
Which glanced askant;—he paused in his reply.
At length, perchance, his practised wit foresaw
Threats could not shake where interest fail'd to awe;
And judged it wise to construe for the best
The all I hid, the little I confess'd;
Calmly he answer'd—
'Sir, I like this heat;
Duper or duped, a well-bred man's discreet;
Take but this hint (one can't have all in life),
You lose the uncle if you win the wife.
In this, you choose Rank, Station, Power, Career;
In that, Bills, Babies—and the Bench, I fear.
Hush;—'the least said' (old proverb, sir, but true!)—
As yet your fault indulgently I view.
Words—notes (sad stuff!)—some promise rashly made—
Action for breach—that scandal must be stay'd. I trust such scrapes will teach you to beware; 'Twill cost some hundreds—that be my affair. Depart at once—to-morrow—nay, to-day: When fairly gone, there will be less to pay!' So spoke the Statesman, whom experience told The weight of passion in the scales of gold. Pleased I escape, but how reprieve enjoy? One word from her distrusted could destroy! Yet that distrust the whispering heart belied, Self ceased, and anger into pity died; I thought of Mary in her desolate hour, And shudder'd at the blast, and trembled for the flower. Why not go seek her?—chide the impatient snare; } Or if faith linger'd, win it to forbear? } Now was the time, no jealous father there! } Swift as the thought impell'd me, I obey'd! 'Tis night; once more I greet the moonlit shade; Once more I see the happy murmuring rill; The white cot bower'd beneath the pastoral hill! An April night, when, after sparkling showers, The dewy gems betray the cradled flowers, As if some sylphid, startled from her bed In the rath blossom by the mortal's tread, Had left behind her pearly coronal.— Bright shone the stars on Earth's green banquet-hall; You seem'd, abroad, to see, to feel, to hear The new life flushing through the virgin year; The visible growth—the freshness and the balm; The pulse of Nature throbbing through the calm; As wakeful, over every happy thing, Watch'd through the hush the Earth's young mother—Spring! Calm from the lattice shot a steady ray; } Calm on the sward its silvery lustre lay; } And reach'd, to glad the glancing waves at play. } I stood and gazed within the quiet room;— Gazed on her cheek;—there, spring had lost its bloom! Alone she sate! Alone!—that worn-out word, So idly spoken, and so coldly heard; Yet all that poets sing, and grief hath known, Of hope laid waste, knells in that word—Alone!
"Who contemplates, aspires, or dreams, is not
Alone: he peoples with rich thoughts the spot.
The only loneliness—how dark and blind!—
Is that where fancy cannot dupe the mind;
Where the heart, sick, despondent, tired with all,
Looks joyless round, and sees the dungeon wall;
When even God is silent, and the curse
Of torpor settles on the universe;
When prayer is powerless, and one sense of dearth
Abysses all, save solitude, on earth! So sate the bride!—the drooping form, the eye Vacant, yet fix'd—that air which Misery, The heart's Medusa, hardens into stone, Sculptured the Death which dwelleth in the lone! Oh, the wild burst of joy—the life that came } Swift, brightening, bounding through the lips and frame, } When o'er the floors I stole, and whisper'd soft her name! } 'Come—come at last! Oh, rapture!' Who can say Why meaner natures hold mysterious sway Over the nobler? Why mine orb malign Ruled as a fate a spirit so divine; Giving or light or darkness all its own Unto a star so near the Sapphire Throne?
"'So thou art come!'
'Hush! say whose lips reveal'd