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Far Away 59 IV. Sorrow 83 V. Hope 107 VI. Happiness 129 VII. Love Eternal 145 PROLOGUE. A MAN'S HEART, TTOW oft through maze and wilderness of Art — Through regal and imperial galleries — The traveller roams for half a summer's day, Vacant and listless ; looking with strained eyes At landscapes worthy of Salvator's hand, At sweet Madonnas such as Guido loved, Or on such eloquent portraits, spirit-eyed, As great Vandyke or Rubens might have drawn. Yet though he looks, he sees not, save a crowd Blent as the sands on shore, or leaves in wold ; 10 A MAN'S HEART. Then sudden, by a flash, his careless will And wandering faculties are seized and fixed By some sweet face, where Love and Sorrow strive Which of the two shall sanctify it most ; Or by some ruder lineament of man, With power, and purpose, and relentless Fate, Seamed in each shaggy furrow of the brow. Then is he conquered — spell-bound — held in thrall- Until he throbs with inward sympathy, And knows them human, as he knows himself, By the fine fascination that he feels : — They challenge him to pass them, if he dare, And look upon him with mute, eloquent eyes, That seem to say, " Come, read our mystery !" Their glances follow him where'er he goes; And so he stands, spell-bound, to give them back Keen inquisition, and a stare for stare. He reads whole histories in their painted orbs, A MAN'S HEAKT, 11 And looks into the chambers of their house, And saith, " This woman loved, and suffered much," Or, " This man's pride was wounded to the quick In the fierce hates and battles of the world ; — This was pre-doomed to Misery as his dower ! " Or, " this died young — I see it in her eyes." He holds communion with them on the wall, And knows them better than his living friends. Oh, wondrous Art ! more wondrous Sympathy ! Such picture saw I in an ancient hall — The portrait of a lady with dark hair, And deep dark eyes, with lightnings in their depths ; And lips that seemed to quiver with a grief That Death itself was impotent to hide. The picture haunted me — possessed me quite, Like some sweet tune, bewildered in the brain, 12 A MAN'S HEART. That will not pass, though we should thrust it out A present spirit never to be laid In the far oceans of forgetfulness By any magic, or adjuring word Until its time ; when as it came — it goes — Strong in itself, defiant of our will. The spirit spake to me ; the likeness breathed ; I knew the lady and her inmost soul ; Saw her heart's mystery clearer than my own. Listen, and you shall learn it as I learned : A tale of Love and Sorrow,' — Sorrow and Love. When shall these twain be parted ? — Nevermore ! CANTO I. AMONG THE ELOWEKS, JHHWAS May — sweet May — the jocund English May- May, growing buxom in the breath of June, When, 'mid the grass besprent through all its green With gold and silver, — gold, the buttercups ; And silver, bossed with gold, and tipped with pink, The bounteous daisies, jewels of the poor, — Four sweeter blossoms of the teeming earth, Flow'rets of human kind, God's noblest gifts, Sported in sunshine, in the chequered glades Of Erlwood Park — a joyous company, Blithe as the birds, and fresh as morning dews. 16 A MAN'S HEART. [CANTO I. Two of the four were twins, and nine years old — Dissevered cherries from the selfsame stalk, And like as cherries to a stranger's eye. They chased the butterfly ; they clomb the trees ; They leaped the running stream, or lay them down With skyward faces, shaded by their arms, Weary and spent with frolic that had passed, Eager and ripe for frolic yet to come. Apart, their sister, seven sweet summers young, Sat pleased and happy underneath a thorn, That dropped its pink-eyed blossoms in her lap, A cherub and a seraph both in one. Around her forehead, twined amid her hair, She wore a wreath of daisies, newly plucked, And strung on rushes, by the master-hand Of one three summers older than herself — A black-eyed, rosy-cheeked, and pensive boy, Whose greatest joy was study of her face; CANTO I.] A MAN'S HEART. 17 And who had wov'n the wreath to crown her queen — Queen of his heart — which felt but did not know — For golden haze of youthful ignorance — The sorrowful joy, and feverish bliss of love, Prompting his thought, and sparkling in his eyes. Dear friends they were, although they wist not why, And close companions. " Sit quite still," he said, 11 Dear Edith: do not move your head an inch Till I have drawn your portrait." And he drew, With facile fingers, and a ready touch For one so young, a semblance of the maid, Crowned with her garland, and alight with smiles, And wrote beneath it, " Edith Bellenden, By Arthur Westwood, on a morn of May." " For me ? " she asked him, with inquiring eyes ; Then put the paper in her tiny breast 18 A man's heart. [canto I. And thanked him with a glance, a word — a kiss ; While he, the artist, proud of such a work, But prouder of acceptance, and reward, Restored the falling garland to her hair, And led her to her brothers, where they stood, Scaring with stones the minnows in the brook ; And said, " Behold her ; she's the Queen of May, And I 'm the King ! " Whereat one laughed and jeered : The other, all intent upon a trout Which he espied beneath a ledge of rock, Took off his shoes, and paddled in the stream, Heedless of brother, sister, and the world. Ten winters passed, and once again 'twas May : The boys were men, the maid was sweet seventeen ; And all were friends, as in the olden time. Rich were the Bellendens — surpassing rich : CANTO I.] A MAN'S HEART. 19 Compared with them young Westwood was but poor, Though rich enough to pass his morn of life To his own fancy, and the art he loved ; To show a fair exterior to the world, And seem, and be — an English gentleman. Two years, or ere his eyes beheld the morn, His father, stepping from a gondola, Stood in the market-place — an idle man, And watched the peasant girls of Friuli Bring flowers to flowerless Venice. Young and faij*, He roamed for pastime, master of himself, To study Art and Nature in the South. Here, as he loitered to refresh his soul With beauty fashioned in immortal stone ; Painted on canvas ; streaming from the sky ; Impermeate in all shapes of earth and heaven ; He saw a maiden lovelier than Art Had e'er imagined in its happiest dream ; b2 20 A man's heart. [canto I. With all Italia in her glowing face — Its beauty, passion, tenderness, and hope. He saw, admired, and fancied that he loved ; — Love born of idleness and young Romance ! He purchased roses and anemones, And bade her come to-morrow with fresh flowers, The choicest she could gather. Morrow came ; And with it came the maiden and her blooms ; Herself a rose and lily both in one ; Fairer than lily — redder than the rose, — And with a warmth of summer in her smiles Enough to ripen all the buds of spring. He overpaid her with too bounteous gold, Which she refused, with such a wealth of shame That he was awed ; and, more enamoured still, He sued for pardon like the veriest slave Who hath incensed a master that he loves, And cannot rest until his peace be made. CANTO I.] A MAN'S HEART. 21 She came no more to Venice. Every day He watched the arriving gondolas and barques, In hope to see the maid among her peers — A queen-like rose among mere daffodils ; But she, Francesca Pia, ne'er returned. He gazed upon the blue Friulian Alps, Snow-capped and sharp against the cloudless heaven, And thought how blissful all his days might be, Forgetting England and his ancient home, If in life's noon, he might, beloved of her, Dwell in the valleys, careless of the world. " He sought her — was repulsed — and sought again ; Till passion, like a flame by tempest fanned, Throve on obstruction, and consumed his soul. Thus did he live and suffer ; thus in pain Refine an idle fancy into love — Love golden — freed by Sorrow's fire from dross — Love purified — the love of soul to soul. 22 A MAN'S HEART. [CANTO I. And she took pity ; she — the peasant girl — Met the proud English stranger face to face, And gave her hand, like lady to a lord, Equal in love, and pride, and sacrifice, Superior in her purity of heart. Well she became her new-born dignity, Learned English from the lessons of her heart, And spake it with a prettiness of fault More lovely than perfection ; learned to sing, — And sung with such a gush of melody, That staid approval — of the English mood — Forgot itself in rapture. But she died, Pining for Italy ; a flower too fair To brave unscathed the winds of Northern skies, And harsh vicissitude of moist and cold ; — And Arthur Westwood never smiled again ; Or if he did, 'twas in his silent home, CANTO I.] A MAN'S HEART. 23 Where his young boy — her boy — her only child Smiled in his face and prattled at his knee, And brought before him vividly as life The fond eyes — the bright cheek — the tender voice — The breathing spirit of the sainted dead. Great was the mutual love of sire and son. To the boy's heart the father was a sage ; In wisdom and in goodness chi'ef of men ; — To the sire's heart the child was love alone, A love all innocence — half earth — half heaven — The link uniting both. So lived the twain In a fair cottage on the green hill slope, Embowered 'mid clambering roses. All who passed Admired the outward grace and inward calm Of their secluded nest. Around it spread Elm, beech, and oak, and delicate silver birch, And all the stateliest trees of English growth ; — 24 A MAN'S HEART. [CANTO I. And in the spring, the lilac and the ash, Laburnum and the bridal-vestured haw Scattered their brightest blooms and richest balms. Few were the friends who had the privilege To enter ..their abode : — the Vicar first, The guest most welcome to the widower's hearth, Of tastes congenial. Bolh loved Art, and books, Music, and ever-dear Philosophy — Such as those know it, who on mountain tops Look on the little wranglers far adown — And sun themselves, bare-headed, to the Truth That beams upon them from the upper sky ; — Philosophy — twin-born with Piety, That teaches love to God with love to man. And next Sir Thomas Bellenden ; though rare Were his intrusions on the quiet haunt Of one so different in his walk of thought, CANTO I.] A MAN'S HEAKT. 25 So lost to all the warfare of the world, So alien to its pride, its pomp, its care. Within a mile of Westwood's cottage stood The Hall of Erl wood, with its towers antique, Seen through an arching avenue of elms ; The park — a thousand acres — swarmed with deer ; And in its thickest groves a heronry- Gave life to the upper air. Within its bound Rose many a hollow and rough-rinded oak, That still put forth its leaflets to the spring, Though mouldy leases of King Charles's day Based on tradition, deemed them centuries old Ere stout King Harry wedded Anne Boleyn, And from fat Abbeys dispossessed the monks. Here dwelt Sir Thomas three months in the year ; — Playing the squire — or as he thought, the lord — A very lord in all things but the rank. The great Sir Thomas ! — If his name were heard 26 A man's heart. [canto I. At Lloyd's, the Exchange, in Bank, or Counting House, In London, Paris, Hamburg, or New York, The rich and poor all gave it reverence ; And struggling merchants drew a longer breath, And sighed to think what tides and seas of wealth Poured in his coffers, while to theirs, agape, Fell but the scanty rain or vanishing dew ! And if that name, a scarcely legible scrawl, Promised to pay a million on demand, The bankers of all cities in the world Would count it freely at a million's worth, And give or take it readily as gold. The great Sir Thomas ! It were hard to say On what far oceans never sailed his ships, Laden with costly ventures, well insured ; In what old channels of perennial trade His profits did not run ; or in what new He did not tap the founts of enterprise, CANTO I.] A MAN'S HEAKT. 27 And bear away the draught from thirstier lips. His name was in the mouths of busy men, Spoken in every language known to Trade ; And never spoken but with such respect As traders ever feel for those who pay, And the weak strive to render to the strong. This prosperous man was in his prime of years, Had health and strength, the admiring world's ap- plause ; — Two sons to be partakers of his toil, And raise to nobler heights his tower of wealth ; A daughter, lovely, innocent, rose-ripe — The joy, the charm, the jewel of his life ; And though the world might sometimes pity him — That Edith's birth was loss of her who bore — His love, if e'er he felt it, had expired When his young wife was taken to the grave, And dwelt not even in his memory. 28 A man's heart. [canto I. All else was his, wealth and the will to spend, Taste, education, and a liberal hand, A seat in Parliament, an eloquent tongue, And power to sway the councils of the realm. And yet this man, so seeming fortunate, Pined with a secret sorrow for a toy. The potent Minister, who ruled the State And moulded plastic factions to his will, Scorned with a gentle, but invincible scorn, The frivolous herd whose service might be bought With ribands, garters, coronets, and stars : And when Sir Thomas, as the sole reward Of vote, and speech, and ready influence, Asked for a peerage, gave him for reply A vague half-promise and his blandest smile : The promise meaningless, if 'twere not false — The smile another promise, vaguer still. CANTO I.] A MAN'S HEART. 29 Hope was his comforter, which comforts all. Should not his sons in fulness of their hour, Sit by his side to vote and legislate ? One for the county, ravished at a blow From the Fitz-Nevilles, Earls of little wealth, Who jobbed it for the pickings of the State ? The other, destined for the county town, To win it by his talents, if he could — If not, — to buy it ; — yet not seem to buy ? Then should the Premier at his peril dare To scorn the claim, made strong by three good votes — Then should his honours glitter on his brow, And the calm evening of his sunny day Glow in a purple splendour to its close. If this hope failed him, had he not his child, His lovely Edith, docile as a fawn — On whom Fitz-Neville, hale, though past his prime, Looked with the favouring eye of sage resolve, 30 A man's heart. [canto I. And deemed her paragon of all her sex — Kind, good, and beautiful, his soul's true star — The magnet of his fortunes and his hopes ? Thus, if no peer, he might be sire of peers. The Earl once scorned hioi as too lowly born ; — But that was past ; and if his Edith chose To wear the coronet, the day should come When he, the princely trader, should* restore The tarnished splendour of an ancient house, And place it high in fortune as in rank. Much he preferred the peerage for himself — Due tribute to his greatness. " What," he asked, " Is this proud Earl, who holds his head so high? — The tenth descendant of a random boy, Who studied law and ripened to a judge, When good Queen Bess sought merit in the mire, And set it up aloft ; and if such boy Could found a peerage centuries ago, CANTO I.] A MAN'S HEAET. 31 Why not a merchant of the present time, With wealth enough to buy a score of Earls ? " Thus did he dream, and calculate, and dream, And sacrifice the substance of to-day For empty shadows of a day to come. And now, 'tis morning, and the month is May ; And through the sunny glades of Erlwood Park Flits beauty in its fairest human shape. For Edith loves the country, and has left London, the Court, the Opera, the Ball, To have one month with nature and the sun ; And then, again, to high festivity And all the weary overheated life, That Fashion loves. Sir Thomas cannot come, Save from a Saturday till Monday morn, For the State needs him, or the Minister ; — And are they not the same ? — to vote and speak, 32 A MAN'S HEART. [CANTO I. And help to save that old and fabulous Ship Which never sinks; though politicians say 'Tis always sinking when the Whigs are in, And always foundering when the Whigs are out. The Westwoods are at honie, as is their wont, The smoke curls bluely from their sylvan bower ; And Arthur angles in the Erlwood brook, Or carves initials on the beechen rind, Or carols to himself his own new song, On " the old, old story" — old as human hearts. The ancient Abbey is aflare with life Of servants and retainers. Edith's aunt Keeps stately house; and Edith's milk-white doe, Pet of the park, and wild to all but her, Follows its gentle mistress o'er the lawn, And nibbles dainties from her coaxing hand. The flag floats from the turret, that the world — CANTO L] A MAN'S HEART. 33 A little world, but large to villagers — May learn that great Sir Thomas is at home ; And give him — if it meet him — what he loves ; — Homage, that vassals render to their lords, And such as common souls, who dwell in cots, Should yield to those who dwell in palaces, And give them Christmas coals and good advice. CANTO II. UNDER THE TREES, C 2 Under tin ®wm. " fTHE old face," said his father, bending low Over the easel, where the picture stood — Queen Berengaria, Coeur de Lion's love, Girding her lord to fight the Saracen — " A sweet face — well designed ; but are there none But dark-haired, dark-eyed beauties in the world, Mere counterfeits of Edith Bellenden, Like as a rose to rose — or star to star ? " " I strove," said Arthur, " when I planned this work- My master-piece, my favourite, my best— 38 A man's heart. [canto II. To paint another face, another form ; — But all in vain ; the colours would not blend Obedient to my will ; the rebel hand, Knowing the face I loved, broke through my law. Not Richard's queen, but my queen — my sole star — Lived on the canvas in my mind's despite. So, when I painted, half a year ago, Godiva pleading with Earl Leofric To stay the plague of taxes, 'twas the same. I traced fair hair ; but, lo ! the locks grew dark ; The blue eyes kindled into passionate black, And the old face — the dear face — best beloved — The type and model of mild womanhood, Looked on me smiling. Do you think it like ? " " Ay," said his father; " yet it wants the soul Of childhood, girlhood, womanhood — all mixed, Which Edith wears, as summer wears its bloom." " Alas ! " said Arthur, " it defies all Art CANTO II.] A MAN'S HEART. 39 To paint such living loveliness as hers. Not one expression, or one soul divine Has my beloved — but a thousand souls, All peering through the splendours of her eyes, And each, ere you can fix it in your thought, Sparkling away to one more lustrous still : Pity, and Charity, and infinite Love, Sweet Mirth and sweeter Sadness, on her lips, Follow each other in one throb of Time. Art would reflect them ; but its mirror, dull As the breeze-ruffled bosom of a lake, Unresting, insufficient, fails to show The evanescent multitudinous charms That live, and change, and die, and live anew On all the radiant landscape of her mind." There passed a shadow on the father's face ; His own warm youth and passionate impulses 40 A man's heart. [canto II. And bright unreason rose before his mind, Reviving in his son, with added fires ; — Italian fervour linked with English heart. " Arthur," he said, " we '11 go to Italy ; A year of travel in the balmy South Will give me health and spirits which I lack, And you the opportunity, long sought, Of study in the paradise of Art. We '11 go to Florence, Milan, Naples, Rome, And end with Venice, which I love so well." " Your will be my mine, father," said the son, While sudden pallor overspread his cheek, Then passed, and left it ruddy as before ; " Next week — ay, or to-morrow if you will — Whate'er you deem shall be the best for you, That also shall be very best for me." And the sire smiled the smile he seldom wore — The silvery radiance of a mind at ease ; CANTO II.] A MAN'S HEART. 41 And both departed to their several tasks — The father to his organ 'mid his books, To form sweet harmonies on minor keys, Breathing a heavenly joy through human pain ; — To dally with the thronging melodies That came unbidden to his finger-tips, Each with a meaning, dying in its birth, A riddle, and a mystery, and a charm ; — The son to work upon his master-piece — To imitate the features that he loved, And fix the well-known heart-bewildering charm Indelible on canvas. All in vain ! — The mind was with the Nature, not the Art, And gave no guidance to the listless hand. " I cannot paint ! I cannot read ! I'll walk Forth in the sunny air to Erlwood Park ; And if I meet her, 'twill be well; — if not, 42 A man's heart. [canto II. I'll sit and dream beneath the beechen tree Whereon, three springs ago, I carved her name — The twin initials intertwined with mine. Happy conjunction ! Lo ! with moss o'ergrown, Green as the leaves above, they nourish still !" Ah, well he knew the road that she would take, The road, the by-path, and the hour o' th' day, Her footfall on the grass, the flowering thorn That she would stop at, and select a twig To place upon her bosom, like a gem Which he, who knew it, on such holy place, Would gladly purchase at a ruby's price ; — A mile off he descried her glancing robes ; A mile off saw her favourite milk-white doe Bounding before, or eating from her hand The tender shoots from branches she had plucked, Or beech-nuts hoarded ere the winter days. CANTO H.] A MAN'S HEART. 43 And nearer as she drew he saw her hair Freshly dishevelled to the western breeze, That came and went amid its lucent threads, As in the strings of the Eolian harp Passes the night wind ; but all noiselessly Making a silent music in his thought. Nearer ! still nearer ! 'tis her tread he hears Amid the daisies ! 'Tis her silken robe Rustling the wayside grasses ! 'Tis her voice, A palpable music on the morning air ! And lo ! she reads ; — a book ? — No ! hush ; poor heart, Thou knowest what she reads, or soon shalt know ! Love's fondest meetings have the fewest words. Wer't not for silence, or the touch of hands, Or glance of mingling eyes, how could the soul Convey its meanings ? Language can but hint Darkly and vaguely what the spirit feels. — 44 A man's heart. [canto II. These two were happy. Though no word of love Came from the lips of either, love was breathed. Though vows were not imagined, vows were made ; And when at last the one great subject came To the coy tongue, 'twas but in subterfuge, Or skilful acting of a delicate play, Cunningly plotted to an end foreknown. "I've read thy verse," said Edith as they sat Together on the sward beneath the tree, And drew the folded paper from her breast ; 11 But let the poet read the poet's thought ; 'Tis fire of soul that makes the fire of speech, And songs come freshest from the lips of bards." He took the paper, blushing. Happy he Who had not in the moil and wear of life Dulled the fine spirit in the sensitive blood Which brought it gushing, flood-like, to his cheeks. CANTO II.] A MAN'S HEART. 45 To be so praised by her, and so besought. Was it not as sweet sunshine to the ground When all the flowers leap up to kiss the spring ; — Or sight of land to weary mariners When merry bells peal welcome from the shore ? He blushed for pride, and deeper blushed for shame ; Then taking courage, read the maid the tale With quivering voice — husky at times for tears ; But with an emphasis, well barbed and aimed, To reach the guarded fortress of her heart, And win an entrance through some narrow chink That guileless Pity had forgot to close. 46 A man's heart. [canto II.