TkssfONXTL: 
 
 
 
 /W-^ 
 
 ,,..^^ 
 
 ^K^* 
 
 v.. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Slielf...|r:f-3 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
f:*i^'^:5R^ 
 
 ::l^ip^^^^^ 
 
NONDESCRIPT; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THB PASSIONATE RKCI^USK. 
 
 BY 
 
 y 
 
 MARTHA EILEEN HDLAHAN. 
 
 Hide me up from my own despair. 
 And the ghost of a dream I dreamed !" 
 
 Owen Meredith. 
 
 PRESS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, 
 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 1889. 
 
. Ms 
 
 Copyright, 1888, by Martha Eileen Holahan. 
 
TO THE MOTHER 
 
 FROM WHOSE HALLOWED LOVE WAS DRAWN 
 
 WHATEVER OF STRENGTH OR BEAUTY 
 
 THIS VOLUME MAY POSSESS, 
 
 I DEDICATE IT 
 
 IN ALL LOVE AND REVERENCE. 
 
 M. E. H. 
 
I. 
 
"\X7H0 breathes there that has never heard 
 A bird-song from some song-bird's throat? 
 
 Where beats that heart, grown old, ne'er stirred 
 By passion's song or sorrow's note, 
 Some time, some place, by some hand smote ? 
 
 Who so short-lived that hath not seen 
 
 Night's veil drawn close o'er daytime green ; 
 Nor ever watched the shadows rise — 
 
 Conquered by Time's bloodless sword, 
 
 And full atoning sunshine poured. 
 
 Where lately frowned those opaque skies? 
 
 (7) 
 
NONDESCRIPT: OR, 
 
 Is there a bliss as yet undreamt, 
 
 Which future sleep may bring to sight? 
 Hides yet a woe, uncouth, unkempt, 
 Man has not battled on some night, 
 And conquered, else resigned the fight, 
 When taunting goblin-shapes crept up. 
 To press upon him Lethe's cup? 
 
 Should there be weal or woe, alas ! 
 Undrained to dregs of the revealed, 
 In which frail sense hath not yet reeled, 
 Ah, man — beware that fated glass! 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 
 
 For me, Time's glass holds only dregs ; 
 
 Yet life I sipped once — thirstily ; 
 And who drank thus, no pity begs 
 
 Nor needs from such cold-blooded ye 
 
 As drink but in a half-degree; — 
 Whose feelings all too meagre seem 
 For love or hate's intense extreme. 
 
 Hate from the heart is roughly drawn ; 
 But love — ah, 'tis a tempting flood, 
 More dangerous than the crimson blood 
 
 Young cubs first taste, then feast upon ! 
 
lO NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 Deep dips yon sun; and I would fain 
 
 Dip deeper, — deeper into — where? 
 Ah, if 'twere whence might come again 
 Some echo of those strains which were 
 Divine, till Fate crept from her lair, 
 And spat upon that which could ape 
 So well a man — in all but shape! 
 
 Unravelled soon for me this maze 
 Called life. And fit 'tis none shall weep 
 O'er that which, like a rat, would creep, 
 And die, as live, beyond their gaze. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. u 
 
 The mountain winds wail. Is it grief 
 
 Which drifts adown yon rocky brow? 
 Does woe, which would not win belief 
 
 In haunts of men below, I trow. 
 
 Disturb the nightfall wildly now? 
 Could Nature pity Fate's buffoon, 
 And hail his late release a boon 
 
 Long stayed? Beneath cold mountain chrisms, 
 Unseen by man, my face shall blanch, — 
 Ay, freight the next mad avalanche 
 
 That seeks a grave in black abysms. 
 
1 2 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 'Tis mortal's birthright to be made 
 
 In semblance of his maker — God. 
 But some demon of lightning played 
 Down my predestined mite of sod, 
 And I was born a satyr — clod! 
 At sight of me, she shrieked to death, 
 Who had conveyed — and left me, breath ! 
 
 I've often thought if she had not. 
 With that one cry, gone back to clay. 
 In pity she had loved some day 
 The hideous thing her love begot. 
 
THE PASSIONATB RECLUSE. 13 
 
 Not mine the fault; but mine the curse 
 
 Of a pre-natal mishap; and 
 The rigid laws of birth, — the worse, — 
 
 The more conspicuous, that command 
 
 Must fall in such a wretch's hand! 
 God! in that awful natal hour 
 How easy 'twere to crush my power, 
 
 And leave behind no ghastly trace 
 Of how a mother forms her child — 
 Serene and fair, else gruesome, wild, 
 
 Before the father sees its face! 
 
14 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 Weeds faster grow than flowers bloom; 
 
 The former earn but dire disgust, 
 Yet riot in their darkling gloom 
 
 As blossoms in their loamy dust. 
 
 But, ah, the difference ! Is it just, 
 Since neither holds intrinsic power 
 To cull itself a weed or flower, 
 
 Unless 'twere fated so? Apace, 
 And cunning-brained I quickly grew; 
 Deformed and hideous I knew, 
 
 From looking in some other face. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 15 
 
 For never face could on me gaze 
 
 And quite control its muscled move; 
 Strange fear within wide orbs would blaze, 
 
 Else loathing dire would features groove. 
 
 Pah! what could common thoughts behoove, 
 Now, when I shall so soon go out 
 To cross this madding tide of Doubt? 
 
 A grim tarantula freak of Fate, 
 All disproportioned from the start, — 
 Each part at war with every part, — 
 
 Beyond — could Heaven compensate? 
 
l6 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 For all the needs of class and race, 
 
 Of every hue is haply made 
 Provision of some fitting place, 
 
 'Mid kith and kin of common shade; 
 
 'Mid hearts and haunts of kindred grade; 
 But ne'er the eye of public scorn 
 Finds fit place for its darkly born! 
 
 They thrive — Sin's time-prepoisoned worth; 
 Upon each stamped a blacker stain 
 Than ever dyed the brow of Cain, 
 
 To curse anew their cursed birth. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 17 
 
 Had I been driven on the flood 
 
 Of Youth's mad course — thus given sway, 
 And recking slight the stain of blood, 
 
 Until — some retributive day, 
 
 Its consequences bar the way, — 
 Not blood such as within the heart's 
 Recesses throbs, and subtly starts 
 
 To meet the sword's point, cold and keen. 
 But such as shrivels o'er the flame 
 Of man's abasement, woman's shame, — 
 
 A thing more vile I had not been. 
 
 b 2* 
 
II 
 
HTHE gray walls of Chateau Bonpli 
 For ages have o'erlooked that tide 
 Which pulses in the opal sea 
 'Gainst Normandy's fair southern side, 
 To break where dulse and driftwood hide. 
 With arms outstretched the dark reefs press 
 Coquettish waves, — that mock caress, — 
 
 And dumb they list, while each reveals 
 A tale of many loves. So man — 
 Whose passion lies far deeper than 
 Its speaking — passion's self conceals! 
 
 (21) 
 
22 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 Too deep for speaking throbbed my grief. 
 
 Alone, unknown, I ever nursed 
 Wild waves of fancy, like a thief 
 
 In whom emotion e'en was cursed. 
 
 Pah ! Was it strange my full heart burst ? 
 That passion — music — maddened it. 
 And soothed into calm's counterfeit? 
 
 For 'neath my child-hands, light as air, 
 The wildest, weirdest notes would shriek 
 Such woe as lips could never speak; 
 
 Then softly die, as zither prayer. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 23 
 
 Deep then — unseen — my head would fall, 
 
 And mad tears down my hot cheeks pour — 
 In streams — to swell the cup of gall 
 
 Forced on my lips forevermore. 
 
 Oh, had it swept me to some shore 
 Plutonian dark, by earthquakes ripped — 
 Fit for the hapless nondescript 
 
 Of every clime, — where none might be 
 Contrasted with shapes angel fair, 
 And by that contrast made aware 
 
 How bitter his own destiny! 
 
24 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 Sage! rare, transfigured Socrates! 
 
 Thy soul was lined with eloquence 
 Which hid thy shape! Like spring-high seas, 
 
 Thy words flowed down the heart, and whence 
 
 They would, — sweet, passionate, intense, — 
 And moved thy hearers with strange pain, 
 Contending joy, and yearning vain. 
 
 The drinker recks that in each bowl 
 The lees are hidden by the wine. 
 So haply 'twas, methinks, with mine 
 
 Ere that it slipped the gods* control. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 25 
 
 What booted wealth and title, when 
 
 I quick had bartered all, to hold 
 The face and form of common men, 
 
 Instead of luxury and gold? 
 
 What booted that my name controlled 
 Much power? — that a heart beat warm 
 'Neath satyr-face and satyr-form? 
 
 For they who sought my door in greed, 
 
 In superstitious terror ran. 
 
 Nor deemed such uncouth creature man 
 
 That would have fain relieved their need. 
 b 3 
 
26 NONDESCRIPT: OR, 
 
 { 
 
 What wonder that my thoughts grew dark 
 
 With bitterness toward all mankind 
 
 And God? That hate illumined a spark 
 
 Of murderous material, shrined 
 
 Within that altar of the mind, 
 
 On which a soul is born, they say, 
 
 While all its levers shroud in clay. 
 
 A thing condemned ere birth, — outlawed 
 By Fate, I kept within the space 
 Of my domain, and cowled my face 
 
 And cloaked my shape whene'er abroad. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 27 
 
 One friend I had ! His love for me 
 
 Made him my constant body-guard; 
 He will not weep my destiny, 
 He never knew my being marred 
 He'll trail— that faithful St. Bernard- 
 No step of master more, I ween. 
 O'er sun-kissed rocks and dew-wet green; 
 
 For by this hand — he felt no yoke, 
 And oft hath lapped — ^that friend was slain. 
 The head I will not pat again 
 
 Shall feel no stranger's sterner stroke. 
 
28 NONDESCRIPT: OR, 
 
 The eventide drifts in; and I 
 
 Upon its ebbing fain would leave 
 
 The land, — fain hear a lullaby, 
 
 In sparry caves, where Naiads grieve 
 Above that sea-weed shroud they weave 
 
 For her I loved; who loved not me, — 
 
 Nay, shrank from, — feared. O fawning sea! 
 Of all the forms that you caress. 
 
 The fairest, hers ; and mine she was, 
 
 Had Nature in her natal laws 
 
 Not wrecked my right to happiness. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE, 
 
 Ye gentler moulded love the sun, 
 
 The balmy south breeze, and the flow 
 Of timid brooks that tinkling run 
 
 And end their course serene. Not so 
 With souls afire. The copper glow, 
 The rush, the roar, the clash, the strife 
 Of storm, finds sympathy where life 
 Is inly cursed. The furious rain, 
 The boom of breakers, and the black 
 Frown of a fire-rent, driving wrack, 
 Seem echoed from that inner pain. 
 
 29 
 
30 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 Wild were the winds which fanned that day- 
 
 That day of days ! Upon a rock 
 I stood, and gloried in the fray 
 
 Of earth and sky. Why came no shock- 
 Ah, why did not all fair things mock, 
 And Jove smite with his sulph'rous ire, 
 Then, ere my heart drew deeper fire? 
 " Hold ! 'Tis a creature yon afloat ; 
 See! in the foaming furrows wide, 
 A woman! — swept in by the tide, 
 
 Else these mine eyes all falsely note!" 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 31 
 
 Then to my friend I called out: "Forth! 
 
 Yon which the sea may not resign, 
 Tear from its clasp." ..." Good Hector, worth 
 
 More friends, more trust than me and mine. 
 
 Well done!" The long, dank tresses shine; 
 Her eyes are closed as if in sleep, — 
 "Ah, Hector, yon's a cruel deep; 
 
 And holds full many a form like this !" — 
 Like this? Nay, surely, not so fair: 
 Yet fair are all to fond hearts where 
 
 They wake the chords of raptured bliss. 
 
32 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 Who loves, that loved not at first glance ? 
 I worshipped in it. Men well used 
 
 To love, love different, perchance. 
 
 To that strange yearning which enthused 
 My heart; and every fibre cruised 
 
 In search of deeper joy, more pain. 
 
 With which to freight the leaping vein ! 
 
 Men have a right to love; but who 
 
 « 
 
 From love was barred, drew close my cowl 
 And shivered, lest she see how foul 
 The fiend that back her spirit drew ! 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 33 
 
 Of heaven I oft had madly railed, 
 
 And yet of heaven had often dreamed; 
 
 But when those wondrous eyes, unveiled, 
 Upon my floating senses gleamed 
 Its glory; with its visions teemed 
 
 My brain. Remembrance swept away, 
 
 I bent — if not man, surely clay! 
 Ah, how slow feet of Vigil flee. 
 
 When hotly urged by mad suspense, — 
 
 The meagre space 'twixt here and hence, 
 Who leans o'er Death alone can see! 
 
III. 
 
POR weeks within Chateau Bonpli, 
 
 And half within Death's hold she lay; 
 Now railing at the moaning sea, 
 
 Else raving — miles and miles away — 
 Of sailor life and childhood's day, 
 Though every power skill could assume 
 Was stretched to snatch her from the tomb. 
 
 Each pain of hers was woe of mine. 
 A piteous thing, down by her side 
 I knelt, wan-lipped and haggard-eyed, 
 Acknowledging a hand divine. 
 
 4 (37) 
 
38 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 Unlucky he who has not loved; 
 
 He is accursed who loves too well; 
 For by each wave of fancy moved, 
 
 Extreme his life — 'tis heaven and hell 
 
 Alternate! Veins within him swell 
 With crimson rapture; else with woe 
 Shrink, till the pale blood scarce can flow 
 
 Adown their channel. While dreams last 
 Reality they are, — a creed 
 Which mocks at time and scoffs at need. 
 
 And soars away — till sleep hath passed. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 
 
 How oft we pause within the gloam, — 
 
 Grown grateful cool, — to wonder at 
 The mid-day heat, when heaven's dome 
 So fiercely bent above us that 
 We breathed as in a brazen vat! 
 Full often lips that never part 
 Hold deeper prayers within the heart. 
 
 For comes a time when doctor's lore 
 Must stand aside, and idly wait 
 The shutting of Death's silent gate, 
 Or opening of Life's fateful door! 
 
 39 
 
40 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 One glorious day, when all around 
 And far the cool, deep forest spread. 
 
 And when the valley's fertile ground 
 Was one continuous, dazzling bed 
 Of flowers, suddenly the tread 
 
 Of hoofs impatient echoed hard 
 
 Along the shaded boulevard, — 
 
 Before the entrance gate drew rein 
 
 A man, of form erect, superb; 
 And proud, dark face, whose will might curb, 
 If aught could curb, its own disdain ! 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 4] 
 
 My waiting groom received his steed, 
 
 Which fiery pawed the level sand, — 
 A noble beast, and like, indeed. 
 
 His master, brooking slight command. 
 
 His hoofs just touched, then spurned the sand; 
 And in his dark eye spirit flashed, 
 From which the groom shrank back abashed 
 
 With fear. The rider's quick advance — 
 Grand, haughty, bold, in spurs and cloak — 
 A cold foreboding in me woke. 
 
 Who should this — Nay, no guest of chance ! 
 
42 NONDESCRIPT: OR, 
 
 "The peasants tell that this chateau 
 Contains a waif, snatched from the tide, 
 
 Whose face, like flawless cameo, 
 Stands clear o'er every face beside. 
 In contour, coloring, and pride. 
 
 Her hair, that mocked the sunset's tint. 
 
 Veiled well her form, in halo-glint. 
 The tale came from a fishing crew 
 
 My yacht o'ertook in yonder bay. 
 
 I scarce dare hope, monsieur, it may — 
 'Twere too much joy! — ^be strictly true." 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE, 43 
 
 Mayhap some fiend of mockery 
 
 Put on my tongue that wanton lie; 
 Perhaps 'twas recompense to see 
 
 Another suffer, e'en as I; 
 
 Perhaps, although mine eyes were dry, 
 My heart was weeping, lest their sight 
 Be robbed of all we mean by light. 
 
 Perhaps I had some inner mind 
 To prison that which would remain 
 Until its wing but healed again! 
 
 What odds? Who reads the passing wind? 
 
44 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 I slowly shook my head, as one 
 
 Who would recall some past event, 
 Yet fears its issue vainly spun. 
 
 Those fierce eyes, 'neath his dark brows pent. 
 
 But firmer fixed my mad intent. 
 " I can recall none such," I said, 
 "I fear, m'sieu, she must be dead. 
 
 'Tis peasant's thirst each tale to strain, 
 And every shadow deem a ghost, — 
 And every one a countless host. 
 
 I fear, nay, know your search is vain." 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 45 
 
 " I had scarce dared to hope," he said, 
 
 And yet that he had hoped I knew, 
 When from his eye the quick spark fled, 
 
 And from his dark cheek anguish drew 
 
 Its color. Haggard, old he grew. 
 And staggered as if 'neath a weight. 
 Slowly he groped back toward the gate; 
 
 Slowly, — as he were opium-dazed. 
 Took place upon his noble steed. 
 That plunged away, like arrow freed; 
 
 And ne'er the rider backward gazed. 
 
IV. 
 
PVE'S veil fell softly down, and grayed 
 The brow of Light, the eyes of Space. 
 
 Slow o'er a harp my fingers strayed; 
 The cowl was lifted from my face, 
 For, in the shadows, none might trace 
 
 Its lineaments, nor knew them worse 
 ^ Than most — a sinless Cain's deep curse. 
 
 "Where am I?" cried the voice I knew, 
 
 "Art thou the cure? Oh, my heart, 
 
 How long it seems since we did part! 
 Oh ! did I dream, or is it true ?" 
 
 c d 5 U9) 
 
50 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 I knew the danger then had flown. 
 
 I hastily my cowl let fall, 
 And took her hands within my own, — 
 
 So small they were, — so wondrous small, 
 
 Man's every sense to thus enthrall 
 And thrill ! " You have been ill, mam'selle, 
 And must be calm.'* One frightened spell 
 
 Her eyes surveyed me. " Nay, not yet 
 The village curiy — nay, nor Jacque, — 
 From whom" — then, shrinking startled back, 
 
 "I now recall! — Dieu! to forget P' 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 51 
 
 I pressed a cordial to her lips: 
 
 She pushed it back in loathing sheer, 
 Yet clung to me with finger-tips 
 
 That shook with mingled hope and fear. 
 
 "Tell me," she gasped, "is he not here — 
 Jacque? Jacque? Ah, Dieu, if it should be 
 That you were of his ministry, 
 
 And I again within his hands" 
 
 "Mam'selle, I know him not; but know 
 That back to him you shall not go 
 
 Until your own desire commands." 
 
52 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 She dropped back with a weary sigh. 
 
 *' Life, at the best, must be dark — dark. 
 To such a destined wretch as I ! 
 
 Ah! why could not its latent spark 
 
 Have been quenched 'neath that drifting barque ?" 
 I vainly begged her not to shed 
 The tears that drenched my heart. I said: 
 
 " Drink this, then rest ; and when you will. 
 Or never, tell me of your life. 
 Within these walls, secure from strife, 
 
 I pledge you none dare work you ill." 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE, 53 
 
 ** Your voice is soft," she whispered, " soft — 
 
 And soothing as the cure's was. 
 He hath absolved me oft and oft. 
 
 But never will again, because 
 
 My life is full of doubts and flaws. 
 And questions that were heresy 
 Against God's being. This, from me ! 
 
 That name he at the font hath blessed. 
 He must not know in womanhood 
 Dishonored; 'twould wring tears of blood 
 
 From his good heart, if he but guessed ! 
 
54 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 " Nay, listen, pray, m'sieu. One day — 
 Ah, do you know what 'tis to fling 
 
 Your heart upon a straw away, 
 
 And deem it safe, poor, tossing thing, 
 Nor reck where ends its wandering? — 
 
 Serene and fair my life was spent 
 
 Until he came, and all life went 
 To worship where he was, — indeed. 
 
 Without him breath I had despised; 
 
 With him I felt earth paradised, — 
 His God my God, his creed my creed. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 55 
 
 "I could not tell you all; but this 
 
 I may tell: In an evil hour — 
 Poor fool! I deemed it purest bliss, 
 
 For wisdom then was not my dower — 
 
 I placed myself within Jacque's power: 
 We wedded were, — in secret, though : 
 His kin, he argued, must not know, 
 
 Until they saw the peasant maid 
 His love had lifted to their height. 
 Lest, in displeasure, coldly might 
 
 His heritage for love be paid. 
 
56 NONDESCRIPT: OR, 
 
 "The dearest thing we ever chase 
 Far dearer seems if 'tis not caught; 
 
 That vision hath the fittest grace 
 
 Which to the touch proves simply naught 
 But air. That fancy vainly sought, 
 
 The web of memory weaves about 
 
 With subtle-tissued beauty — Doubt. 
 But, I loved with a faith sublime! 
 
 Ah, in that soul is coward-shame 
 
 Which rises not above the blame 
 
 Of woman's trust, man's worse than crime." 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 57 
 
 All illy mated two, where one 
 Is blackly, deeply dyed with sin, 
 
 And purer gaze must ever shun. 
 Lest that gray skeleton, within 
 Repressed, reveal its ghastly grin! 
 
 No wonder that the tongue will fail, 
 
 Then, in portraying such a tale 
 
 As blighted that fair flower — ^Auree! 
 
 No wonder that a heart will ache, 
 
 Which lists what erst a heart did break, 
 And struck a soul with blank dismay! 
 
58 NONDESCRIPT. 
 
 "Who would not pause where Venice lies, 
 
 A poet's dream of harmony? 
 Above — the arch of softest skies, 
 Below — full mirrored in the sea, 
 That same sky's azure purity? 
 Yet, like some spirit of the wind, 
 We Venice brushed and left behind. 
 
 We Rome's eternal grandeur passed 
 In haste; yet scarce I noted then 
 This flight to shun the haunts of men, 
 Until its cause was clear at last." 
 
V. 
 
''T'WAS not in one, but many days, 
 
 I fully learned the woe which turned 
 A glad life down Grief's sodden ways. 
 
 Auree! Auree! Your sweet eyes yearned 
 Regretfully. Dreamt you how burned 
 That subtle fire within my brain, — 
 And never cooled till he was slain? — 
 
 Until, from his foul, tainted blood 
 Was drawn that vengeance man should take, 
 Where woman's hand falls weak, for sake 
 Of his own mother's womanhood! 
 
 6 (61) 
 
62 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 "A dainty nest near Florence fair, 
 
 Where pain stands still to gaze on peace, 
 And woo it in the balmy air 
 
 A sky above, which may increase 
 Fair Beauty's outer shell, when cease 
 Its inner lights, but never yet 
 Was known to lighten mad regret! 
 
 Here fell the blow — here fell the shame,— 
 As falls the flail on ripened wheat 
 When every grain is most complete, — 
 And left me neither place nor name. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 63 
 
 " Who coldly stands apart, alone, 
 
 Recks not the depths that love will test. 
 Matured love, as a rose full blown, 
 
 Is hedged with thorns — fear and unrest; 
 
 But woman's soul, in all that's best, 
 To purify her love goes forth, 
 And Eden slips again to earth. 
 
 Ah, if you have not loved, m'sieii^ 
 Pray God to guard you from its woe; 
 For though 'tis sweet, full well I know, 
 
 'Tis, in the end, untrue — untrue! 
 
64 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 " You should have known love's highest weal. 
 
 Your hand is smooth, your voice is kind. 
 I list oft when your fingers steal 
 
 O'er harp and lyre. The wandering wind 
 
 Sighs not more sad; and yet my mind 
 Is soothed and strengthened by that grace. 
 Fain would I look upon the face 
 
 Behind that sombre veil you wear! 
 And are you then a monk, to shun 
 The world, where riots madly run. 
 
 And dedicate your life to prayer?" 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 65 
 
 I shivered. " Nay, it is a vow 
 
 I made long since to shroud my head. 
 I scarce can tell the reason now." 
 
 "A vow's a sacred thing," she said. 
 
 " Light, all too lightly, often shed ! — 
 Forgive me. If all promises 
 Were kept, life were not what it is. 
 
 The canker which will kill a rose 
 Is that which breeds where vows are broke; 
 But 'neath regret's unbending yoke, 
 
 Some day must bow who canker sows. 
 
 e 6* 
 
66 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 "Ah, bon ami! The world is bad, 
 
 Vile — vile and wicked since he was ! 
 A wife, high-born and bred, he had 
 
 Before, by God's divinest laws; 
 
 And he deserted her, because 
 
 Oh, beauty is a cruel curse 
 
 To fling upon the poor in purse! 
 
 When death hath passed, who can just say 
 How keen the sudden death-blow stung; 
 Then words — weak words, upon my tongue. 
 
 This in my heart can ill portray. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 67 
 
 " I sat alone, for Jacque had gone 
 
 To Florence, on some message fond — 
 
 I scarce recall what — at the dawn; 
 Nor had returned yet when respond 
 Noon-strokes to Time. No dire despond 
 
 Oppressed me. Carelessly I read; 
 
 The sun seemed pausing overhead, 
 Then fell a shade across the book. 
 
 'Jacque!' I exclaimed, — the volume threw 
 
 And smiling rose, but backward drew 
 With paling lip and startled look. 
 
68 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 "It was a lady — of that style 
 
 On whom is stamped aristocrat; 
 I've often wondered could she smile, 
 
 Such coldness on her proud face sat; 
 
 But she could sneer I know; for that 
 She well displayed — calm, keen, and sweet, 
 As I were earth beneath her feet! 
 
 She found me sitting in the sun ; 
 She left me lying in the shade 
 Unconscious, every feature grayed, — 
 
 My love a shame, — my life undone! 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 69 
 
 "For weeks I knew no more, — within 
 
 The villa lay, and tossed, and cried, 
 And moaned my all unwitting sin, — 
 
 Would I had died — would I had died! 
 
 A fevered brain lacks strength to hide 
 Its intent. Often would I rave 
 Of peace beneath fair Arno's wave; 
 
 And though I knew him not, 'twas he — 
 Jacque — that beside me vigil kept, 
 And often, in such vigils, wept 
 
 To see my poignant agony. 
 
JO NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 "Perhaps God knows why oft we fail 
 To hate the one who wrongs us most! 
 
 So much in Hfe behind a veil 
 
 Is hidden, yet were hate love's cost, — 
 Then all the world had been well lost! 
 
 I lived — naught stills reluctant breath 
 
 But drear old age, unless that death 
 Be forced. What use of savage moan ? 
 
 Too deep for that was mute despair. 
 
 I only begged, — it was a prayer. 
 To wend my darkened way alone! 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 
 
 71 
 
 " But Jacque vowed otherwise. He swore 
 I was his wife in Heaven's sight, 
 
 Where love rules all; and we no more 
 Should sever, till that final rite. 
 Beyond which — Cometh gloom, or light 
 
 Eternal? Slight boot the details. 
 
 My tongue to name them shrinks and fails, — 
 And on their threshold fain would pause. 
 
 A prison with barred entrances 
 
 My bridal home. The servants, his, 
 
 All deemed me mad; and had good cause. 
 
I NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 "Judge me not harshly, Count. I knew 
 Just one foul sin. Twas love for him; 
 
 And love is trust. With him I flew 
 All eager — thoughtless of the dim 
 Old eyes o'er which salt tears would brim 
 
 To find me gone and know not where! 
 
 Alas ! How doubly since then were 
 
 My mother's wrongs avenged! To rest — 
 
 E'en Heaven in those days of pain 
 
 Seemed naught, could I have flung again 
 Myself on her abandoned breast! 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 73 
 
 " My wayward folly, madness, proved 
 Its own death-blow. My cage contained 
 
 All luxuries; but these eyes roved 
 In sudden loathing o'er things stained 
 With shame to me, — with life-blood drained 
 
 From her who gave me being. Once — 
 
 (The Figaro came in response 
 To my request alway) — I read 
 
 A passage. Cold and carelessly 
 
 The writer dealt that stroke to me. . . . 
 Voila! bon ami, she was dead! 
 
74 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 " Know you of homesick dreariness, 
 
 With which no other pain can cope? 
 A yearning drear for one caress, 
 
 From arms that prest us oft; when hope 
 For those lost arms must blindly grope? 
 When with mad rage old ocean foams, 
 *Tis home, sweet home, that ever comes 
 
 Before the hopeless mariner. 
 In times of anguish and of doubt 
 The landsman's driven soul wails out 
 
 For mother-love and dreams which were! 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 75 
 
 " I would not live ! I would not eat, 
 
 I would not drink, that death might haste 
 To break my bonds. The love erst sweet 
 
 Had turned as wormwood to the taste. 
 
 Large-eyed I grew, and hollow-faced, 
 And in this inly felt elate. 
 As one who, matched by scornful Fate, 
 
 'Gainst stronger hand, with lance more keen. 
 Balks his opponent's triumph, and 
 Dies quickly by his own weak hand. 
 
 Yet smiles to see his foe's chagrin. 
 
76 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 "Sore troubled now was Jacque. He brought 
 
 Wise doctors in to see — his wife, 
 He called me still. They thought 
 
 Me mad, and mad I was 'gainst life, 
 
 With all its bitterness of strife; 
 Yet not insane. They ordered change, — 
 My native clime; and then, with strange 
 
 Complacency, took pompous leave; 
 But left me 'neath a guard's keen glance — 
 An Argus! But the looms of chance 
 
 Woof unexpected often weave. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 
 
 "That night they wove a piece of luck, 
 
 Else now, perchance, I were not so 
 Cast on your kindness. Lightning-struck, 
 The villa burned, and in the glow 
 I made escape. 'Twas useless, though, 
 For Jacque's keen eyes, upon me bent. 
 At once discerned my mad intent. 
 
 His strong arms caught me as I gained 
 The cliff. One moment more, enough 
 To carry me, through waters rough, 
 To peace and mercy all unstrained ! 
 
 77 
 
78 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 " I fainted then. All weak, half ill, 
 
 The wonder is I did not die. 
 But this I know: I never will 
 
 Be strong; for in the times gone by 
 
 I bartered strength for tear and sigh. 
 When back to sense my mind was brought, 
 'Twas on the sea, in Jacque's own yacht. 
 
 He stood above me, and I heard 
 His muffled groan: 'At last she breathes!' 
 Ah, cursed that heart where passion seethes. 
 
 And yet remorse is madly stirred ! 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 79 
 
 " I turned my head in apathy 
 
 Away; too weak for argument. 
 Wild, weird, and bitter raged the sea; 
 
 And wind and rain together bent 
 
 To lash the panes. 'Twas Jacque's intent, 
 In some secluded old chateau 
 Of his, to cage me well I know. 
 
 Me, whom he vowed to love. Was this 
 The love of man, snatched from the gods? 
 This love divine, whose fairy-pods 
 
 Shall burst in angel-chiysalis ? 
 
8o NONDESCRIPT: OR, 
 
 " I found the chance I sought one dawn : 
 
 I threw myself into the deep. 
 None stood the wind-blown deck upon. 
 
 My jailer, wrapped in sombre sleep, 
 
 Knew not I had escaped her keep, 
 I tried to drown, — the waves were strong; 
 They rushed me in their sweep along. 
 
 In childhood I had learned to swim, 
 Nor had forgot in womanhood. 
 Then 'gainst me crashed a spar of wood, — 
 
 You know the rest; to me 'tis dim. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 8l 
 
 "Ay, mercifully," I replied; 
 
 " Each hour unconscious is one less 
 Of pain. When knowledge becomes guide, 
 
 Old age jeers at the tenderness 
 
 Of his own youth. Then all was guess 
 And hope, — but shattered, as a myth. 
 In the long after-coming, — with 
 
 Reality's broad, brazen sword. 
 From Wisdom's store we erst must give 
 To Folly's vague, refining sieve 
 
 More than our Time can well afford. 
 
82 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 "Within each heart is placed a lyre 
 
 More subtle than a siren's song; 
 Sometime, by potent hands of fire, 
 Its strings are wildly swept along 
 And voiced forever — right or wrong! 
 / never have been loved. 'Tis well. 
 For I have made no mortal's hell; 
 And yet, Auree, that stern decree 
 Has ever been a bitter thing — 
 Ay, as the black tarantula's sting — 
 To gloom my soul's lone mystery. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE, 
 
 " I thank fate — heaven — what you please, 
 
 Which drifted you to be my guest, 
 And safely bore you o'er yon seas. 
 
 I prithee, here in safety rest. 
 
 My servants wait your least request 
 Most eager, — nay, anticipate 
 Your wishes. As that flower of fate — 
 
 The marguerite — in meadows green, 
 You spring amongst us, — darkling weeds 
 That shun earth's brighter spots. Our deeds 
 
 Are fairer than our looks, I ween. 
 
 83 
 
84 NONDESCRIPT: OR, 
 
 "Twas Providence that willed you hence; 
 
 Pray, fly not 'gainst His mercy now, 
 Else woe must be the consequence 
 
 For all, — ^you would not that, I trow, 
 
 To others than yourself. I vow 
 You here shall have full rest. Perchance 
 Forget the past's sad circumstance 
 
 In future light. Your brother, I — 
 Sire, friend, avenger — what you may; 
 And music's charms may soothe away 
 
 Your soul-storm to a lullaby." 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE, g^ 
 
 " Not— not avenger;' quick she gasped. 
 
 " Leave vengeance, Count, unto that One 
 Who knows and judgeth best why clasped 
 
 He life in veins which man should shun 
 
 To shed. Though love for me is done, — 
 Too vivid yet that vanished past, — 
 Its memory from my heart to cast 
 
 I cannot. Kind friend you have been; 
 In me 'twere base ingratitude 
 To doubt your present noble mood. 
 It is not mine— that treacherous sin." 
 
VI. 
 
T NEVER knew how fair God's light 
 
 Until on her it golden shone; 
 I never knew how dark his night 
 Until it left me all alone 
 To battle with a demon groan. 
 In music couched, my soul's great hoard 
 Of love upon her ears was poured; 
 
 But, by some window standing, she 
 Would gaze across the even bars 
 With absent eyes. Beyond the stars 
 I ofttimes thought she used to see. 
 
 8* (89) 
 
90 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 The summer waned and autumn came; 
 
 To me 'twas spring. For Paradise, 
 In which a fool dwells, is the same 
 
 To him — though rubbish to the wise — 
 
 As though 'twere built beyond the skies, 
 Instead of in his fancy. When, 
 Alone, the cobwebs from my brain. 
 
 I dared to sweep, remembering, — 
 I'd stand before a mirror clear 
 And at my own foul likeness sneer. 
 
 'Twas vain to quell love's buoyant spring! 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. gi 
 
 When in God's own good time shall fall 
 On man the flail of mad remorse, 
 
 Ah, let it be above his pall; 
 
 For that can be no deeper curse 
 Which meets beyond the pallid corse 
 
 Than flays the living here. I learned 
 
 To fear the creature beauty spurned 
 And yet had made susceptible 
 
 To all things fair. Yet dastard fate 
 
 I often dared, and felt elate 
 
 To have snatched some respite from hell ! 
 
VII. 
 
pvREAR was the day. A leaden sky, 
 
 Dull, threat'ning, lowered overhead. 
 Alas! The destined wretch was /, — 
 
 On me was all its anger shed! 
 
 In heavy swells, and wild and dread 
 Below the cliffs, by sea-gulls swept. 
 Huge breakers groaned and surges wept. 
 
 All nature stood still, waiting for 
 The coming storm-king's chariot; 
 We heard it in the distance fret, 
 
 A rumbling cannonade of war. 
 
 (9S) 
 
96 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 Thrice had I begged Auree retire 
 
 To shelter; for the storm would soon 
 Upon us open heavy fire 
 
 With all artillery in tune 
 
 And leave behind but broad-spread ruin. 
 She heeded not. Her red-gold hair 
 Fell soft upon the smothered air; 
 
 Her hands were lightly clasped before; 
 Deep thought upon her sweet-lined face, 
 And in her eyes that haunting trace 
 
 Of grief once known, known evermore. 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 97 
 
 Nigh came a sudden, jingling clank, — 
 The clank of spurs. We turned — ^behold! 
 
 Close, close, and closer Auree shrank, — 
 "Jacque! Jacque" — ay, curse him! — dark and bold, 
 He moved as though he would enfold 
 
 Her form. Upon my sword I dropped 
 
 A hand which had not pulsed or stopped 
 At any deed for her redress. 
 
 " Hold ! trespasser," I cried. " But dare 
 
 Take one step more, and I do swear 
 
 Your life shall pay your forwardness!" 
 E ^ 9 
 
98 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 In scorn untold his eyes met mine: 
 
 Dark eyes, — compelling eyes, — as must 
 Be like those which in darkness shine • 
 From demon faces, black with rust 
 Of Hades' flame and sin's foul dust. 
 He, laughing, sneered: ''Voilaf Beware, 
 Else I will teach you what I dare. 
 
 Veiled prophet — puppet ! monkey ! clod ! 
 Auree, beloved ! Speak ! At length, 
 But loving thee with deeper strength, 
 I stand free before man and God ! 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 
 
 " Light, Auree, those reproachful orbs, — 
 So long I've hungered for their sight!" 
 
 The . coward — traitor ! " Life absorbs 
 From you its only hope of light 
 Hereafter. For the dreary blight 
 
 That wrecked our past, each future thrill 
 
 To come shall heal some by-gone ill. 
 The passion such as, throbbing, fires 
 
 A heart like mine, is seldom tame; 
 
 And obstacles but serve to flame 
 Its spark to new and mad desires! 
 
 99 
 
lOO NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 " I will not give you up. Nay, first 
 
 I'd leap with you into yon wave! 
 Without you life were deeply curst; 
 
 With you — 'twere not so bad a grave. 
 
 I will not give you up !" " You rave," 
 She groaned. "Nay, I am well content, — 
 No more by love elate or rent, — 
 
 No more by passions overcast, 
 I simply wait the final end. 
 Your heart's best blood could never mend,- 
 
 Your soul, aflame, undo the past!" 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. loi 
 
 A ghastly hue came o'er his cheek; 
 
 As if it were in his cause lashed, 
 The wind rose with a fearful shriek; 
 
 Above, the zig-zag lightning flashed 
 
 And in its wake loud thunder crashed. 
 It was a fearful scene. I caught 
 Auree within my arms, nor thought 
 
 Nor cared that dastard's frowning foul. 
 One moment on my breast she lay, — 
 One moment, — then he wrenched away, 
 
 With dastard hands, my shielding cowl ! 
 
 9* 
 
[02 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 "Aha! Behold what here is screened 
 Behind this priestly garb!" he sneered. 
 
 " Your friend, Auree ? it is a fiend — 
 A fiend of fiends — beneath a beard!" 
 Uncovered, dumb I stood, more weird 
 
 And satyr-hke than Lucifer; 
 
 Beneath the awful eyes of her 
 
 I frozen stood ! There was a scream — 
 
 An anguished scream — then 'twas o'er — o'er! 
 
 The sea paused not; but now its roar 
 Became a hollow requiem theme! 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 
 
 He made as he would follow, leap — 
 Pah! Would I let him lie where she 
 
 Is taking her long, dreamless sleep? — 
 Should he mar the eternity 
 Which never may be known to me? 
 
 My sword was strong. I drove it through 
 
 His villain heart, and never drew 
 It thence. The buzzards feast upon 
 
 That carrion shell of human pride. 
 
 'Tis well. He will not freight the tide 
 Which ushers in her endless Dawn ! 
 
 103 
 
104 NONDESCRIPT; OR, 
 
 Is there a bliss as yet undreamt 
 
 Which future sleep may bring to sight? 
 Hides yet a woe uncouth, unkempt, 
 Man has not battled on some night, 
 And conquered, else resigned the fight 
 When taunting goblin-shapes crept up 
 To press upon him Lethe's cup? 
 
 Should there, alas, be weal or woe 
 Beneath the sun, still unrevealed, 
 In which man's sense hath not yet reeled,- 
 Slight boots to me, — I shall not know! 
 
THE PASSIONATE RECLUSE. 105 
 
 The ivied stone walls of Bonpli, 
 
 For ages still, may darkly frown 
 Across the opal-tinted sea, 
 
 Whose masses green and sea-weed brown 
 
 Float where Auree — Auree went down — 
 Went down, and took that vivid gleam — 
 That weal she brought me as a dream 
 
 Of heaven. Ah, far beyond the skies 
 She bore it back; she left with me 
 But this undying agony 
 
 Which cannot sio^ht her Paradise! 
 
Io6 NONDESCRIPT. 
 
 Oh, wailing wind ! Oh, mountain breath ! 
 
 To Life I fling back all it gave — 
 'Tis slight — and go to meet grim Death; 
 
 Nor ask of man a purchased grave; 
 
 No respite of Time's hours I crave ; 
 But only of The Power, pray- 
 To vision once again — Auree! 
 
 * * 44- * -x- * * 
 
 She comes ! white — white, but smiling-lipped ! 
 She glides across the shadowness ! . . . 
 Nay, Sweet ! Ah ! Tis the Last Abyss ! . . 
 
 Auree ! — God ! — I ! — curse — Nondescript! 
 
■msm