► 
 
 PS 
 
 2.732 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 — ^&2 Z. 
 
 UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. 
 
»4 
 
 
V 
 
 
THE 
 
 Defence of the Bride 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 ANNA KATHARINE GREEN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 27 AND 29 West 23D Street 
 
 1882 
 

 Copyright, 
 
 1SS2, 
 
 By G. p. PUTNAM'S SONS. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Defence of the Bride i 
 
 Through the Trees g 
 
 The Nightingale it 
 
 The Tower of Bouverie 12 
 
 Premonition 34 
 
 In Light : In Night 35 
 
 Three Letters 37 
 
 Pearls 41 
 
 Shadows 41 
 
 Paul Isham 42 
 
 Rosa, Dying 63 
 
 One Month ' O4 
 
 At the Piano ^5 
 
 In Farewell 66 
 
 A Tragedy of Sedan 67 
 
 Ode to Prance 76 
 
 On the Threshold 78 
 
 Isabel Maynor So 
 
 Myrna 87 
 
 Coming Home from the Fair 9° 
 
 The Confession of the King's Musketeer 91 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 What do the Roses Say in their Dreams ? g8 
 
 A Legend of Antwerp 
 
 Sunrise from the Mountains loi 
 
 Separated ^^2 
 
 The Barricade j^- 
 
 99 
 
THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDE. 
 
 E was coming from the altar when the tocsin 
 
 rang alarm, 
 
 With his fair young wife beside him, lovely 
 
 in her bridal charm ; 
 
 But he was not one to palter with a duty, or to slight 
 
 The trumpet-call of honor for his vantage or delight. 
 
 Turning from the bride beside him to his stern and 
 
 martial train, 
 From their midst he summoned to him the brothers 
 
 of Germain ; 
 At the word they stepped before him, nine strong 
 
 warriors, brave and true. 
 From the youngest to the eldest, Enguerrand to 
 
 mighty Hugh. 
 
 " Sons of Germain, to your keeping do I yield my 
 
 bride to-day. 
 Guard her well as you do love me ; guard her well 
 
 and holily. 
 Dearer than mine own soul to me, you will hold her 
 
 as your life, 
 'Gainst the guile of s-eeming friendship and the force 
 
 of open strife." 
 
2 THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDE. 
 
 " We will guard her," cried they firmly ; and wiUi 
 
 just another glance 
 On the yearning and despairing in his young wife's 
 
 countenance, 
 Gallant Beaufort strode before them down the aisle 
 
 and through the door, 
 And a shadow came and lingered where the sunlight 
 
 stood before. 
 
 Eight long months the young wife waited, v/atching 
 
 from her bridal room 
 For the coming of her husband up the valley forest's 
 
 gloom. 
 Eight long months the sons of Germain paced the 
 
 ramparts and the wall, 
 With their hands upon their halberds, ready for the 
 
 battle-call. 
 
 Then there came the sound of trumpets pealing up 
 
 the vale below, 
 And a dozen floating banners lit the forest with 
 
 their glow, 
 And the bride arose like morning, v/hen it feels the 
 
 sunlight nigh, 
 And her smile was like a rainbow flashing from a 
 
 misty sky. 
 
 But the eldest son of Germain lifting voice from off 
 the wall. 
 
 Cried aloud, " It is a stranger's and not Sir Beau- 
 fort's call ; 
 
THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDE. 3 
 
 Have you ne'er a slighted lover or a kinsman with a 
 
 heart 
 Base enough to seek his vengeance at the sharp end 
 
 of the dart ? " 
 
 '^ There is Sassard of the Mountains," answered she 
 
 withouten guile, 
 " While I wedded at the chancel, he stood mocking 
 
 in the aisle ; 
 And my maidens say he swore there that for all my 
 
 plighted vow, 
 They would see me in his castle yet upon Morency's 
 
 brow." 
 
 " It is Sassard and no other, then," her noble guard- 
 ian cried ; 
 
 " There is craft in yonder summons," and he rung 
 his sword beside. 
 
 " To the walls, ye sons of Germain ! and as each 
 would hold his life 
 
 From the bitter shame of falsehood, let us hold our 
 master's wife." 
 
 '' Can you hold her, can you shield her from the 
 breezes that await ? " 
 
 Cried the stinging voice of Sassard from his stand 
 beside the gate. 
 
 " If you have the power to shield her from the sun- 
 light and the wind. 
 
 You may shield her from stern Sassard when his fal- 
 chion is untwined." 
 
4 THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDE. 
 
 " We can hold her, we can shield her," leaped like 
 fire from off the wall. 
 
 And young Enguerrand the valiant, sprang out be- 
 fore them all. 
 
 "And if breezes bring dishonor, we will guard her 
 from their breath. 
 
 Though we yield her to the keeping of the sacred 
 arms of Death." 
 
 And with force that never faltered did they guard 
 
 her all that day, 
 Though the strength of triple armies seemed to battle 
 
 in the fray, 
 The old castle's rugged ramparts holding firm against 
 
 the foe, 
 As a goodly dike resisteth the whelming billow's 
 
 flow. 
 
 But next morning as the sunlight rose in splendor 
 
 over all, 
 Hugh the mighty, sank heart-wounded in his station 
 
 on the wall ; 
 At the noon the valiant Raoul of the merry eye and 
 
 heart, 
 Gave his beauty and his jestings to the foeman's 
 
 jealous dart. 
 
 Gallant Maurice next sank faltering with a death 
 
 wound 'neath his hair. 
 But still fighting on till Sassard pressed across him 
 
 up the stair. 
 
THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDE. 5 
 
 Generous Clement followed after, crying as his spirit 
 
 passed, 
 '' Sons of Germain to the rescue, and be loyal to the 
 
 last ! " 
 
 Gentle Jasper, lordly Clarence, Sessamine the dough- 
 ty brand, 
 
 Even Henri who had yielded ne'er before to mortal 
 hand ; 
 
 One by one they fall and perish, while the vaunting 
 foemen pour 
 
 Through the breach and up the courtway to the very 
 turret's door. 
 
 Enguerrand and Stephen only now were left of all 
 
 that nine, 
 To protect the single stairway from the traitor's fell 
 
 design ; 
 But with might as 'twere of thirty, did they wield 
 
 the axe and brand. 
 Striving in their desperation the fierce onslaught to 
 
 withstand. 
 
 But what man of power so godlike he can stay the 
 billow's wrack, 
 
 Or with single-handed weapon hold an hundred foe- 
 men back ? 
 
 As the sun turned sadly westward, with a wild de- 
 spairing cry, 
 
 Stephen bowed his noble forehead and sank down 
 on earth to die. 
 
6 THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDE, 
 
 " Ah ha ! " then cried cruel" Sassard, with his foot 
 
 upon the stair, 
 " Have I come to thee, my boaster ? " and he whirled 
 
 his sword in air, 
 " Thou who pratest of thy power to protect her to 
 
 the death, 
 What think' St thou now of Sassard and the wind's 
 
 aspiring breath ? " 
 
 *' What I think let this same show you," answered 
 
 fiery Enguerrand, 
 And he poised his lofty battle-axe with sure and 
 
 steady hand ; 
 " Now as heaven loveth justice, may this deathly 
 
 weapon fall 
 On the murderer of my brothers and th' undoer of 
 
 us all ! " 
 
 With one mighty whirl he sent it ; flashing from his 
 
 hand it came. 
 Like the lightning from the heavens in a swirl of 
 
 awful flame, 
 And betwixt the brows of Sassard and his two false 
 
 eyeballs passed. 
 And the murderer sank before it like a tree before 
 
 the blast. 
 
 " Now ye minions of a traitor if you look for ven- 
 geance, come ! " 
 
 And his voice was like a trumpet when it clangs a 
 victor home. 
 
THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDE. y 
 
 But a cry from far below him rose like thunder up- 
 ward, " Nay ! 
 
 Let them turn and meet the husband if they hunger 
 for the fray ! " 
 
 Oh, the yell that sprang to heaven as that voice 
 swept up the stair. 
 
 And the slaughter dire that followed in another mo- 
 ment there ! 
 
 From the least unto the greatest, from the henchman 
 to the lord. 
 
 Not a man on all that stairway lived to sheath again 
 his sword. 
 
 At the top that flame-bound forehead, at the base 
 
 that blade of fire — 
 'Twas the meeting of two tempests in their potency 
 
 and ire. 
 Ere the moon could falter inward with its pity and 
 
 its vv^oe, 
 Beaufort saw the path before him unencumbered of 
 
 the foe. 
 
 Saw his pathway unencumbered and strode up and 
 
 o'er the floor. 
 Even to the very threshold of his lovely lady's door. 
 And already in his fancy did he see the golden beam 
 Of her locks upon his shoulder and her sweet eyes' 
 
 happy gleam : 
 
 When behold a form upstarting from the shadows at 
 
 his side. 
 That with naked sword uplifted barred the passage 
 
 to his bride ! 
 
8 THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDE. 
 
 It was Enguerrand the dauntless, but with staring 
 
 eyes and hair 
 Blowing wild about a forehead pale as snow in 
 
 moonlit glare. 
 
 " Ah, my master, we have held her, we have guarded 
 
 her," he said ; 
 " Not a shadow of dishonor has so much as touched 
 
 her head. 
 Twenty wretches lie below there with the brothers 
 
 of Germain, 
 Twenty foemen of her honor that I, Enguerrand, 
 
 have slain. 
 
 *' But one other foe remaineth, one remaineth yet," 
 
 he cried, 
 " Which it fits this hand to punish ere you cross 
 
 unto your bride. 
 It is 1, Enguerrand ! " shrieked he ; " and as I have 
 
 slain the rest. 
 So I smite this foeman also ! " — and his sword 
 
 plunged through his breast. 
 
 Oh, the horror of that moment ! " Art thou mad 
 my Enguerrand } " 
 
 Cried his master, striving wildly to withdraw the 
 fatal brand. 
 
 But the stern youth smiling sadly, started back from 
 his embrace. 
 
 While a flash Hke summer lightning, flickered dire- 
 ful on his face. 
 
THROUGH THE TREES. g 
 
 " Yes, a traitor worse than Sassard ; " and he 
 
 pointed down the stair, 
 " For my heart has dared to love her whom my 
 
 hand defended there. 
 While the others fought for honor, I by passion was 
 
 made strong ; 
 Set your heel upon my bosom for my soul has done 
 
 you wrong. 
 
 "But," and here he swayed and faltered till his 
 
 knee sank on the floor. 
 Yet in falling turned his forehead ever toward that 
 
 silent door ; 
 " But your warrior hand, my master, may take mine 
 
 without a stain. 
 For my hand has e'er been loyal, and your enemy is 
 
 slain." 
 
 THROUGH THE TREES. 
 
 F I had known whose face I'd see 
 
 Above the hedge, beside the rose ; 
 If I had known whose voice I'd hear 
 Make music where the wind-flower blows, 
 I had not come ; I had not come. 
 
 If I had known his deep " I love " 
 Could make her face so fair to see ; 
 
 If I had known her shy " And I " 
 
 Could make him stoop so tenderly, — 
 
 I had not come : I had not come. 
 
lO THROUGH THE TREES. 
 
 But what knew I ? The summer breeze 
 Stopped not to cry " Beware ! beware ! " 
 
 The vine-wreaths drooping from the trees 
 Caught not my sleeve with soft " Take care I " 
 
 And so I came, and so I came. 
 
 The roses that his hands have plucked, 
 Are sweet to me, are death to me ; 
 
 Between them, as through living flames 
 I pass, I clutch them, crush them, see 1 
 
 The bloom for her, the thorn for me. 
 
 The brooks leap up with many a song; — 
 I once could sing, I'ke them could sing ; 
 
 They fall ; 'tis like a sigh among 
 A world of joy and blossoming. — 
 
 Why did I come ? Why did I come ? 
 
 The blue sky burns like altar fires — 
 How sweet her eyes beneath her hair ! 
 
 The green earth lights its fragrant pyres ; 
 The wild birds rise and flush the air ; 
 
 God looks and smiles, earth is so fair. 
 
 But ah ! 'twixt me and yon bright heaven 
 Two bended heads pass darkling by ; 
 
 And loud above the bird and brook 
 I hear a low " I love," " And I "— 
 
 And hide my face. Ah God ! Why ? Why ? 
 
THE NlGIiriNGALE, u 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 ND now soft night hath ta'en her seat on high, 
 Outbreathing balmy peace o'er all the land ; 
 Silent in sleep the dimpled meadows lie 
 Like tired children soothed by mother's hand. 
 Throughout the valley hums the zephyr bland, 
 Charming the roses from their passionate dreams, 
 To hear the wild and melancholy streams 
 Pulse to the waving of its mystic wand ; 
 While large and low A-ans down the mellow moon. 
 Whose whitely blazing urn doth make a silver 
 noon. 
 
 But hark ! what heavenly sound is this that now 
 Steals like a dream adown the fragrant vale, 
 Or like a thought across a maiden's brow, 
 That brings a lambent flush upon the pale ? 
 It is the heart-song of the nightingale, 
 Which yearns forever upward in a mist 
 Of subtle sadness, clouding all who list, 
 With softened shadows of her secret ail ; 
 And now so purely fills the silence clear. 
 Great Nature seems to hush her beating heart to 
 hear. 
 
12 THE TOWER OF BO UV ERIE, 
 
 THE TOWER OF BOUVERIE. 
 
 ILL the horn unto the brim ! 
 
 Cried the Lord of Bouverie ; 
 
 " Courtier gay and warrior grim, 
 All who feast this day with me, 
 Whatsoever his degree, 
 Fill ye, fill to Bouverie ! " 
 Bounteously the red wine ran ; 
 Up they rose unto a man. 
 
 " Here's to triumph in the wars 1 
 Here's to pleasure in our halls ! 
 Here's to Turkish scimitars 
 Hanging on our English walls ! 
 Here's to peace ! and here's to see 
 Ere another week can flee, 
 A fair bride in Bouverie ! " 
 
 Loud the answering shout goes up, 
 Man by man they drain the cup, 
 Monteith's earl and Dufiield's lord, 
 Hamon of the bloody sword, 
 Even gentle Hugh of Dee, 
 And the squire of Enderby, 
 All, all drink to Bouverie. 
 
THE TOWER OF BOUVERIE. 
 
 All, say I ? Hold, I am wrong ; 
 One there was amid that throng, 
 One, just one, who started back, 
 Tossed to heaven his tresses black, 
 Would not drink to Bouverie : 
 One alone ; ah, who is he 
 Dares slight pledge of Bouverie ? 
 
 Is it stalwart Clarimaux 
 Of the giant arm and knee ? 
 Holbert's earl, or scornful Vaux ? 
 Jasper, prince of chivalry ? 
 No, ah no ; too young to be 
 One amongst such warriors free, 
 Neither lord nor chieftain he. 
 
 Rupert, then, of careless eye, 
 Reckless if he live or die ? 
 Eustace, loving more his wit 
 Than the head producing it ? 
 No, ah no, not one of these 
 With their jests and mummeries, 
 But a simple squire, no more, 
 Is the man who thus before 
 All the world dares Bouverie. 
 Just a simple squire, but oh. 
 What a fire his glances show ! 
 What a gesture of command 
 Speaks in his uplifted hand 
 As he puts the beaker back, 
 Crying, " Bring no pledge to me ! 
 Though the castle fall in wrack 
 Drink I no such mockery. " 
 
 13 
 
14 • THE TOWER OF BOUVERIE. 
 
 But the master with a bound 
 Grasps the slighted goblet round, 
 Draws his sword, and, " Drink or die 1 '* 
 Cries aloud and threateningly. 
 Whirling up, his blade on high. 
 
 From the goblet's tempting rim 
 To the falchion fierce and grim, 
 Quickly passed the stripling's eye. 
 Sweet is life to youthful hearts. 
 Chill the dreaded angel's darts ; 
 Sweet is life and harsh is death, 
 Sweet the sunshine's fervid breath, 
 And the winds that round us fly. 
 In his hand he took the cup — 
 Like a wave the cry leaps up — 
 " Long live Bouverie to wield 
 Sword of might in hall and field ! " 
 
 " Pledge and drink ! " the baron cried. 
 
 " I will pledge," the youth replied ; 
 
 And his eye flashed like a star 
 
 In the gulf of night afar. 
 
 " I will pledge ; " and o'er his head 
 
 Raised the goblet gleaming red. 
 
 " Here's to triumph in the wars ! 
 Here's to pleasure in our halls ! 
 Here's to Turkish scimitars 
 Hanging on our English walls ! 
 Here's to peace ! and here's to see 
 Ere another week can flee, 
 A dead bride in Bouverie." 
 
THE TOWER OF BO UV ERIE. jr 
 
 Clanging loud the goblet falls ; 
 
 He has flung it at the walls, 
 
 And a silence like a pall 
 
 For a moment shrouds the hall. 
 
 Then a sudden cry of " Shame ! " 
 
 Curls about him like a flame, 
 
 And " Who art thou ? " shriek they all, 
 
 " Devil's imp or dog abhorred, 
 
 Hissing snake or church-yard ghoul, 
 
 That you come to scare the soul 
 
 Of the baron at his board ? " 
 
 But the master cries aloud 
 
 With a glance and gesture proud, 
 
 '' Whosoever he may be. 
 
 Fool or devil, by my sword 
 
 He shall straight undo that word, 
 
 Or I am no Bouverie ! " 
 
 " By thy life and by thy sword 
 But I'll not undo my word ! 
 Gentle dame and fair is she. 
 Surly lord and spiteful he ; 
 Better see her beauty dead 
 Than such sorrow on her head ! 
 Die, then, lady, die and be 
 Laid to rest in Bouverie, 
 Ere such evil come to thee ! " 
 
 O, to slay him where he stood ! 
 Eager flashed an hundred swords, 
 But the baron's potent mood 
 Held them back withouten words. 
 " Demon imp or earth-born fool, 
 
THE TOWER OF BO UV ERIE. 
 
 Scum of hell or Paynim's tool, 
 What to you is he or she ? 
 What to you her misery ? 
 What, the maid of Bouverie ? " 
 
 " What the shrine is to the priest. 
 What his shield is to the knight, 
 What the sun is to the east. 
 Wearying for the morning light ; 
 AVhat the star is to the sea. 
 To my humbleness is she, 
 Glorious star of Bouverie ! " 
 
 '^ O ho ! " then the baron cried, 
 
 With a laugh of scornful pride, 
 
 " By the mem'ry of our sires. 
 
 But he loves, this squire of squires, 
 
 Loves our child of Bouverie ! " 
 
 " O ho ! " laughed they down the hall, 
 
 Knights and courtiers, one and all, 
 
 " Loves our Lady Bouverie." 
 
 " By my troth," cried he again, 
 " But my lord of Everden 
 Little recketh in his pride 
 What a rival eyes his bride. 
 Doughty warrior though he be, 
 He would tremble, sirs, pardie ! 
 Could he see the youthful squire 
 That sits down before his fire." 
 " Ho, ho," laughed they in their glee, 
 "Rival claims in Bouverie ! " 
 
THE TOWER OF BOUVERIE. ij 
 
 "Youthful squires have hearts of steel," 
 Quoth the stripling lifting higher 
 His pure brow of lambent fire, 
 With a look of dauntless zeal. 
 " Not a noble in the land 
 Would do for the lady's hand, 
 What the simple youth you see 
 Would for her of Bouverie." 
 
 " Would you tilt a knightly lance 
 'Gainst yon chapel's broad expanse ? 
 Mount the master's steed and clear 
 With one bound the narrow wier, 
 That you boast so loud and free ? " 
 " I would die for her, "'said he ; 
 " Tender maid of Bouverie ! " 
 
 '• Ho then, it were surely ill 
 One should balk you in your will ; "' 
 Sneering cried his fiery lord, 
 Raising high his mighty sword. 
 But the youth with smile of scorn, 
 And an aspect like the morn. 
 Met its sheen unflinchingly. 
 " You do show me grace," cried he, 
 " Haughty chief of Bouverie ! " 
 
 " Is it so ? " and in disdain 
 
 Fell that falchion once again. 
 
 " Then by Heaven that made us ail, 
 
 Will we tip that grace with gall ; " 
 
 And his gaze ran down the hall. 
 
 '' Hugh of Elbert to the tower ! 
 
1 8 THE TOWER OF BOUVERIE, 
 
 Rouse my daughter in her bower ; 
 Tell her we would see her here 
 Ere yon eagle circling high 
 O'er our walls can disappear 
 In his realm of upper sky. 
 Woman's scorn has stinging point, 
 Pierces keenly through the joint ; 
 We will see if he who eyes 
 All unmoved the falchion rise, 
 Can with equal spirit dare 
 The disdain of lady fair." 
 
 But the young man with a cry 
 Is already at his knee 
 Lifting hands impetuously. 
 " Baron Bouverie, let me die ; 
 Slay me if thou wilt," he said ; 
 " But O spare the tender maid, 
 Spare the maid of Bouverie." 
 
 " Do you fear her scorn so much ? " 
 
 Cried the baron, while a smile, 
 
 Or what men would fain call such, 
 
 Smote his iron lip the while. 
 
 " More than death," the young man said ; 
 
 And a shadow dark and dread 
 
 Fell upon his youthful head. 
 
 ''Do you think that she will be 
 All so harsh ? " quoth Hugh of Dee 
 In the ear of Enderby. 
 " Frail as harebell swinging 'lone 
 On some turret's crumbling stone — 
 
THE TOWER OF BO UV ERIE. iq 
 
 Do you think that he need fear ^ 
 
 Such right bitter words to hear ? " 
 
 But the baron's awful eye 
 Gloomed upon him for reply ; 
 And as if a spell were hung 
 On each daring lip and tongue, 
 Silent grew both knight and lord, 
 Every eye with one accord 
 Fixed in close expectancy 
 On the face of Bouverie. 
 
 When, hark, hark, from where the door 
 Wavers restless o'er the floor. 
 Breaks a rustle and a stir 
 Like the breeze in mountain fir ; 
 And there welleth into view 
 From the darkness dim and drear, 
 A fair face of light and dew, 
 And the noble maid is here. 
 
 O is this the haughty dame 
 Whose proud part it is to shame. 
 With her scorn, the stripling's love, 
 And his heart with anguish move ? 
 This shy maiden, pale and sweet, 
 With the timid stepping feet. 
 And an eye like violets hid 
 Underneath each fearful lid ? 
 
 Pausing in the narrow door. 
 Full within the view of all. 
 One slow smile she sends before 
 Her /air presence, down the hall. 
 
20 THE TOWER OF BO UV ERIE. 
 
 Then as floats a cloud of snow 
 Into some fierce sunset's glow, 
 Through the crowd she softly sped, 
 And bent low her gentle head 
 'Gainst her haughty father's knee. 
 Fair and frail — ah, who is he 
 Would cast shadow over thee. 
 Beauteous flower of Bouverie ! 
 
 " Child of Bouverie, and heir 
 To the broad lands of Quemair ; 
 Mistress of Dumont's fair bowers, 
 Gaverson and Heathcote's towers ; 
 I have called you here to fling 
 Scorn upon a worthless thing." 
 Straight she looked up wondering. 
 
 " If it be a worthless thing. 
 As you say. Lord Bouverie, 
 Little need is there to fling 
 Scorn upon it," murmured she. 
 '' If I call you from your dreams 
 To set down my cup, it 'seems 
 You to do so," thundered he. 
 
 Like a summer snowdrop spurned 
 By a wind too strong for it. 
 Tremblingly her forehead turned 
 From that bitter- blowing wit. 
 " Let me know your will," she said, 
 And her lovely modest head 
 On her bosom faltered. 
 
THE TOWER OF BO UV ERIE. 2 1 
 
 " It is this ; " and heavily 
 
 On her arm his right hand fell ; 
 
 " If you be of mine, 'tis well, 
 
 You will answer worthily. 
 
 Some one in this company 
 
 Hath dared boast his love for thee, 
 
 Heiress of proud Bouverie." 
 
 Flushed her cheek like red-rose tree. 
 
 " Not a lord—" The long lash fell. 
 Fell like leaf across its flower ; 
 " Not a warrior — " Ah, what spell 
 Holds the maiden in its power ? 
 " Warrior-lord had met my sword. 
 But a woman's mocking word 
 Is the only answer meet 
 For a spurless- squire, I weet." 
 
 For a spurless squire ! oh 
 How her lips and forehead glow ! 
 How the mounting rapture flies 
 From her chin unto her eyes ! 
 Turning round with eager gaze, 
 On the youth she casts her eye, 
 And her smile is like a haze 
 Spreading o'er a roseate sky. 
 
 " By my soul ! " the baron cries ; 
 
 " But this scorn wears curious guise ! " 
 
 And his teeth with iron grip 
 
 Close upon his nether lip. 
 
 O the sire is dread to see. 
 
 But a high tranquillity 
 
 Shrines the maid of Bouverie. 
 
22 THE TOWER OF BOUVERIE. 
 
 " Will you curse him, girl, or no ? " 
 Shrieked the baron looming o'er her, 
 " Curse me, lady ; " whispered low- 
 He who knelt in homage 'fore her. 
 But the tender maiden stood 
 Trembling in the rushing flood 
 Whelming her sweet womanhood. 
 
 " 'Tis but shame," quoth Hugh of Dee, 
 
 " Let her pass. Lord Bouverie ; 
 
 Not for stars is it I ween 
 
 To proclaim their state serene." 
 
 But the baron straight replied, 
 
 " Stars that tremble where they bide 
 
 Are not stars with which to crown 
 
 Ancient Bouverie's proud renown." 
 
 At which like some lily waking 
 
 From its moonlit dreams to find 
 
 Earth and air around it quaking 
 
 In a rage of gusty wind, 
 
 From her breast the maiden raised 
 
 To his face her glance amazed, 
 
 And her lips paled visibly. 
 
 Kneeling lowly at his knee, 
 
 *' Ask me what you will," said she, 
 
 " Much would Claire of Bouverie do, 
 
 But this one thing, father, no." 
 
 " No ! " and like a tiger stung 
 By the hunter's bitter dart. 
 From her side he backward sprung, 
 Eyes to heaven and hand to heart. 
 
THE TOWER OF BOUVERIE. 
 
 " What ! and have I then come back 
 
 From the Paynim's fierce attack 
 
 To find treason in my home ? 
 
 Saints of heaven ! have I come 
 
 From the desert's wasting dearth, 
 
 From the raging of the sea, 
 
 From the tempest's enmity, 
 
 To find shame upon my hearth ? " 
 
 " Shame ? not so ! " cried Hugh of Dee: 
 
 " Never shame," said Enderby ; 
 
 " Love and patience, hope and truth," 
 
 Spake in haste the gallant youth, 
 
 " But not shame. Lord Bouverie." 
 
 " Love and sorrow," whispered she ; 
 
 '' Only that, Lord Bouverie." 
 
 But as he might spurn a cur, 
 From his side he spurned her. 
 " Shame and worse than shame to me, 
 May the heavens right instantly 
 Smite thee, curse of Bouverie ! " 
 Then while horror falls on all 
 In that dismal crowded hall, 
 Loud he clanked his ringing spur 
 With an awful look at her, 
 Through the dizxy moment's blur. 
 " Take her hence ! " he loudly cried, 
 '''" Everden has lost his bride ; 
 Fit for nought but death, — her shame 
 Ne'er shall soil a warrior's name. 
 Take her hence ; no more to me 
 Than this broken sword is she, 
 
 23 
 
24 THE TOWER OF BOUVERIE. 
 
 Henceforth here m Bouverie." 
 And his mighty blade he drew, 
 Brake it on his knee in two, 
 Cast it from him down the hall, 
 Lifted voice above them all, 
 '' No more than that sword to me, 
 As I am Lord Bouverie ! " 
 
 But at that an awful joy 
 Flushed the forehead of the boy ; 
 " What the master flings aside, 
 One may surely have," he cried ; 
 And with just a single bound. 
 Plucked the falchion from the ground. 
 " What the father gives to shame. 
 Love may freely, fully clajm ; " 
 And in sight of each man there 
 To his breast he drew her fair. 
 Wild, wan face with passionate care. 
 
 But the baron leaping back. 
 
 Struck that yearning twain apart, 
 
 As the lightning in its track 
 
 Open smites the sunset's heart. 
 
 *' Do you claim her so, pardie ? 
 
 By my life but we will see. 
 
 Daring cur of Bouverie. 
 
 Flowers like these though warped and dead, 
 
 Are not weeds," he fiercely said. 
 
 " If you think to pluck from me 
 
 This same rose of Bouverie, 
 
 By my life and by my wit 
 
 You will have to climb for it." 
 
THE TOWER OF BO UV ERIE. 
 
 And he raised his hand on high, 
 Pointed through the casement nigh 
 To his turrets 'gainst the sky. 
 
 " In the top of yonder tower 
 Lies my lady daughter's bower ; 
 If you love her as you say, 
 Mount and pluck her thence away. 
 Scarce so high as stars may be, 
 It will do, I wot," quoth he. 
 And his smile gloomed fearfully. 
 
 Mount the tower ! from each man's tongue 
 
 One fierce cry of horror sprung. 
 
 Mount the tower, why it is death 
 
 And the maiden's startled breath 
 
 On her pale lip faltereth. 
 
 But the young man looming higher 
 
 Eyes his lord with glance of fire. 
 
 *^ Will you give her me to wife 
 If I win that steep with life ? " 
 " Freely as yon heaven yields 
 Rain and sunshine to the fields." 
 *' Then as Heaven loveth truth, 
 Cometh joy or cometh ruth. 
 Will I dare it ! " cried the youth. 
 •^ ^ 'k 
 
 O will heaven look upon 
 Such a deed beneath the sun ! 
 Ninety awful feet the steep 
 Towers above the donjon keep ; 
 Ninety feet of rugged stone, 
 Crumbling, old, and ivy-grown — 
 
 25 
 
26 THE TOWER OF BO UV ERIE, 
 
 And each foot from top to pave, 
 A relentless, yawning grave ! 
 
 But the young man at its base. 
 Sees no more that steep surface, 
 Sees no more the eager death 
 Biding him with hungry breath ; 
 For upon the turret's height 
 They have placed the lady bright, 
 And his gaze is fixed upon 
 That dear head against the sun. 
 Whither all his hopes have run. 
 
 '' O Lord Bouverie, swear to me. 
 If I win her thus from thee. 
 She shall be mine own for aye, 
 Wife and mistress from this day." 
 " If you win her thus from me," 
 Answered he of Bouverie, 
 " By my life but she shall be 
 Thine unto the judgment day." 
 ''Then may Heaven be my aid. 
 And the right prevail ! " he said. 
 And he laid his hand in power 
 On the base of that rude tower. 
 Through the crowd an icy chill 
 Shot and passed, and all was still. 
 
 " If I fail, let no man ever 
 Say I flinched from the endeavor ; " 
 And he drew his body's weight 
 Up beyond the massive gate. 
 
THE TOWER OF BOUVERIE, 2/ 
 
 '' If I fail, let no man's lip 
 Dare to taunt her witii the slip ; " 
 And he mounted 'fore their eyes 
 Unto where the turrets rise. 
 " If I fail—" but at that word 
 Her sweet voice above was heard, 
 And he brake his speech in two ; — 
 " But I will not fail, look you." 
 
 And with deathless zeal he bent 
 
 Will and strength to the ascent, 
 
 Setting now a steady foot 
 
 On the ivys' clinging root. 
 
 Grasping now the slippery edge 
 
 Of some narrow casement's ledge, 
 
 Arm upstretched and head backthrown, 
 
 As if her dear eyes alone 
 
 Drew him up those heights of stone. 
 
 O ye Heavens, what abyss ! 
 If his daring hand should miss ! 
 If the ivy's treacherous root 
 Should give way beneath his foot ! 
 Many a gleam of horror flies 
 Through that watching maiden's eyes ; 
 Many a noble heart below 
 Shudders in an awful woe — 
 If that daring hand should miss, 
 Saints of Heaven, what abyss ! 
 
 But he mounts up yet for all 
 Past the gap within the wall, 
 
THE TOWER OF BO UV ERIE. 
 
 Past the barbican's high crest, 
 Past the swallow's hidden nest ; 
 Up, till heart and watching eye 
 Faint and follow wearily, 
 Till the swallows swooping whirl 
 Round and round in dizzy swirl, 
 And the clouds swim dreamily. 
 
 Slower now, but steady still, — 
 How the vines about him thrill ! 
 Up another foot, and lo ! 
 How his form sways to and fro ! 
 Up one more, and he whose breast 
 Touch of gentleness doth know. 
 Drops his eyelids from the rest. 
 
 Further still, and lord and knight 
 Sink to ground in wild affright ; 
 Only he of iron will. 
 Baron Bouverie, dares look still, 
 Dares to mark that figure high, . 
 Swinging between earth and sky. 
 Past their help and past recall, 
 Eighty feet above them all. 
 
 He has gained the turret's brow, 
 Just beneath the lady now, 
 And his yearning arms reach high. 
 And her yearning arms reach low. 
 But their two hands — ah, so nigh, 
 Cannot join. " Ah ha ! " then cries 
 The fierce lord, without disguise, 
 " In another moment more 
 
THE TOWER OF BOUVERIE. 
 
 This same silly sport is o'er ! " 
 And he trims his iron lip 
 For the chill and awful smile 
 That shall hail the fatal slip 
 From that huge terrific pile. 
 But a sudden curse instead 
 Forces way betwixt his teeth, 
 For the maiden overhead 
 Leaning to the youth beneath, 
 Hath let down her scarf's deep fold, 
 And by its same help, behold, 
 He has struggled upward now 
 Level to the turret's brow. 
 
 " O Lord Bouverie, swear to me 
 That he lives," cried Hugh of Dee, 
 " Fifty candles, large and white, 
 To our Lady's shrine tO:night, 
 If he wins the turret's height ! " 
 Clamored noble Enderby. 
 
 But the baron with his eyes 
 Stretched and fixed upon the skies, 
 Answers not by deed or word 
 Anxious knight or fearful lord. 
 All his gaze is on the man 
 Struggling, fainting in the span 
 Of his lady's arms, upon 
 That last awful verge of stone. 
 Will he clear it ? dare he ? Can 
 It indeed be done by man ? 
 Ha, he slips, he falls ; but no 
 It was but the final throw 
 
 29 
 
30 
 
 THE TOWER OF BO UV ERIE. 
 
 Of his body ere he put 
 
 O'er the ledge his fainting foot. 
 
 " 'Tis no squire of mine," then cried 
 The fierce master in his pride, 
 " But some imp from hell we see 
 This same day in Bouverie." 
 But another moment, and 
 AVith a twist of foot and hand, 
 The brave stripling clears the edge 
 Of the turret's battled ledge, 
 And they see him leaning warm 
 On his lovely lady's arm, 
 Blessed at last and safe from harm. 
 
 O was ever such emprise 
 Seen before by mortal eyes ! 
 Like the rising of the sea 
 Sprang the shout of victory ; 
 Like the rising of the sea 
 AVhen the heart of nature breaks, 
 Or the thunder when it speaks. 
 
 But the baron with a bound, 
 Jump'd in anger from the ground, 
 And his glance flashed fiercely round. 
 *' Ah, but ye do well to shout 
 Ere the sport is full played out ! 
 He has mounted up, I own, 
 And a gallant deed 'tis too. 
 But, my lords, remember you, 
 That he has not yet come down ! " 
 
THE TOWER OF BOUVERIE. 
 
 " Noble sir, what would you do ? " 
 Cried out Vaux and Hamon too, 
 Leaping swiftly into view. 
 But the baron smiting hard 
 With his heel upon the sward. 
 Cried, " As he has gone, I swear 
 He shall come again, or ne'er 
 Set his foot again to ground 
 From yon turret's narrow bound." 
 
 But at that brave Clarimaux, 
 Seizing hold of mighty Vaux, 
 Sprang before him in the way. 
 "Baron Bouverie," he said, 
 " You must o'er my body tread, 
 If you close that door to-day." 
 " Yes and mine ! " re-echoed wide. 
 And stern Duffield leaped beside ; 
 " We can look on gallant deeds. 
 Noble contests, lordly meeds. 
 But by Heaven that base heart bleeds 
 That would force these eyes to see 
 Grievous wrong and perjury." 
 
 " Do you think, then," cried his lord, 
 " That we bend to such as ye ? 
 That because we lack our sword, 
 We will do your will ? " shrieked he ; 
 And with just one mighty bound 
 Cleft the swaying crowd around, 
 And stood breathing death before 
 The grim turret's narrow door, 
 
 31 
 
32 
 
 THE TOWER OF BOUVERIE. 
 
 When — ah, what is this that meets 
 Him upon the threshold stone ? 
 What this vision fair which greets 
 Him with tender arms outthrown ? 
 Eye of fire and cheek of rose, 
 Lip where every rapture glows, — 
 Can this be the maiden frail 
 That but one short hour before 
 Lay like broken lily pale 
 On the castle's stony floor ? 
 With a cry he backward sped. 
 But the maiden, springing, laid 
 On his breast her joyous head, 
 Smiling on him undismayed. 
 " Father, father, will you be 
 Harsher, then, than destiny ? " 
 And her clinging, eager arm 
 Crept about him live and warm 
 With a wild and nameless charm. 
 
 But he like some rock that feels 
 
 All unmoved the wind's appeals. 
 
 For a moment stood unswayed, 
 
 Gazing down upon the maid. 
 
 But as closer to his breast 
 
 That pure cheek and forehead pressed. 
 
 Gentler aspects took the place 
 
 Of the frowns upon his face. 
 
 And a something like a sigh 
 
 Shook his bosom heavily. 
 
 Starting back with sudden speed, 
 
 From his neck her arms he freed. 
 
• THE TOWER OF BO UV ERIE. 33 
 
 And upon that crowd around 
 Fixed his haughty glance profound. 
 " Noble lords and sirs," he cried, 
 " We have looked this day upon 
 A great deed beneath the sun, 
 And our soul is satisfied. 
 But one thing remain eth yet 
 Which 'twere treason to forget ; " 
 And he caught with fervor up 
 From the page beside, his cup : 
 " 'Tis the pledge which crowneth all 
 Gallant acts in field and hall." 
 Then while each man held his breath 
 In a doubt 'twixt life and death, 
 Back he tossed his head on high, 
 Raised the goblet towards the sky, 
 And spake out right potently : 
 
 *' Here's to triumph in the wars ! 
 Here's to pleasure in our halls ! 
 Here's to Turkish scimitars 
 Hanging on our English walls ! 
 Here's to courage, though it be 
 In a squire of low degree ! 
 Here's to love ! and here's to see, 
 Ere another day can flee, 
 These two wed in Bouverie I " 
 
34 
 
 PREMONITION. 
 
 PREMONITION. 
 
 The sweetest hour in all love's wondrous story, 
 When Hope first whispers of the coming glory. 
 
 SUDDEN Strange unfolding 
 
 In the cheerful noontide glare ; 
 
 A sudden passionate heaving 
 In the bosom of the air. 
 
 The sense of something coming, 
 
 Mysterious and dread, 
 The lightning for its crowning, 
 
 The thunder for its tread. 
 
 A whisper in the breezes 
 One has not heard before ; 
 
 A longing in the billow, 
 A yearning in the shore. 
 
 A bubbling up of life 
 
 From every wayside thing ; 
 A meaning in the dip 
 
 Of even a swallow's wing. 
 
 A fear as if the morrow 
 
 Would ope some hidden portal ; 
 A joy as if the feet 
 
 Stood ai; the gate immortal. 
 
IN LIGHT: IN NIGHT. 
 
 An angel in the pathway 
 To every common goal, 
 
 A widening of the outlook 
 That opens on the soul. 
 
 A sound of song at midnight, 
 A mist of dreams at noon ; 
 
 A tear upon the eyelash, 
 
 The lips' smile might impugn. 
 
 A coming back of childhood 
 When morning suns are bright, 
 
 To find yourself a woman 
 Upon your knees at night. 
 
 35 
 
 IN LIGHT : IN NIGHT. 
 
 ARK 'gainst the deepening skies, 
 Frosty with stars, 
 See I the bars 
 Of a wierd cross arise. 
 
 How glooms the night away ! 
 
 Winds are abroad; 
 
 Waves of the ford 
 Bocm out a dismal lay. 
 
 Shrine wet with dew and tears 
 
 Here will I rest. 
 
 Easing a breast 
 Worn by despair and fears. 
 
36 
 
 IN LIGHT: IN NIGHT. 
 
 Not on the brow of her 
 Who walks in light, 
 While I in night, 
 
 Let thy long shadow stir. 
 
 Rather across this heart 
 Let it be laid, 
 Shade after shade, 
 
 Gloom hath with her no part. 
 
 While in his sight her soul 
 Greatens and glows. 
 Till her heart's rose 
 
 Opes at his fond control ; 
 
 I clasp the cross and cry 
 " Strength, Holy Rood 
 Kiss the cold wood 
 
 While at its foot I He.' 
 
 Angel, whose wings I see 
 Shift 'mongst the stars, 
 Make these chill bars 
 
 Ladders of light for me. 
 
THREE LETTERS. 37 
 
 THREE LETTERS. 
 
 FROM HIM TO HER. 
 
 WEET, when I gave my iroth to you 
 
 I loved you — or imagined so ; 
 But winds may change, and clouds that blew 
 To Eastward at the morn, may blow 
 Toward the West, by noon, you know. 
 
 'Tis not that you are grown less fair ; 
 
 A rose is e'er a rose to me ; 
 But he who wanders on to where 
 
 The pensive violet clusters are, 
 May chance forget the rose, you see. 
 
 And I have wandered : there, 'tis out ! 
 However fickle, false, or wrong, 
 
 You cannot say I gave to doubt 
 The master music of that song 
 Joy sings in breasts where hopes belong. 
 
 You cannot say I was not true 
 To truth, if not to constancy ; 
 
 That I still sought' to quaff the dew 
 From off the rose, while secretly 
 I groped for what more pleased me. 
 
38 THREE LETTERS. 
 
 Nor will you, being sweet as fair, 
 
 Condemn that other fair one's sweetness ; 
 
 Nor by those charms which make so rare 
 Your own pure face, disdain the meetness 
 Of loving grace in its completeness. 
 
 For beauty, beauty is ; and — well, 
 A man must worship where he must ; 
 
 Yet if you chose to hold me, Belle, 
 Why, I am yours ; I would be just ; 
 I pledged, and will fulfill my trust. 
 
 And if I wed I will be true ; 
 
 You need not fear ; the wave which holds 
 
 A lily up to all men's view. 
 
 Scarce spots the silver of its folds 
 With restless wash of secret molds. 
 
 Then tell me, sweet ; is't yes or no — 
 A marriage ring, or short farewell ? 
 
 Do you still love me, or love so 
 
 You can forgive ? — The wedding bell 
 'Gins ringing — then what say you ? tell. 
 
 FROM HER TO HIM. 
 
 What should I say but farewell ; is the rose 
 A thing too slight to stand alone and still 
 
 When the wind leaves it ? Shall a flower that grows 
 In God's clear light, more dearly love the thrill 
 
THREE LETTERS. 
 
 39 
 
 Of its own petals, than the happy sound 
 
 Of breezes singing, though their songs should be 
 
 For some sweet other blossom far away, 
 That is no rose to lose them ? No ; the bliss 
 Of him to whom I gave my bliss one day 
 Is much more precious than his troth to me : 
 
 I scarce would wish his face again to see, 
 Its happy smile and tender shine to miss ; 
 Then of the twain it is not yes, but no, 
 
 And with the no, farewell. May she, your love. 
 So live in joy and so in beauty move, 
 You never may in all your dreams forget 
 Heaven blooms for you within the violet. 
 
 III. 
 
 FROM HIM TO HER. 
 
 Ah, rose, m.y rose, my loVe, my queen. 
 
 My gentle, faithful, tender heart ; 
 The one fair woman I have seen 
 
 With soul to feel for other's smart ; 
 Didst think that I who once had known 
 
 Thy wild-rose touch could wander on ? 
 
 That any blossom 'neath the sun, 
 
 Though crowned with heavenly grace and power, 
 Could fairer seem to me than one 
 
 Whose blushes are the summer's dower ? 
 That daintiest violets in the world 
 
 Could rival rose-buds half unfurled? 
 
40 
 
 THREE LETTERS. 
 
 Didst think— but no, thou drdst not think — 
 Thou didst but love ! O sweet ! O wife ! 
 
 My one firm hold upon the brink 
 Of that deep gulf which we call life, 
 
 Would thou couldst know my joy to find 
 
 This angel living in thy mind. 
 
 For, sweet, I love thee, loved thee so ; 
 
 But oh ! so feared to trust my love. 
 Who am no saint, and needs must know 
 
 How false the fairest face can prove ; 
 How oft beneath the softest sigh 
 Heaves woman's heart of vanity. 
 
 And soul yields not but to its own ; 
 
 And I did love thee wdth my soul ; 
 A stream sings on by weed and stone, 
 
 But ocean billows long to roll 
 The strength and glory of the .seas, 
 Upon their shore of mysteries. 
 
 And thou wert shore and all to me ; 
 
 My star, my crown, my calm retreat ; 
 So dear that I could bear to pain 
 
 Thy heart to learn its secret sweet. 
 Canst pardon then ? O sunny shore, 
 A whole sea waits to tell thee more.. 
 
 Thou wilt not scorn me ? Ah, my pen 
 Slips at the wild thought to the floor ; 
 
 Nought else but eyes can plead, love, when 
 The ghost of death stands in the door ; 
 
 Then read what I have writ, and say 
 
 If love can pardon love alway. 
 
SHADOWS. 41 
 
 Thou dost not speak. O sweet ! O love ! 
 
 It were not much to die for thee, 
 But Hve and know not God above 
 
 Could give my heaven back to me — 
 Ah, canst thou doom it ? What, yes ? no ! 
 O God, mayst Thou but pardon so ! 
 
 PEARLS. 
 
 HE wave that floods the trembling shore, 
 And desolates the strand, 
 In ebbing leaves, 'mid froth and wreck, 
 A shell upon the sand. 
 
 So troubles oft o'erwhelm the soul ; 
 
 And shake the constant mind. 
 That in retreating leave a pearl 
 
 Of memory behind. 
 
 SHADOWS. 
 
 ZEPHYR moves the maple-trees. 
 And straightway o'er the grass 
 
 The shadows of their branches shift, 
 Shift, Love, but do not pass. 
 
 So though with time a change may come, 
 
 Within my steadfast heart, 
 The shadow of thy form may stir. 
 
 But cannot, Love, depart. 
 
42 PAUL I SHAM. 
 
 PAUL ISHAM. 
 
 HEN first Paul Isham crossed the fields to 
 woo 
 
 Sweet Gladys Darrell in her humble home, 
 'Twas deemed the veriest marvel of the year 
 By all our country gossips. " True," said they, 
 '' She has some beauty, is not quite devoid 
 Of grace in speech and bearing ; is both young 
 And gentle tempered, but despite all this, 
 A match unworthy of his name and wealth, 
 His varied learning and a culture won 
 By years of foreign travel." 
 
 He it was 
 Who built the sumptuous mansion which you see 
 Rise in the vale below us. There in state 
 As lonely as methinks 'tis cheerful now. 
 He lived on his return from o'er the seas, 
 Respected, courted somewhat, but unmoved 
 By woman's smile from his accustomed mien 
 Of proud composure, till his glances fell 
 On pretty Gladys where she stood one day 
 Amid her fellows. As a wilding rose 
 
PAUL ISHAM. 43 
 
 Discovered in a garden draws the gaze 
 
 And seems in its meek loveliness more fair 
 
 Than all its prouder sisters, so to him 
 
 She seemed the choicest blossom of them all, 
 
 A treasure past computing. For a year 
 
 He wooed her, then, as doth the strong man woo 
 
 His last and dearest blessing from the fates, 
 
 And at the year's end won her. Then to him 
 
 Returned the morning freshness of his youth, 
 
 Hope and the joy of life. She was to him 
 
 A breath of spring across the winter rime, 
 
 And in her beauty he was wont to see 
 
 Something akin to all that sweetest is 
 
 In Nature's handiwork, when from the snow 
 
 The crocus blossoms, and the earth, beguiled. 
 
 Yields up her hoarded treasures to the sun 
 
 And all mankind rejoices. 
 
 But of late 
 He had perceived a certain change in her ; 
 The bud which gazes fearless on the sky 
 Droops as its being richens ; so with her 
 Across whose girlish merriment had crept 
 The hush of feeling and the calm of thought. 
 Less often rang the songs that once had seemed 
 Surcharged with laughter like the voice of brooks ; 
 But if by chance they fell upon the ear 
 They lingered there, like waves which vainly seek 
 To utter all the story of the sea 
 And die in music with the tale untold. 
 Less frequent shone the smile upon her lips ; 
 But when it came 'twas sweeter than before, 
 As the lone ray that wanders through a gfen, 
 
44 PAUL ISHAAI. 
 
 Suggesting beauties it but half reveals, 
 Is lovelier than the sunshine on the lea. 
 And when Paul I sham saw all this he said, 
 *^ The summer grows upon my darling's heart, 
 Ripening her woman's nature." 
 
 June was here, 
 And in a month 'twas thought the marriage peal 
 Would ring from Benton diurch-bells. In the house 
 Beyond the maples there was heard at times 
 Unwonted sounds, as though its generous lord 
 Was making preparation for his bride ; 
 And every evening when the sun was low 
 And earth and air were radiant, he was seen 
 Crossing the meadow to his Gladys' home 
 Beneath the mountain. Oft he passed alone. 
 But oftener still in company with Ralph, 
 A youthful brother, who had haply come 
 Some two months since from his far home in town, 
 To stray again among remembered scenes, 
 And with man's eyes behold the sacred spots 
 Where in his dreamy childhood he had stood 
 And seen the visions of his future life 
 Flit by in sun and shadow. 
 
 But this eve 
 It pleased Paul Isham to go forth alone 
 To meet with Gladys. For all through the day 
 The thought of her had called a rainbow forth 
 From every cloud of care, and much he yearned 
 For her dear presence. O the toils of life ! 
 How small they seem when love's resistless tide 
 
PAUL ISHAM. 45 
 
 Sweeps brightly o'er them ! Like the scattered 
 
 stones 
 Within a mountain streamlet, they but serve 
 To strike the hidden music from its flow 
 And make its sparkle visible. 
 
 A copse 
 Full of soft shadows and sun-lighted glades 
 Lay in his path. Here he was wont to pause 
 And cull some woodland blossom from the mould 
 To lay within her palm, that it might speak 
 Such words as he in his heart-reverence found 
 Halt in the utterance. But to-night his thoughts 
 Sprang winged to his lips ; his very love 
 Seemed given for inspiration, and he trod 
 Hastily onward, feehng in his soul 
 A yearning like the yearning of a wave 
 That sees the shore stretch beautiful beyond it. 
 He found her pacing o'er the sunlit lawn. 
 Lost in a dream that brought the fitful blood 
 In tremor to her cheek, and lent withal 
 To her high bearing such a tender grace — 
 No moonbeam sleeping in a chancel's dusk, 
 Amid the splendor of emblazoned gules. 
 Could be more fair, or sweetlier blend in one 
 The light of heaven and the glow of earth. 
 
 " Gladys," he said, and smiling drew her hand 
 Closely in his ; " my heart is full to-night, 
 Full of true love for you, dear, as mine eyes 
 Are full of your rare beauty. Scarce can I, 
 In my great happiness and glad content, 
 
46 
 
 PAUL ISHAM. 
 
 Believe that I have known you but a year, 
 
 Who now are joy, love, hope, and heaven to me. 
 
 That once knew none of these. For I have had 
 
 Through all my years a lonesome life and dark. 
 
 With overmuch of sorrow, and I stand 
 
 Just now where yonder hills stood at the dawn, 
 
 'Twixt night and sunshine : in the future thee, 
 
 But in the past a long array of griefs. 
 
 Crushed hopes, ambitions lost, sweet friendship made 
 
 A mockery and a snare — a life of woe 
 
 Without a love to comfort. 
 
 '' I've a fancy, 
 A strange wild fancy, that we two were friends 
 Long, long ago, in an existence past. 
 And now but half remembered. In your face 
 I found no strangeness when I first beheld you. 
 Only the blossoming of some vague dream 
 Into sweet life and glad reality. 
 I do remember how in vain that day 
 I sought for that which had suggested you 
 And made your glance familiar ; how my thoughts 
 Flew back in wavering flight along the years. 
 E'en to the smile upon my mother's lips. 
 When in her arms I lay, a little child 
 Unconscious of my bliss, and felt my thoughts 
 Float on the music of her voice until 
 They stranded on the flowery shores of sleep. 
 But though her loveliness was like a breath. 
 Of sunset glory on a silver cloud, 
 It was not yours." 
 
 " You lost your mother, Paul ! " 
 
PAUL I SHAM. 
 
 47 
 
 " Yes, Gladys, and with her the roseate hues 
 
 AVhich make the morn of childhood beautiful. 
 
 Thereafter life took sterner shades and thrilled 
 
 But to one touch, Ambition's. ' I will be 
 
 Great ! ' was my watchword for the day ; 
 
 And when at eve I laid my head to rest, 
 
 'Twas still, ' I will be great ! ' And so I. toiled, 
 
 Struggled and anguished for a space of years 
 
 Along the rugged steeps which lead to Fame, 
 
 Feeling the need of love wax strong within 
 
 As my ways thickened. Why, in those hard days 
 
 The least child's smile would stir me to the heart 
 
 Like far off music, and a gentle word 
 
 Uttered in merest welcome or farewell, 
 
 Had power to. soothe me like a breeze which brings 
 
 The south up on its pinions. Marvel not 
 
 That such slight things had power to move me ; 
 
 knovv^ 
 That he who steps on stones is glad to feel 
 The smallest spray of moss beneath his feet. 
 
 " But, Gladys, I was pressing with the crowd 
 And with the crowd I faltered. Not for me 
 To jostle bruised and bruising to the goal 
 Where, on the rocky pinnacles of Fame, 
 Cluster the living garlands. So that hope 
 Died also, and I buried it and stood 
 Awhile above its grave, then went my way 
 Still without love or comfort." 
 
 Ceasing there, 
 He gazed a moment on her half-turned cheek 
 And lowered lashes, marveling at the tears 
 
48 PAUL ISHAM. 
 
 Within her eyes, but finding her withal 
 
 More lovely to behold than when the rose 
 
 Lived in perpetual summer on her cheek. 
 
 For beauty such as hers is like a breath 
 
 Of distant music stealing through the hush 
 
 Of fragrant gardens, and like music draws 
 
 Its rarest charm from gentle melancholy. 
 
 But even a pearl will flush with sudden lights 
 
 If but the sun fall on it ; so the cheek 
 
 Which but a moment since was pale as snow, 
 
 Grew dazzling with its shifting play of flame 
 
 Ev'n as he gazed upon it, and the lips 
 
 Which had been very silent, woke and said, 
 
 " And was there not one, then, of all your friends, 
 
 Whose frank affection could redeem the loss 
 
 Of these sad years ? Though joy and hope were 
 
 gone. 
 You had a brother, Paul." 
 
 " True, Gladys, true ; 
 But we were bred in separate homes, and he 
 Has ever lived 'neath happier skies than I, 
 And known less sorrow. Born for joy alone, 
 He thrids the world as sunshine thrids a wood. 
 And all men love him, as in weal or woe 
 They never yet have loved or cherished me. 
 But child, you weep ! Ah, have I then with words 
 Moved you so deeply, Gladys ? Know you not 
 That such a joy as lives within me now. 
 Can, like the strings of an ^Eolian harp. 
 Draw music from the roughest wind that blows 
 From those past hours of sorrow .^ Weep no more. 
 Or weep for joy alone." 
 
PAUL I SHAM. 49 
 
 " Alas ! " she cried, 
 '' The eye that pierces straightly to the future 
 Can never weep for joy." 
 
 " The future, Gladys ? " 
 
 " Yes," and a sad smile flickered through her tears 
 Like a faint rainbow from a summer shower, 
 Which ere it arches 'gins to fade away. 
 " Yon sky blooms very rosily," she said, 
 " But look you where the shadowy palm of night 
 Steals up to pluck its roses. Hark," she cried, 
 ^* Hear how the brooks below us in the woods 
 Twang on the stones ! Like strings of silver bells 
 They laugh and sport as if all time were theirs. 
 Whereas already by their careless waves 
 The hot-mouthed Summer stoops her down to drink 
 The draught that is their death. Oh ! " she said, 
 " Full many a vessel threads the gates of morn, 
 With spreading sails and gold upon its prow. 
 That ere the eve will bend beneath the storm. 
 And we — how know we if our moments run 
 To break on joy or sorrow ? We can hope, 
 But hope itself is born of doubt, my friend. 
 Always in bud, but never quite a flower." 
 
 " True, Gladys ; but the trouble in your eyes 
 Hath borrowed darkness from a surer fear 
 Than this vague terror of an unknown morrow. 
 Then trust me with it, let me bear it for you ; 
 Have I not vowed within mine inmost soul 
 To hold you much more precious than the world^ 
 3 
 
50 
 
 PAUL I SHAM. 
 
 Yes, as the very blood within my veins, 
 And will you not then trust me ? " 
 
 " Trust you ? " she cried, 
 " Would unto God," she whispered, " would to God 
 All things came easy as my trust in you." 
 
 " Then speak, I do constrain you ; by your love 
 
 I do constrain you, Gladys. Silent yet ? 
 
 Nay then," he said, and smiling, laid his hands 
 
 With tender care on either troubled cheek, 
 
 " I'll read your sorrows where I've read your joys^ 
 
 Ev'n in your eyes, beloved." 
 
 But she, like one 
 Struck to the heart by some quick shame or grief. 
 Shrank trembling back, nor met his gaze with hers, 
 But bowed her head and prayed him to forbear, 
 Saying that on the morrow, if he willed, 
 She would disclose him all her secret care. 
 But that for this one day she must crave patience. 
 
 But ah, when morrow came and he returned 
 
 To that same spot beneath the woodland trees. 
 
 It was to find not Gladys, but a letter 
 
 Lying upon their simple rustic seat, 
 
 In which with many cries for his forgiveness. 
 
 She told him all her heart. How for long weeks 
 
 The truth had grown upon her as a cloud 
 
 Grows o'er the sun, that not as he loved her 
 
 Could she love him. That liking and respect 
 
 Were not what he desired, nor what she 
 
 Had hoped alone to give him when she pledged 
 
PA UL I SHAM. 5 I 
 
 Hand unto hand and willing heart to heart, 
 
 And yet that these were all she truly had 
 
 To give for so great love as he gave her. 
 
 And how this knowledge had o'ershadowed her, 
 
 Filling her nights with anguish and her days 
 
 With heavy shame and struggle, till her life 
 
 Grew bitter to her, and his words like swords 
 
 Cleft her and left deep wounds that would not heal. 
 
 And how in honor to his noble faith 
 
 She could no more deceive him, though her heart. 
 
 Her woman's fearful, trembUng heart should break 
 
 With anguish for his sorrow. " Oh ! " she wrote, 
 
 " Far liever had I died in my first youth. 
 
 Than lived to be a heavy grief to one 
 
 So noble and so loving. Blame me not ; 
 
 For I have wrestled with my heart as one 
 
 Wrestles with fate itself ; and all in vain." 
 
 It was a deadly blow ! A blow like that 
 Which swooping unawares from out the night 
 Dashes a man from some high starlit peak 
 Into a void of cold and hurrying waves. 
 'Twas not the loss alone. In that wild hour 
 Of first resistance, anguish, and despair, 
 He felt he could have borne her simple loss 
 So God had taken her. But loss of love ! 
 Loss of belief in aU the radiant past. 
 Of hope in years to come — ah, who but those 
 Whose lives have felt the shock of utter wreck, 
 Can rightly speak of what that hour of doom 
 Was to this man of sorrow ! 
 
 Or when later, 
 ^ She with her sweet face worn by bitter tears, 
 
52 
 
 PAUL I SHAM. 
 
 Her young form trembling and her hands outstretched, 
 
 Came stealing through the forest to his side, 
 
 And kneeling at his feet entreated him 
 
 To look on her with pity and not blame, 
 
 For she had never meant to do him wrong, 
 
 What tongue can tell the feelings of his heart 
 
 As taking that bright head between his hands 
 
 He looked upon her face and gently said, 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, I do not blame you, Gladys, 
 
 God knows I love you with too deep a love 
 
 To seek to rob you for my selfish ends 
 
 Of that dear right which gives to woman's vow 
 
 Its heart significance. Nor would I seek 
 
 By any plea of loss in hope or love 
 
 To make your loss the greater. But, dear child. 
 
 There yet is left to manhood one true plea. 
 
 The plea of your own happiness. For child, I know 
 
 That I can make you happy. There is that 
 
 Hid in this breast which needs must call from yours 
 
 Some echo in the years that are to come. 
 
 And Gladys, Gladys, though you know it not. 
 
 No other man can give what I have given. 
 
 Nor were it well he should. It is your youth 
 
 Which has been speaking. Youth has needs, I 
 
 knov»'. 
 And headlong yearnings like the mountain streams 
 That rush adown the nearest path they find 
 To meet the sounding river ; but, oh child. 
 In womanhood the heart is like the sea. 
 Deep, deep, and self-contained, but yearning still 
 Through all its mighty billows for a shore 
 To break in strength upon. Remember this ; 
 And by the stately womanhood I see 
 
PAUL I SHAM. 53 
 
 Budding within the gentle girl I love, 
 
 Pause ere it be too late." And with the gleam 
 
 Of something like a smile upon his Hps, 
 
 He held his hand out, whispering in her ear, 
 
 " If be you cannot answer me for tears, 
 
 But lay your hand, though e'er so light, on mine, 
 
 And I shall understand." 
 
 But she as though 
 Made frantic by her helplessness and grief. 
 Struck her two palms together as in prayer, 
 And stood there murmuring with white lips, 
 
 '' O Christ, 
 Help me ! Thou who renouncedst thy will and life, 
 Hear me this hour ! " 
 
 Then unto him there came 
 An awful change, and from her side he turned 
 Away and hunted slowly for the sun 
 Like one whom God has blinded. " Child," said he, 
 " You have not told me all." 
 
 " No, no," she cried, 
 " I have not told you all." And bowing down 
 As though she fain had knelt before his face. 
 She whispered of another love than his 
 Which had, though all unconscious, caught her heart 
 Within its subtle radiance. " Oh ! " she said, 
 " I meant to be most true ; but when he came. 
 And when he spake and looked on me and smiled, 
 I know not how but all my life seemed changed. 
 And yet he came, and I for very shame 
 Could not forbid his coming. How could I, 
 
54 PAUL ISHAM. 
 
 Since you were blind, and he had said no words 
 Save as friends speak or brothers ! Bear with me ; 
 I am most weak, but for your sake will strive. 
 Yes, and will conquer, so you send him hence 
 Where we may meet him never." 
 
 '' Send him hence ? 
 / send him hence ? As friends speak or as brothers ? 
 You tremble so I cannot understand — 
 As brothers, Gladys, brothers ? " And she sav\^ 
 A stony pallor steal across his face. 
 And felt his hand fall heavy on his breast 
 As he had had a blow too dread for words. 
 
 " Ah, my false heart, what hast thou done ? " she 
 
 moaned. 
 And drawing nearer, touched his sleeve and strove 
 To look upon his face ; and called him Paul, 
 Dear Paul, and laid her head against his arm 
 Sobbing, " I am to be your wife ; O Paul, 
 Hear me, your wife ! " But he, in nowise moved. 
 Answered her not save with a single word 
 That fell as hopes fall, or as if all life 
 Went with it, and that word was Ralph. 
 
 She heard 
 And thrilled through all her being like a harp 
 Touched in the passing ; while across her lip 
 A light passed and upon her tearful cheek 
 Rested, as though the very name had power 
 To rouse her beauty, as a tremulous wind 
 Opens unto its depths a wild-wood flower. 
 
PAUL ISHAM. 
 
 55 
 
 But he who bent above her shivered once 
 Through all his frame, and, glancing down, un- 
 loosed 
 Her hands from off his arm and turned away 
 Blindly toward the shadows. Then once more 
 Did Gladys in an ecstasy of pain 
 Entreat him for a word, a look, a sign 
 Of his forgiveness ; striving hard to break 
 The spell which bound him, holding out her hands 
 And telling o'er her simple tale again 
 With many words of sorrow and remorse 
 And hard self-accusation ; till at last 
 He turned and looked upon her with a sigh 
 And said, " Poor child ! " and still as in a dream, 
 Once more, " Poor child ! " and so passed by and 
 
 moved 
 Heavily away into the shadowy dusk. 
 And lo ! as thus he went, far in the West 
 The last faint crimson died, while chill and keen 
 A wind came winging through the gates of night 
 And o'er the valley blew, until the trees 
 Bowed down their heads and all was dark and drear, 
 Where but an hour ago was bloom and joy. 
 Sunshine and color and the sons; of birds. 
 
 * * •^ ♦ * Hi 
 
 It was the end ; or e'er three days had passed, 
 This letter, breathing love's renunciation, 
 Was placed in Gladys' hand : " Dear child ; 
 You will forgive me that I do not come 
 To say farewell, since farewell must be said ; 
 You will forgive me, Gladys. It is meet 
 That I should go. I love you, dear, too much 
 
56 
 
 PAUL ISHAM. 
 
 To wed you. 'Twere not well, not well indeed, 
 
 That I who feel the pressure of my years 
 
 Heavily at times, should mate with one so young 
 
 The violets are blowing in her life. 
 
 Then take this boon from me and hold it choice, 
 
 As I have held it while I called it mine, 
 
 Take back yourself, dear ; not in grief but peace. 
 
 For I am blessed only in your joy. 
 
 Nor fear to yield your maiden troth again, 
 
 For he is very noble and will hold 
 
 You precious, else I had not left you, Gladys. 
 
 And he will make you happier far than I, 
 
 As he is happier-natured. Trust in him. 
 
 And his glad spirit like a golden bell 
 
 Will answer to the lightest touch of thine. 
 
 Filling your home with melody. And now 
 
 No less I bless you that I write this day 
 
 Against my name the tender title 
 
 Brother." 
 
 II. 
 
 But Gladys, in whose gentle bosom glowed 
 
 The light of purest purpose, felt her soul 
 
 Recoil before this prospect of delight 
 
 Built on another's woe. " What, go my ways 
 
 Girded with happiness and gay with hope. 
 
 While he whose hand hath clung to mine in troth, 
 
 Walks in the shadow cast by my delight. 
 
 An exile from his home ! No, no, O no ! 
 
 If hearts are weak, souls should at least be strong ; 
 
 I cannot as true woman do this thing." 
 
PAUL I SHAM. 
 
 57 
 
 And though with added thought and certain proof 
 That he had gone to come again no more, 
 Rose many shy sweet pictures of the bliss 
 Which might be hers would she but turn to meet 
 The passion glowing in young Isham's eyes, 
 She gave it as her final verdict out, 
 That while his brother lived she ne'er should give 
 Her hand unto another, troth at least, 
 If not her heart, being her own to grant 
 Or to withhold as faith and duty prompted. 
 Nor though she was of gentlest mind and heart 
 Could she be moved from this by any plea 
 Wisdom or love could urge, but firm and true 
 Kept to her faith, though day by day her cheek 
 Paled, and the glance so proudly radiant once 
 Grew all so dim, that those who held her dear 
 Shrank as they looked upon her wan young face, 
 Crying within their hearts, '' The child will die." 
 
 And they were right ; had there not come a change 
 Fair Gladys would have died. 'Twas not that love 
 Had built so firm a seat within her spirit. 
 That disappointment threatened all with ruin, 
 But that the seeds of wild remorse were there, 
 A grievous sense of wrong to those two hearts 
 So firm and generous in their deep devotion. 
 But ev'n as life seemed bending 'neath its load, 
 There came to Benton tidings of the wreck. 
 With loss of all on board, of the good ship 
 In which Paul Isham voyaged to the East. 
 And keen as was the pang of grief his death 
 Brought to her faithful soul, the strain that bore 
 So hard upon her tender soul was eased; 
 
58 
 
 PAUL I SHAM. 
 
 And like a flower that shakes the first light snow 
 From its transparent leaves, she thrilled anew 
 To life and to a beauty more replete 
 For the faint hint of sorrow in its joy. 
 
 But though young Ralph came wooing with the spring, 
 Fair Gladys would not listen till the year 
 Of widowhood and mourning was fulfilled. 
 ^' For I was his betrothed," she whispered lov/, 
 " And being such, should feel my shame complete, 
 If I should wind a wreath around my brow 
 Ere a year's stars could circle o'er his grave." 
 But when the early Fall had surely brought 
 All spring hopes to fulfillment, these were wed. 
 And in the glow of their perfected love 
 Found happiness at last and full content 
 Beyond their fondest dreaming. Yet withal 
 There was a wave of sorrow in the joy 
 Of Gladys' breast at least ; a gentle wave 
 That yet made saddest music, when it throbbed 
 Across the hush of midnight or the swell 
 Of careless mirth in which she took no part. 
 
 For now it was she 'gan to dream strange dreams 
 
 Of him whom they deemed perished, but whom she 
 
 Saw ever moving free amongst his kind, 
 
 A living, breathing man. So plain indeed 
 
 She saw this noble figure come and go 
 
 Amid the lighter fancies of her sleep, 
 
 She scarce could tell or that were life or this 
 
 First waking with the sun upon her cheek 
 
 And he no longer near. And still so oft 
 
PAUL I SHAM. 
 
 This single dream returned, she seemed to live 
 
 A double life beneath the skies, and give 
 
 One half to him she loved, and one to him 
 
 Who loving her had perished for her sake. 
 
 Yet not as though she met him face to face, 
 
 She saw him, dreaming ; but as one who moved 
 
 Before her in a life which was not hers, 
 
 And yet was life with earnest hopes and cares 
 
 xA.nd duties manifold. And now as one 
 
 Who bends above the couches of the sick, 
 
 She saw him from afar, a steady light 
 
 Among a whirl of shadows ; now as one 
 
 Who striveth with a heaving, threatening crowd 
 
 That beat about him restlessly and wild. 
 
 While he stands firm, a tower of stately strength. 
 
 Amid a sea of waves ; and now again 
 
 Alone and musing o'er an empty hearth. 
 
 With just a tress of gold within his hand — . 
 
 She knows, ah, who so well ! But whether thus, 
 
 Or whether moving in the hurrying crowd 
 
 Of street or church or mart, forever calm. 
 
 Forever with that smile upon his lips 
 
 Which spake of sorrow past and peace regained. 
 
 So deep this smile, so deep the faithful gaze 
 
 That sometimes turned upon her from afar. 
 
 Demanding not but blessing, that she woke 
 
 Ofttimes in tears, to find her arms stretched out 
 
 Across her husband to the silent stars, 
 
 And waking, shudders, that a dream should be 
 
 More vital true than life. And though at first 
 
 She fain had told her husband all her heart 
 
 And all her grief and yearning, yet as time 
 
 Rolled slowly by and brought her no relief, 
 
 59 
 
6o PAUL J SHAM. 
 
 She learned to hush her secret m her breast, 
 And ponder it in silence when the stars 
 Clomb slowly past the turrets of the house, 
 And lingered in the swaying trees beneath. 
 Like troops of steady watchers. 
 
 Thus the years 
 Passed slowly by, but not until there lay 
 A second blooming infant on her knee. 
 Did she dare whisper to her soul and say. 
 Her friend Paul Isham lived. But even then 
 She spake not, seeing men so rarely trust 
 To woman's intuitions, but would sit 
 Ofttimes and muse, her chin within her palm, 
 Like one who looks on visions from afar, 
 No other eye can see. 
 
 And now there came 
 A certain day when Gladys felt her doubts 
 Grow to a sure belief within her breast, 
 No after-thought might shake. She had been sittinj 
 Beside an open casement where the vines 
 Slow creeping from below but half concealed 
 The rounded beauty of her cradling arms 
 And tender mother-smile. Across the hush 
 Of the calm twilight she could hear the voice 
 Of little Paul, as o'er the lawn beneath 
 He fluttered half in view, when suddenly 
 There came a silence so assured and deep. 
 She felt as though a sudden gate had oped 
 Deep in her soul, through which a bursting light 
 Swift pouring, checked the breath upon her lips 
 In sacred wonder. Rising swiftly up. 
 She laid the sleeping infant from her arms, 
 
PAUL ISHAM. 6l 
 
 And Stood in all her loveliness revealed, 
 
 The light of feeling shimmering on her face 
 
 Like summer starlight on a trembling wave. 
 
 And lo ! as thus she stood, there came a sound, 
 
 A whispered sigh, a sudden stifled moan, 
 
 That even as she listened passed away. 
 
 But when a little later she beheld 
 
 A muffled form emerge from out the trees 
 
 And vanish in the shadows of the lawn, 
 
 She felt a sudden fever smite her soul. 
 
 And bounding forward, let one single cry 
 
 Leap towards it through the vines, then tottering, sank 
 
 All helpless with her hands across the sill. 
 
 But with her face still turned the way he went. 
 
 As if her look alone might serve in power 
 
 To bring him back again. 
 
 And thus it was 
 Her young son found her when he came in haste 
 To tell her of a stranger he had met 
 But now among the trees. "So bowed," he cried, 
 " I scarce could see his face, and yet so strong 
 He took me in his arms and kissed me, mother. 
 As I have seen you kiss the little cross 
 That was the gift of my dear uncle Paul." 
 
 And she who listened bent her head once more, 
 And through the sacred tremor of her tears 
 Cried softly, " Yes, my son, strong, strong indeed ; 
 The earth holds no such other." Then in haste 
 Uprising, caused an instant hurried search 
 For one, a stranger, passed but now from view 
 Across the twilight grounds. But though they 
 sought 
 
52 PAUL ISHAM. 
 
 From e^rlv evenii^g till the stars were bright. 
 
 They fcuzd hir-i n^i, and when the morrow came 
 
 "Twas ic^i her how the stranger seen last eve 
 
 Had passed away at midnight from the town. 
 
 To come again no more. And pondering this, 
 
 She felt the shadows lift from off the past. 
 
 And show her, as in some strange magic glass. 
 
 The stoiT of the years, and how his heart 
 
 Had lored her so, he rather chose the ways 
 
 Of lonely exile than to cry as false 
 
 The dire report which, like an open gate 
 
 Had wooed her feet into tiie paths of joy. 
 
 And moved to the pure depths of her true heart. 
 
 She bowed her head and vowed, with Gods high aid. 
 
 To make her life a blessing and a prayer, 
 
 That in the pure and freer world to come. 
 
 She might stand unrebnked by conscious wrong. 
 
 Betwixt the noble twain whose love had been 
 
 The grief and solace of her earthly yeais, 
 
 And looking up in either shining face. 
 
 See benediction there. And though from this 
 
 Her dreams torsook her to return no more. 
 
 There used to steal at times across her ear 
 
 A sound, a whisper, like a wave that broke 
 
 Far on a lonely shore : *' Grieve not for me. 
 
 For I am blessed only in your joy. 
 
 So for my sake be happy." 
 
ROSA, DYING 
 
 ROSA, DYING. 
 
 63 
 
 iHEX this is death — 
 How strange, how strange ! Another hour. 
 Another breath 
 Of joyous Hfe, of love, and all is o'er, 
 The scarcely opened blossom perished in ks flower ! 
 
 And I so young ! 
 Ah, when I first awoke to hear 
 The music rung 
 From what bad once b^en only held so dear. 
 Because in outvrard shovr it glimmered bright and 
 clear ; 
 
 (As children prize 
 
 The shell whose pearl is breathed o'er 
 
 With vermeil dyes. 
 
 Yet feel their joy grow deeper than before 
 
 ^\^len taught by loving care the secret of its roar :) 
 
 It seemed to me 
 The longest life was all too fleet 
 An ecstasy. 
 For one to hear the mighty ages beat 
 Their hidden meanings out in harmony complete. 
 
 And now I die ! 
 And all the hopes which girlhood hath, 
 Go softly by, 
 Stranding upon the silent shores of Death, 
 Like little boats blown home by twilight's purple 
 breath. 
 
64 ONE MONTH. 
 
 Nay rather, Heart, 
 Like little boats that at the dawn 
 In joy depart, 
 And on towards the open sea are borne, 
 Where rounds to perfect noon, a vague, imperfect 
 morn. 
 
 ONE MONTH. 
 
 LITTLE month ago, and in my ear 
 I heard your low " I love " strike warm and 
 clear. 
 
 And musing, wondered why with that pure word 
 Held to my bosom like a fluttering bird, 
 I yet could pace the budding earth and find 
 No gladder angel singing in the wind. 
 To-night with ear turned vainly to the breeze. 
 Which brings no sound save that of moaning trees, 
 With Hps unwarmed by thy pure kiss, and hands 
 Held out unclasped across the severing lands, 
 I sit and muse, and musing seem to hear 
 A seraph's voice in every quiring sphere. 
 A month ago, and Love and May in vain 
 Looked in my face and sang their sweetest strain, 
 This chill June eve with none to smile and say, 
 " Sweet, how I love thee ! " bears the palm away. 
 Why, why is this ? Can Summer cheat us so 
 Of heart and soul ? Ah, dear, dost thou not know ? 
 May's laughing eyes beheld thy love for me. 
 But June looks down upon my love for thee. 
 
AT THE PIANO. 65 
 
 AT THE PIANO. 
 
 LAY on ! Play on ! As softly glides 
 The low refrain, I seem, I seem 
 To float, to float on golden tides, 
 By sunlit isles, where life and dream 
 Are one, are one ; and hope and bliss 
 Move hand in hand, and thrilling, kiss 
 'Neath bowery blooms, 
 In twilight glooms. 
 And love is life, and life is love. 
 
 Play on ! Play on ! As higher rise 
 
 The lifted strains, I seem, I seem 
 To mount, to mount through roseate skies. 
 
 Through drifted cloud and golden gleam, 
 To realms, to realms of thought and fire. 
 Where angels walk and souls aspire. 
 And sorrow comes but as the night 
 That brings a star for our delight. 
 
 Play on ! Play on ! The spirit fails, 
 
 The star grows dim, the glory pales, 
 
 The depths are roused — the depths, and oh ! 
 
 The heart that wakes, the hopes that glow ! 
 
 The depths are roused : their billows call 
 
 The soul from heights to slip and fall ; 
 
 To slip and fall and faint and be 
 
 Made part of their immensity ; 
 
 To slip from Heaven ; to fall and find 
 
 In love the only perfect mind ; 
 
 To slip and fall and faint and be 
 
66 IN FAREWELL. 
 
 Lost, drowned within this melody, 
 As Hfe is lost and thought in thee. 
 
 Ah, sweet, art thou the star, the star 
 That draws my soul afar, afar ? 
 Thy voice the silvery tide on which 
 I float to islands rare and rich ? 
 Thy love the ocean, deep and strong, 
 In which my hopes and being long 
 To sink and faint and fail away ? 
 I cannot know. I cannot say. 
 But play, play on. 
 
 IN FAREWELL. 
 
 MET thee, dear, and loved thee — yet we 
 
 part. 
 Thou on thine unknown way and I on mine. 
 Ere yet the music of my woman's heart 
 Has had full time to harmonize with thine. 
 Yet since the strain begun has seemed so sweet, 
 
 Forgive me if I dare to proffer thee 
 This echo from the depths where all complete 
 Trembles the soul's perfected melody. 
 Jewels I have not, else for memory 
 Would I bestow them on the friend I love. 
 But tears and smiles, and the sweet thoughts that 
 
 move 
 The heart by day and night, such, such to thee 
 I give in these poor lines as lavishly 
 As summer winds yield fragrance when they blow 
 Up from a vale where countless roses grow. 
 
A TRAGEDY OF SEDAN. 6/ 
 
 A TRAGEDY OF SEDAN. 
 
 HAD seen him in battle, and he was a man 
 To watch in a conflict — had seen him when 
 death 
 
 Struck down at his feet the one comrade he loved — 
 But never before, upon field or in camp, 
 Had beheld on his face such a look of the grave, 
 As he brought yesternight to the door of my tent 
 When the evening guns sounded. So ghastly it was, 
 So dread in suggestion of anguish, I leapt 
 In dismay to my feet. Was he ill ? Was he hurt ? 
 But his eyes staring on without sight made me pause. 
 'Twas not death, but despair ; and I hastily cried, 
 '^ The man has lost hope, is in grief — " 
 
 But at that 
 He was straight at my side v/ith a bound : " Ay, in 
 
 grief ! 
 And you talk of it, you ! talk of grief ! but 'tis easy. 
 We all talk of grief. I have heard of a man 
 Who looked at a scaffold above him and said — 
 Laughing too as he spake — ' If by chance it should 
 
 fall, 
 'Twould crush me, no doubt.' When a moment from 
 
 that 
 
68 A TRAGEDY OF SEDAN. 
 
 It did fall, he shrieked. Ah, yes — " he went on, 
 "Was it strange ? Just as I could shriek now who 
 
 behold — 
 But enough. I must tell you the whole from the 
 
 first, 
 Or go mad before morning. My friend — " and his 
 
 eyes 
 Glared wildly on mine through his thick, fallen 
 
 hair — 
 " Have you loved ? Yes," he went on more shrill, 
 
 "in the pause 
 Of the death-dealing guns one may ask — may he 
 
 not ?— 
 Such a question as that of a man." 
 
 For reply 
 I drew from my bosom a curl that I kissed. 
 And put back on my heart without word. 'Twas 
 
 enough. 
 He bent down at my side with a cry : " Is she 
 
 fair? 
 Hath she eyes like a dove and a step like a deer. 
 So gentle and wild ? Do you love her — O Heaven ! — 
 With the force of your body, your spirit, and heart ? 
 With a flame and a star in your soul ? Ah ! " he 
 
 gasped, 
 " It is folly to ask : a woman must die 
 Or turn false to be loved so. Pray God—" and he 
 
 paused 
 With a sudden quick clench of his hand — " you may 
 
 die 
 Ere you come to a passion like that." 
 
A TRAGEDY OF SEDAN. 69 
 
 Looking down, 
 He took from his finger a ring which he wore, 
 Gazed on it a moment in anguish, then said : 
 " She was pledged to me, friend ; was my hope from 
 
 a child ; 
 Was my life, you might say. In the mesh of her 
 
 glance 
 All my being was thralled. Not a dawn rose upon 
 
 me 
 But I woke with the thought of her beauty. The 
 
 sun 
 Was not more to mine eyes than her smile. Ah, I 
 
 know 
 Such a love is not good — that its passion undoes 
 What its purity makes. But a man cannot choose 
 His fate from the heavens ; and this love, as it was, 
 Was my fate. 
 
 " Well, her heart gave response to my suit, 
 And we had been wedded two long years ago ; 
 But love is ambitious. To give her a home 
 I left her, and far from her glance and her smile, • 
 Worked my way up to fortune. Oh, oh, the long 
 
 months ! 
 But they passed, and at length, like a dawn on the 
 
 night. 
 Came the day of return. Ah, that day ! Like a 
 
 flame 
 It flares ever before me ; her looks and her smiles 
 Will not flit, will not fly. As we walked up the street 
 The bells brake out ringing. For three months of 
 
 doom 
 I have heard them; they never have ceased in my ears 
 
70 
 
 A TRAGEDY OF SEDAN. 
 
 Day and night, night and day. But, strange as it 
 
 seems, 
 At the moment they rang, I was deaf. 'Twas her 
 
 voice 
 Whose music I Ustened to then. In her hand 
 She bore a white Hly ; and when at the fount 
 The children came down from the village to crown 
 Her locks with wild posies plucked up from the 
 
 woods, 
 I scarcely do think I had heard yonder guns 
 Had they split at my side. Do you marvel, then, 
 
 friend, 
 I was deaf to his voice, though he stood at her sleeve 
 Like a brother ? 
 
 " But no dwelling on that. 'Tis enough 
 I was happy that day ; that its glory was like 
 The flushing of sunset across the wild waste 
 Of a billowy sea ere the night fell. Ah ! ah ! 
 You wonder what now ! 
 
 You, sitting at ease, in your tent, with the tress 
 Of a tender, true woman like balm on your breast, 
 Wonder what could have turned all this rapture to 
 
 woe 
 In a moment. Ah, God ! 'twas not much ! Just a 
 
 rent 
 In the woof of my fair nuptial garment ! Not much ; 
 Only this ; When I rose in the dusk from my guests 
 ('Twas my wedding-eve, friend ; she had smiled on 
 
 me, too. 
 But an instant before) my beloved was gone ! 
 Yes, yes," he shrieked out, " gone as certain as joy — 
 Gone, gone, gone, gone ! Not a word of farewell, 
 
A TRAGEDY OF SEDAN. 
 
 71 
 
 Not a look : just that smile that was love, or like 
 
 love, 
 And then this great gulf. 
 
 " Oh, oh may the world 
 Grow old and shrink up in the hands of the Lord 
 Ere another night creep by like that ! Not till morn 
 Did they tell me the whole — how for weeks he had 
 
 been 
 In the town at her side ; stealing up in the dusk 
 To drop a stray rose in her hand — how for weeks 
 She had drooped her sweet head and said never a 
 
 word 
 When the neighbors would ply her with questions. 
 
 I say 
 It was not until morning they told me all this. 
 
 Meantime she was gone. 
 
 " Well, I lived— lived to seek him. 
 Do you know what that means ? By the chances of 
 
 war 
 You have been in your time the hunted, spent deer; 
 Have you e'er been the hound ? Can you reckon of 
 
 days 
 When, with fire in your blood and revolt in your 
 
 brain. 
 You wandered the world with your eyes on the face 
 Of each man that you met ? And the nights — 
 The nights without sleep ; and the dreams — 
 The visions that swam in the air, and made hot 
 The breath of the north wind ; the doubts and the 
 
 hopes. 
 The terror and longing ; and all through the whole 
 The feel of the deadly cold steel on the breast ? 
 
72 
 
 A TRAGEDY OF SEDAN, 
 
 And the women — the horrid, sick dread in the blood 
 Of their smiles, of their voices, the touch of their 
 
 hands. 
 The thrill of their garments against you : and then 
 The frenzy of fear lest the next that you met 
 Should be she ; the taste in the air, on the tongue, 
 Of blood and of poison. And the shame ! 
 Is it writ on the heavens or not ? Is it spelled 
 On the pavement before you, or scrawled on the 
 
 walls ? 
 It is there, it is here, on the forehead, the hands, 
 In the blood, in the nostrils. And I loved her, I 
 
 loved her. 
 Great Heaven ! and did yet. 
 
 " This was anguish, you say. 
 Ah, you think so ? For three months I lived in it, 
 
 friend, 
 And then came despair. I had missed him — 'twas 
 
 done : 
 Let me be done, too. From the German frontier 
 Rose a clamor for soldiers. I heard, and grew calm. 
 * It is well,' I exclaimed. ' Men are shot in the field : 
 Let the enemy slay me.' So I came to the war." 
 
 He paused here a moment, and drew from his breast 
 A crumpled white paper streaked over with blood, 
 And laid it before me. 
 
 " You say this was anguish," he cried, " but I say 
 It was nothing — just nothing. My friend, can you 
 think 
 
A TRAGEDY OF SEDAN. 73 
 
 What it were, or might be, if the woman you love — 
 Nay, nay, hear me out — should be playing above 
 The horrid steep side of a gulf, and you saw 
 Her footsteps draw nearer and nearer, and yet 
 Were too far to shriek warning ; and at last as you 
 
 looked. 
 Beheld her slip over — those eyes that you love. 
 The forehead, the hair — saw her struggle and catch 
 At some dizzy small branch that would hold but a 
 
 breath. 
 And you yet afar ? Can you think what it were 
 To hear her shriek out with assurance you'd heed 
 And would come, and that instant, while heaven and 
 
 earth 
 Were one glare, and you rushed, to be caught, man, 
 
 be caught 
 In a network of hell which you could not escape. 
 While she — she your heart's own — O death I yet is 
 
 that 
 My soul-torment, look there ! " and his shaking hand 
 
 smoothed 
 The white paper before me. " Did you think she 
 
 was false ? 
 She was true, friend, was true ; true as light, true as 
 
 Heaven, 
 I have known it three hours. Was not false, was 
 
 not base, 
 O my darling ! my darling ! 
 
 Beguiled, do you see — 
 Wooed away from my side with some smooth, hur- 
 ried tale. 
 Till the length of the garden lay 'twixt us. Ah ! ah ! 
 4 
 
y^ A TRAGEDY OF SEDAN. 
 
 Is there vengeance in hell for such villains ? The 
 rest ? 
 
 You can guess how it happened — his sudden ap- 
 peal — • 
 
 The carriage — the horses — her cry which we heard 
 not — 
 
 The rapid strong whirl of her head on his breast — 
 
 Then the rush and the night. Do you doubt it is 
 true ? 
 
 It is all written here. See the tremulous lines 
 
 How they cross and recross. But she's true ; 'tis 
 enough, 
 
 Four whole months and yet true. She has sworn it, 
 and now 
 
 Do you see all my anguish ? " 
 
 With hand and with voice 
 I strove in my pity to calm him : but he, 
 Staggering backward, went on : " 'Tis not all : she 
 
 is held 
 In his power by his spies ; he would wed her — great 
 
 Heaven ! 
 Make her countess or something ; just stab her, I 
 
 say ! 
 And she calls me, entreats me, by all I adore. 
 To come quick, for she slips to destruction. Ha ! 
 
 ha ! " 
 And his awful laugh whirled on the night-wind ; 
 
 " Come quick ! 
 And I'm bound. 
 
 " How it came to this spot — when, I know not. 
 It was put in my hands as I strode from the field, 
 
A TRAGEDY OF SEDAN: 
 
 7? 
 
 By some one who cried, ' If you hasten, perhaps 
 You have tmie still to save her.' Away to the chief 
 I hurried, a madman. What was France to me now, 
 Or the world ? I fell down at his feet in despair ; 
 Told him all ; showed my billet — in vain, all in vain ! 
 And to-morrow's the day of the battle ! " 
 
 As in that 
 He had touched the whole depth of his woe, he 
 
 flung uj) 
 His arms to the sky for a moment, and then 
 Sank down like one shot. When I rose from his 
 
 side, 
 The dread morn of battle flamed high in the East. 
 
 Do you ask me for more ? Lift the end of that 
 
 cloth. 
 And behold ! It is calm now, you see, sirs, quite 
 
 calm — 
 'Twas not so yester eve. As he fell, all the din 
 Of the battle served not to o'erwhelm from my ears 
 The shriek that he gave. 
 
76 
 
 ODE TO FRANCE. 
 
 ODE TO FRANCE. 
 
 JANUARY, 1 87 1. 
 
 LAND of mirth and dance, 
 Fair pleasure-seeking France ! 
 'France of the laughing lip and careless eye ! 
 Where is the lamp to light 
 Thy footsteps through the night 
 Now day has fled and darkness fills the sky ? 
 What crown of hope remaineth now 
 The noontide flowers are dead upon thy chilling 
 brow ? 
 
 What strength hast thou to meet, 
 With unshod hurrying feet, 
 The rocky steeps and rugged paths of war ? 
 Now that the fields are past, 
 The heavens overcast. 
 And north winds blow upon thee from afar ? 
 What songs are left for thee to sing 
 Now that the timbrel's hushed and clarion trumpets 
 ring ? 
 
 Curse not the bitter hour ! 
 After the full blown flower 
 Cometh the fruit ; as sowing ye shall reap. 
 
ODE TO FRANCE. jy 
 
 When bearded corn shall shoot 
 Up from the bramble's root, 
 And strength arise unshorn from sensual sleep, 
 Then from the head of less than Jove 
 Shall great Minerva spring and in full armor move. 
 
 Had ye no ears to hear 
 
 The mighty warning clear, 
 '^ Watch, for ye know not when the hour may come ? ' 
 
 Had ye no eyes to see 
 
 The small cloud's prophecy 
 Writ on the face of heaven's cerulean dome ? 
 Was there no threatening shade forecast 
 Along thy sunny path from all the frowning past ? 
 
 Didst think that God could brook 
 
 Upon thy sports to look 
 Forevermore nor stir upon His throne ? 
 
 That through the measured beat 
 
 Of ceaseless dancing feet 
 No sounds arose in woful undertone ? 
 
 That slighted Sabbaths had no tongue 
 To plead within His ears, accusing crimes among ? 
 
 The Justice which on high 
 
 Weighs all with nicety. 
 Hath weighed thy deeds, O trifling land of France ! 
 
 In every cannon's word 
 
 His awful voice is heard ; 
 By day and night his echoing steps advance ; 
 
 Then fling thy gilded baubles down ; 
 Who meekly bears the cross, shall wear the conquer- 
 ing crown. 
 
^g ON THE THRESHOLD. 
 
 Despair is not for thee ! 
 
 What though thou bendest knee, 
 Whose crown once blazed in zenith pride on high ! 
 
 So from thy present shame 
 
 Arise a nobler fame 
 As purest light athwart the deepest sky, 
 
 And from thy bended neck outspring 
 The strong and glowing plumes of Wisdom's soaring 
 wing. 
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 
 
 ARLING, why this dainty glov/ 
 Shifting on your cheeks of snow ? 
 Why this look of summer skies 
 Shining in your lifted eyes ? 
 
 What new words are in the breeze ? 
 What new whispers in the trees ? 
 What soft language gently drips 
 From the roses' crimson lips ; 
 
 That you wear so fresh a joy 
 In your smiles and glances coy ; 
 That in every gesture fine 
 Such a wonderment should shine ? 
 
 Hath the Spirit of all beauty 
 Kissed you in the path of duty ; 
 
ON THE THRESHOLD. yg 
 
 Or that angel of the wood, 
 Holy-hearted Solitude ? 
 
 Have you listened to the singing 
 Of the meadow-grasses springing ? 
 Heard the shadows, whispering, tell 
 How they woo the asphodel ? 
 
 Or has something yet more sweet, 
 Stranger yet and more complete, 
 Met you in the hidden ways 
 Trod by these fair autumn days ? 
 
 Something lovely as the bright 
 Flushing of the morning light; 
 Something mystic as the free 
 Mighty, music-haunted sea? 
 
 Ah, my darling, ruby flush 
 O'er the snow cheek need not rush — 
 One can read the whole sweet story 
 In your brow's transparent glory. 
 
 Scents of violets crushed and sweet. 
 Halt about your pensive feet ; 
 Golden glimmers gild your hair. 
 And you need not whisper where 
 
 You have wandered since I pressed 
 You in farewell to my breast ; 
 Need not whisper that the snare 
 Caught your wild wings unaware. 
 
8o ISABEL MAYXOR. 
 
 ISABEL MAYXOR. 
 
 SAT with Philip *neath his ovm roof- tree, 
 Watching his children sporting on the lea, 
 ^ And haK in pleasure at a scene so bright, 
 Ar. i h-lf in en\-y of their young delight, 
 Uttered a sigh which all unconscious, he, 
 ;My well-loved friend repeated after me ; 
 But in so doing hesitated not 
 To turn and ask what genius of the spot 
 Had filled my soul so full cf bliss or woe, 
 A single breath could make it overflow. 
 
 " A man," I said, " possessed of every good 
 Which earth can laWsh in her happiest mood ; 
 A lo\Tng wife, a home where Pan might dwell 
 Forgetful of his flower-bespangled dell. 
 Can ask a houseless wanderer like me 
 In face of all this happiness I see, 
 AMiat grief or joy can fill my spirit so, 
 A single breath can make it overflow." 
 
 '* A houseless wanderer has but to wed, 
 To taste himself these vaunted sweets," he said ; 
 *' Fair women, friend, are not so scarce, I wot, 
 That one like you need mourn a lonely lot " 
 
ISABEL MA YXOR. 
 
 ''Fair women, Philip," I returned, "bestrow 
 The world with smiles whichever way we go ; 
 But ah, for me one fairest woman's face 
 Hath made me blind to ever}- other's grace." 
 
 "Ah then, you love," he whispered ; and a gray 
 
 Dull shadow fell upon his manner gay. 
 
 " But hold ! " and flinging up the casement wide, 
 
 He sat again with forehead turned aside ; 
 
 '' As we are friends, you shall the whole recall 
 
 From her first smile to the blank end of all. 
 
 I am in mood to hear somewhat of grief. 
 
 Perhaps to set mine own joy in relief." 
 
 Bitter his smile, but sick of heart and worn 
 
 By a hard burden long in sorrow borne, 
 
 I only paused to cast one other glance 
 
 On those fair children in their mystic dance ; 
 
 Then while their sweet tones trembled on the air 
 
 And mingled with my ston^ unaware, 
 
 I told this tale of simple love and loss — 
 
 ^ly daily memory and secret cross. 
 
 " Philip," I said, " far hence among the hills, 
 ^Miere waves the birch and spring the mountain rills, 
 There stands a cottage whose four walls inclose. 
 The sweetest maiden that this hard worid knows. 
 Humble her home, but ah, the lowliest spot 
 May ser^-e to hide the sweet forget-me-not ; 
 The simplest glen that darkens in the woods, 
 Hold a shy moonbeam in its solitudes ; 
 4* 
 
 8i 
 
82 ISABEL MA YNOR. 
 
 And Bella Maynor, though of humble birth, 
 Is fair to see as any flower of earth, 
 Ethereally pure, and full as bright 
 As softest moonbeam of a summer's night. 
 
 " It was by chance I found her ; sweetest things 
 Come often thus, as from the welkin springs 
 The evening star when we but look to see 
 The stretch and shine of blue immensity. 
 I had been wandering 'neath a summer's sun 
 All day among the mountains with my gun, 
 When, stooping wearily above a stream, 
 I saw a shadow quivering in its gleam. 
 And glancing up, beheld her standing there 
 Against my side, with softly bashful air, 
 Offering a cup, and saying, I confess, 
 Words which I heard not for her loveliness. 
 
 " I took the cup ; and, like the ocean shell 
 
 Which charmeth first by beauties visible. 
 
 She charmed that day, with lovely looks serene, 
 
 The tender harmony of face and mien ; 
 
 But afterwards the music in the shell. 
 
 The sweetness of the soul made audible, 
 
 Grew on me and I vowed within my mind. 
 
 That she alone, of all fair womankind. 
 
 Should be mine own, and, by the name of wife. 
 
 Walk with me through the chance and change of life. 
 
 " But as the summer days and evenings passed, 
 Swift as a wind with music on the blast. 
 
ISABEL MA YNOR. §3 
 
 I found her brightest fancies were but flowers 
 
 Wreathed o'er the weariness of waiting hours. 
 
 She loved. I know not how the knowledge came 
 
 Unto me first — in coldness or in flame, 
 
 In gentle converse or abstracted look, 
 
 Beside the stream, or o'er some poet's book. 
 
 Enough that time the certain knowledge brought 
 
 She held a secret in her inmost thought ; 
 
 A secret which in shyly hiding, she 
 
 Revealed to all around unconsciously ; 
 
 As timid violets lade the ambient air 
 
 With their heart's richest fragrance, unaware 
 
 The fragrance whispers that the flower is there. 
 
 " But as the weeks fled by us and there came 
 No one across my pathway to reclaim 
 The hand I took at morn and evening light 
 With joyful greeting or too sad good night, 
 I 'gan to think her love was but a dream, 
 A star to fade in morning's fervent beam, 
 And mine alone the worship worth the while 
 Of that deep glance and shy, ecstatic smile ; 
 And thinking thus, began to hope and blend 
 The reverent lover with the earnest friend. 
 
 " But ah, w^ith the first hint of my desire, 
 She flashed one moment with indignant fire, 
 Then, slowly paling, told me that her faith 
 Was hers no more to grant this side of death 
 And all unconscious of the light which lay 
 Upon her beauty in a vermeil ray. 
 
84 
 
 ISABEL MA YNOR. 
 
 Lifted her head and smiled, as if her eyes 
 Beheld afar the hills of Paradise. 
 
 " But I scarce waiting till the soft delight 
 Had flashed and faded from her forehead bright, 
 Bent to her ear and whispered, ' It is well, 
 But where is he who holds it, Isabel ? 
 The summer comes ; the tender summer goes ; 
 The woods of Autumn blossom like the rose ; 
 Winter descends ; but he whose blessed right 
 It is to make your every season bright, 
 He only lingers ; then as to a friend 
 Tell me in what far country he can wend. 
 Who holds in trust a heart so dear as this, 
 And yet can wander from his rightful bliss ? ' 
 
 " She did not answer, but her very frame 
 Seemed breathing forth a bright ethereal flame ; 
 I felt the sudden splendor of her gaze 
 Surround and hold me like a summer's haze. 
 Yet could not quite forbear to say again, 
 ' I would not doubt, but men are ever men, 
 And much I fear he may not love so well 
 As this pure trust deserveth, Isabel.' 
 
 " ' His love to mine,' she answered through a blush 
 
 As tremulous as rose upon its bush, 
 
 ' Is as the moon unto a timid star ; 
 
 His shines, while mine but quivers from afar. 
 
 His love — it is as boundless as the sky, 
 
 And tender as the tear-drop in the eye, 
 
ISABEL MAYNOR. 
 
 As earnest as the sunlight upon earth, 
 As warm as leaping fire on the hearth.' 
 
 85 
 
 "/ And yet — ' I said. ' And yet/ she answered slow, 
 
 * You see no evidence of this, I know. 
 
 But ah, for me it lies within my heart ; 
 
 It is enough for me to feel the start 
 
 Of mine own blood, to know that he is true, 
 
 Though all the world should fail, that he is true. 
 
 And will come yet to take unto his side 
 
 The humble mountain maiden for his bride, 
 
 That sooner than had doubted him, had died.' 
 
 " 'Twas faith like that of saints for the dear Lord ; 
 
 I felt my vain hopes perish at the word ; 
 
 And bending o'er that sacred head, I took 
 
 Her hand in mine with my last lover look. 
 
 ' Bella,' I said, 'one word ; but tell his name. 
 
 And I will trench no more upon his claim.' 
 
 And looking in my face she told it me 
 
 As one deals coin from golden treasury. 
 
 But telling, flushed, as if her tongue had given 
 
 To mortal ears what but belonged to heaven. 
 
 " But I, with reverence in my eye and soul. 
 Bent o'er her hand in lately learned control, 
 And praying God to bless her with His grace, 
 Went forth to hide the sorrow in my face ; 
 Went forth to whisper to the brook and sky 
 The anguish of a love that could not die ; 
 But which constrained me from that self-same day, 
 To seek in city street or mountain way, 
 The owner of the name I heard her say. 
 
86 ISABEL MAYNOR. 
 
 " But though for five long years I wandered wide 
 Through many a town, by many a fair hillside, 
 I have not found him, and my weary heart 
 Forgets not yet that moment's bitter smart ; 
 Forgets not yet that form of tender grace, 
 The wild-flower loveliness of Bella's face, 
 •Nor can forget till o'er life's fading hills 
 Descends the night that ends all human ills." 
 
 Softly I ceased ; but he who sat beside 
 
 Rose to his feet and bending o'er me, cried, 
 
 ^^ The name, what was it ? " And half wonder- 
 
 ingly, 
 I answered, '' It was Philip, Philip Lee." 
 "And mine ?" "And yours," I stammered under 
 
 breath, 
 " Is Philip Morton." " Phihp Lee," he saith. 
 " Lee Morton, friend ; ah, ah you did not know. 
 Nor she, poor child, who loved and trusted so, 
 A man could wear half names beside the hearth 
 Of her he held the dearest upon earth ! " 
 
 Then while I sat confused, o'ercome, dismayed, 
 He bowed his head upon his hands, and said, 
 " I meant not to deceive her ; by my life 
 I loved her, would have made the child my wife ; 
 But time and fashion, and the social use 
 Of moneyed men, the world and its abuse. 
 Came in between us, and you see the end — 
 For me, remorse ; for her — thy sorrows, friend." 
 
MYRNA, 87 
 
 MYRNA. 
 
 HEN first I saw him, I but saw 
 The shadow on his brow, 
 But, seeing that, forgot all else 
 Of happiness or woe. 
 
 I had been plucking early bloom 
 From where the brooklets run, 
 
 And stood just at the forest's verge, 
 'Twixt shadow and the sun. 
 
 I am not fair like Maud and Jeanne, 
 Nor gay like Clementine ; 
 
 The glory lingering in their locks 
 Forgets to brighten mine. 
 
 My footsteps pause amid the flowers 
 They trample in their mirth ; 
 
 For me a crown of mystic stars 
 Lies on the breast of earth. 
 
 Yet as his eyes fell on my face, 
 I saw his glance grow deep 
 
 As his who looks upon a lake 
 Where moonbeams lie asleep. 
 
88 MYRNA. 
 
 And though his smile half passed away, 
 
 'Twas like the fading light 
 Of stars that only fade because 
 
 The dawn lifts on the night. 
 
 A maiden lovely as the first 
 
 Arbutus-bloom of May, 
 Was with him when I next beheld 
 
 Him pass along that way. 
 
 The boughs were waving o'er their heads, 
 
 The sunbeams at their feet 
 Lay like half-woven coronals 
 
 Of blossoms rare and sweet. 
 
 Yet when he came unto the spot 
 Where I had stood that day, 
 
 I saw him pause and cast one glance 
 Of wistfulness that way. 
 
 And seeing, I upraised my voice 
 From out the woodland's heart, 
 
 And sang like one to whom the heavens 
 Some vision fair impart. 
 
 I sang of stars — and straight the sky 
 Seemed to grow still and dark, 
 
 And 'myriad burning jets of flame 
 Shoot from it spark by spark. 
 
 I sang of bulbuls and the East — 
 
 And through the woods there pressed 
 
 A thousand spicy scents that blew 
 About my brow and breast. 
 
MYRNA. 
 
 89 
 
 And then, and then, Hke leaping flame 
 
 My passionate soul upsprang, 
 I loosed my spirit on the world, 
 
 And love, sweet love, I sang. 
 
 The birds were cooing in the trees, 
 
 They grew as still as death ; 
 The breeze that drinks the souls of flow'rs 
 
 Paused on its perfumed breath. 
 
 And still I sang ; like doom I sang ; 
 
 My soul arose in air ; 
 I dropped the music from the clouds ; 
 
 I felt my face grow fair. 
 
 And when I ceased I saw afar, 
 
 Toward the setting sun, 
 His head sink slowly on his breast, 
 
 Like one whose race is run. 
 
 And though the mellow twilight soon. 
 
 Like purple-breasted dove. 
 Passed flying towards the blazoned west 
 
 And all was dark above, 
 
 I did not stir, but sat like one 
 From whom the world has sped ; 
 
 My eyes upon the way he went. 
 The shadows on my head. 
 
 Alas, the days are long since then. 
 
 And many an eve gone by. 
 But still in dreams I sit and watch 
 
 That barren heath and sky. 
 
go COMING HOME FROM THE FAIR. 
 
 COMING HOME FROM THE FAIR. 
 
 HE thinks she is pretty — look there ! 
 
 How she smiles in his face through her hair, 
 With a gleam in her eye like the star-drop 
 you see 
 In a blossom half ope to the bee. 
 
 She thinks she is pretty — her cheeks 
 
 Have a dimple so sweet when she speaks, 
 
 And she wonders perchance as she leans on his arm 
 
 If I know or can guess all her charm. 
 
 She thinks that he loves her, perhap. 
 That the fairing he threw in her lap, 
 Had a story to tell if she chose for her part 
 To remember a moment her heart. 
 
 She thinks that he loves her, ah yes ; 
 And laughs in the gay consciousness, 
 With a throb of delight that the brown eyes should 
 
 bear 
 Such a treasure as this from the fair. 
 
 But ah, if she knew, if she knew 
 
 What he whispered but now to the blue, 
 
 With a thrill in his voice and a look that was worth 
 
 All she gets from his youth and his mirth ; 
 
 How the eyes that look down are the sweetest. 
 As those flowers are the rarest, completest. 
 Which the hand must uplift ere the gazer can see 
 All the treasures they hide from the bee. 
 
CONFESSION OF THE KING' S MUSKETEER, gi 
 
 THE CONFESSION OF THE KING'S MUS- 
 KETEER. 
 
 ONFESS ! I will confess ; but first as thou 
 Dost love thine holy office, rise and look 
 I From yonder grating opening on the bay, 
 And tell me — for my chains drag heavily — 
 If far away where sky and billow meet. 
 You see a scarlet pennon floating free. 
 Yes ? then draw near and I will tell you all 
 As if within a true confessional, 
 Contented thus to speak the truth and die. 
 
 She was a dream to me, a gentle zephyr 
 Stealing across the fever of my life. 
 Sweet with all soothing fragrance ; halting not, 
 But leaving in my ears, in fluttering by. 
 The wild sweet music of the birds and brooks. 
 Within my breast, the freshness of the summer. 
 I loved her, if men call it love to give 
 Their soul in worship to a star of heaven ; 
 But whatso'er you think — and holy men 
 Will have their thoughts — for all my love and wor- 
 ship, 
 I was not wont to gaze upon her much. 
 Not much, though every lineament of hers 
 Was precious unto me as mine own soul. 
 
Q2 CONFESSION OF THE ICING'S MUSKETEER. 
 
 She was my lord king's daughter, heir to crowns 
 And wearer of the purple from her birth, 
 While I — I was a simple musketeer, 
 A sword to be drawn freely in her cause. 
 But not to be wide brandished in her sight 
 Unless the hour demanded. Wherefore then 
 These chains, the gallows lifted in the court. 
 And all yon preparation for stern death ? 
 Was I not found before her on my knees 
 Within the sacred precincts of her room ? 
 I was. 
 
 But ere I lift the veil too high, 
 Look out once more and by the Christ you worship, 
 Tell me if yonder pennon which you see. 
 Holds on its course unstayed across the ba}^ 
 Yes ? It is well ; then Hsten. 
 
 For a year 
 I held my station close against her door. 
 And heard her steps go by me morn and night, 
 And never raised an eyelid. But one day, 
 Just as she turned to glide adown the hall. 
 An impulse seized me like a stormy wind 
 To gaze upon the beauty which had been 
 My dream from early youth. But when, with just 
 One quick upgathering of my soul like that 
 With which a man dares flood or braves the fire, 
 I raised mine eyes and looked upon her face, 
 I did not see its beauty, did not feel 
 Its bright consummate charm of glance and smile, 
 Not then, not then ; for, fainter than the shade 
 Which falls from heaven's fleeciest summer-cloud 
 Upon a swaying oleander-bud. 
 
CONFESSION OF THE KING'S MUSKETEER. 
 
 93 
 
 And melts away again ev'n while you wonder 
 
 If 'tis a shadow or the blossom's richness, 
 
 A mist lay o'er its lustre, and mine eyes 
 
 Saw but that mist, no more. And though, ere long, 
 
 She flitted from my side all gaiety, 
 
 I could not sleep my natural sleep that night. 
 
 For thinking of the veil of grief or care 
 
 Which lay so faintly on her loveliness 
 
 But when, as week joined week I heard her step, 
 
 Drag slovdier and slowlier down the hall, 
 
 And the delicious murmur of her laugh 
 
 Fall faintlier and faintlier on the ear. 
 
 My heart turned cold within me. Was it death ? 
 
 Or marking how the gallants of the court 
 
 Crowded like moths of summer at her coming, 
 
 That evil worse than death, a hopeless love. 
 
 Laying a hand of ice upon my heart 
 
 I bent myself to watch. But although earth 
 
 Had lent her noblest, loftiest, and best 
 
 To make our court the stateliest in the world, 
 
 And gallants were as plenty as the pearls 
 
 Upon the royal diadem, she passed 
 
 Among them all as smiling and serene 
 
 As the high moon amid the clouds of even. 
 
 " It is not love," I said, " it must be death." 
 
 But on the morrow as I stood and watched 
 With heavy gaze the self-same crowd go by, 
 A quick form brushed me and a blossom fell 
 As from a restless hand against my foot, 
 And looking up, I saw the Count di Ferra 
 Turn for an instant from the crowd and fix 
 
Q4 CONFESSION OF THE KING'S MUSKETEER. 
 
 His eyes in wild entreaty upon mine. 
 
 Next moment, stealing on me like a ray 
 
 Of faintest moonlight through a prison's gloom, 
 
 I spied my royal princess. I could hear 
 
 Her breath come, go, painting alternately 
 
 Glad rose and fearful lily on her cheek, 
 
 And scarcely knowing what it was I did, 
 
 I stooped and raised the blossom from the ground, 
 
 And kneeling, dropped it in her open palm. 
 
 She took it ; for a moment earth and heaven 
 
 Swam in one whirl about me, then a calm 
 
 Fell on my spirit, and I slowly rose, 
 
 Knowing as if an angel had proclaimed it, 
 
 That soon or late, on that day or another, 
 
 My life would follow in the blossom's wake. 
 
 Then was it that each morning at the dawn 
 
 I looked upon the sun in its first splendor 
 
 As one who questions, " What hast thou for me ? 
 
 And every evening as that splendor paled, 
 
 And ghastly as a spirit from the grave, 
 
 The wild moon rose upon me, "What hast thou i 
 
 Preparing thus my soul against the day. 
 
 When he should fling the flower of my life 
 
 Beneath her feet, and she should lean to take it. 
 
 At last it came. I had been at my post 
 Since heavy noon, and I was wondering why 
 The princess so delayed to venture forth. 
 When suddenly from where the fountains play 
 Down in the court, there broke upon my ears 
 A short, sharp cry, " Stand by there for your lives, 
 
CONFESSION OF THE KING'S MUSKETEER, gt 
 
 And let no one pass by on pain of death ! " 
 It was the king's voice ; but before mine eyes 
 Could turn within their sockets, the closed door 
 Which guarded the young princess from the world, 
 Swung on its noiseless hinges, and her face. 
 Awful in high devotion and despair. 
 Looked out and brightened on me like a star, 
 Then grew as fixed as death. " I want," she said— 
 And low as were the words they filled mine ears 
 And fell upon my breast like dropping ice, 
 '' The help of one who for my sake will brave 
 The shame and terror of a bitter death." 
 
 I did not tremble. Earth's most awful joys 
 Make men quite calm. Giving her look for look, 
 But stopping not for any mock of words, 
 I followed and stepped in and shut the door, 
 And heard it clang behind me. Then, O then. 
 The usage of my thoughts passed quite away. 
 And what she was and what I was, I lost 
 In the great splendor which her beauty made 
 Through all the room. I had no need to turn 
 My head to know whose form it was that stood 
 Behind me. In her eyes his image burned. 
 And down through every fibre of her frame 
 The fervor and the purpose of a love 
 That dares all things, fears nought and devotes all, 
 Flashed like a flame. 
 
 " Madame," I cried, " your will ! 
 Let me but know your will ! " 
 
do CONFESSION OF THE KING'S MUSKETEER. 
 
 " First hear my need." 
 And looking up, she cried below her breath, 
 '' I love the Count di Ferra ; he is here : 
 We were to have been wedded ere the eve, 
 But some one has betrayed us. At the door 
 The king stands ; in the court beneath us there, 
 Await three soldiers ready v/ith drawn swords 
 To smite whoever leaps from out the casement ; 
 Protect him ! but first slay me where I stand, 
 That he, my father, seeing me lie low, 
 May stop to mourn and give him chance to fly." 
 And flinging all her beauty to the ground, 
 She knelt, my princess, knelt before my feet. 
 
 But I, scarce waiting for the smile she strove 
 
 To give me for a guerdon, for the sound 
 
 Of his quick passionate voice in wild disclaim. 
 
 Asked if men knew her lover. And she said, 
 
 " None on God's earth save we." Whereat at once 
 
 A great light spread itself within my soul, 
 
 And bidding her to thrust him out of sight, 
 
 I raised mine eyes and looked upon her face 
 
 For the last time on earth. 
 
 " Madam," I said, 
 " I love you. I have loved you all my life ; 
 A musketeer has loved you all his life ; 
 'Tis meet for such offence that he should die. 
 But you, remember you this thing and live. 
 That on the morrow at the hour of noon, 
 From out the port below us in the bay. 
 
CONFESSIO.V OF THE KING'S MUSKETEER. 
 
 There sails a bark unto the shores of Greece, 
 Guided by men I know. Now if so be 
 That all goes well, and you and he with faith 
 Fast wedded by some holy man of God, 
 Have gained a refuge in the little craft, 
 Uplift a scarlet pennon at the bow, 
 And let it float till out of sight of land. " 
 Remember." 
 
 Waiting not to see the look 
 Of startled wonder ebb from out her eyes, 
 I knelt and took her robe within my hands 
 And kissed it, just as through the opening door, 
 The king leaped in upon us. How he sprang 
 Like flame upon my throat, and how she swooned 
 Protesting wildly in my innocence. 
 It boots not now to tell. Enough that I 
 Was deemed by him her lover and immured 
 Within these dungeon walls, before her eyes 
 Had oped again unto the light of day. 
 But he was saved ! and now I ask no more 
 But that yon scarlet pennon on the sea. 
 Sink from the wide horizon and be lost. 
 The hour I give my parting breath to heaven. 
 
 His wish was granted. As the prison guns 
 Proclaimed to all the world the deed was done. 
 The Httle flag, that for so long a time 
 Had fluttered on the bosom of the bay. 
 Trembled from sight across the far horizon. 
 7 
 
 97 
 
98 
 
 IVHA T DO ROSES SA V IN THEIR DREAMS? 
 
 WHAT DO THE ROSES SAY IN THEIR 
 DREAMS ? 
 
 HAT do the roses say in their dreams ? 
 Let us hark and hear ! Let us hark and 
 hear ! 
 Do they echo the songs of the eager streams, 
 
 Running so near, running so clear ? 
 Or have they a murmur of love and fear 
 
 For the bliss of the wandering breeze's ear ? 
 
 Do they murmur of skies and the longing stars ? 
 
 Let us hark and hear ! Let us hark and hear ! 
 Are their rich hearts full of the glory of Mars, 
 
 With his blood red shield, and his golden spear ? 
 Or doth the thought of some softer sphere 
 
 Well up from their depths in a tremulous tear ? 
 
 I would know ! I would know ! How they tremble 
 and burn ! 
 
 Hark, then, and hear ! Hark, Love, and hear ! 
 By the stir at their hearts we shall surely learn 
 
 In an instant now what hope or fear. 
 What rapture or pain, what sorrow or cheer 
 
 Thrills through the breast of each beauty here. 
 
 Then, Love, stoop close. No rosier bud 
 
 Doth nestle here than thy rose ear. 
 Stoop close ! Such beauty can ne'er intrude. 
 
 And now what is it they say, my dear ? 
 You blush, Sweet-heart. Ah ! did'st thou fear 
 
 Aught else but thine own name to hear ? 
 
A LEGEND OF ANTWERP, qq 
 
 A LEGEND OF ANTWERP. 
 
 HEY led him forth. The morning sim 
 Was shining wide o'er field and rill ; 
 The glory of a day begun 
 Was in the sky, was on the hill, 
 Was in the wild bird's early trill. 
 
 His form was high, his cheek was fair, 
 The star of youth was on his brow, 
 
 The shadow of his falling hair 
 Was turning, in the early glow. 
 To the clear sunshine's rippling flow. 
 
 They led him forth. They bade him look 
 His very last upon the day, 
 
 And from his eyes the bandage took 
 One moment, that the morning's ray 
 Might bless him ere he passed away. 
 
 He looked around. He looked above. 
 On purple mount and tender sky. 
 
 Then turned and gazed on human love, 
 In sweet girl faces hurrying by. 
 And bowed his noble head to die. 
 
 When lo ! from out the heaving throng 
 Behold a sudden form appear ! 
 
 Ethereal as a dreaming song 
 
 Stealing through fragrant groves to cheer 
 The restless spirit of the ear. 
 
100 ^ LEGEND OF ANTWERP. 
 
 A girlish form, so mystic bright, 
 
 The very guards were touched by fear 
 
 And trembled backward as the light 
 Of her pure glance fell on them, clear 
 As moonlight shimmering on the mere. 
 
 He shall not die^ she said, and laid 
 Her woman's hand upon his breast, 
 
 Her bright smile glowing undismayed 
 From out her locks, as from the west 
 Looks forth a young star's joyful crest. 
 
 And such, the legend runs, her grace, 
 And such the power of her mien, 
 
 She seemed to fill the market-place 
 With sense of angel forms serene 
 ^ And sound of harps that sang unseen. 
 
 He shall not die ! and from the crowd 
 She led him forth, while heavenly awe 
 
 Fell on each wondering heart, and bowed 
 The head of every mortal there, 
 Filling the silence like a prayer. 
 
 She led him forth, and none might say 
 If earth or Heaven was in the power 
 
 Of that young maiden's love that day, 
 To still the passions of the hour 
 And baffle vengeance in its flower. 
 
 We only know they passed unharmed 
 By peasant's cot and noble's hall. 
 
 And, in their youth and beauty armed. 
 Sped scathless through the city's wall 
 And vanished from the sight of all. 
 
SUNRISE FROM THE AW UN TAINS. iqi 
 
 SUNRISE FROM THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 |UNG thick with jets of burning gold, the sky 
 Crowns with its glorious dome the sleeping 
 earth, 
 
 Illuminating hill and vale. O'erhead, 
 The nebulous splendor of the milky way 
 Stretches afar ; while, crowding up the heavens, 
 The planets worship 'fore the throne of God, 
 Casting their crowns of gold beneath His feet. 
 It is a scene refulgent ! and the very stars 
 Tremble above, as though the voice divine 
 Reverberated through the dread expanse. 
 But soft ! a change ! 
 A timid creeping up of gray in east — 
 A loss of stars on the horizon's verge — 
 Gray fades to pearl and spreads up zenithward, 
 The while a wind runs low from hill to hill, 
 As if to stir the birds awake, rouse up 
 The nodding trees, and draw off silence like 
 A garment from the drowsy earth. The heavens 
 Are full of points of light that go and come 
 And go, and leave a tender ashy sky. 
 The pearl has pushed its way to north and south, 
 Save where a line spun 'tween two peaks at east. 
 Gleams like a cobweb silvered by the sun. 
 It grows — a gilded cable binding hill 
 To hill ! it widens to a dazzling belt 
 Half circling earth, then stretches up on high — 
 A golden cloth laid down 'fore kingly feet. 
 
102 
 
 SEPARA TED. 
 
 Thus spreads the light upon the heavens above, 
 While earth hails each advancing step, and lifts 
 Clear into view her rich empurpled hills, 
 To keep at even beauty with the sky. 
 The neutral tints are deeply saffroned now ; 
 In streaks, auroral beams of colored light 
 Shoot up and play about the long straight clouds 
 And flood the earth in seas of crimson. Ah, 
 A thrill of light in serpentine, quick waves, 
 A stooping of the eager clouds, and lo, 
 Majestic, lordly, blinding bright, the sun 
 Spans the horizon with its rim of fire ! 
 
 SEPARATED. 
 
 HEN in the solemn dusk you sit and think. 
 With face upturned to the enduring skies, 
 Of life and art, and those great griefs that 
 sink 
 The soul in woe in spite of high emprise — 
 I know not how, but from the surging sea 
 Of these thy thoughts, some echo comes to me. 
 Moving my soul till from its billows rise 
 The answering strain for which thy spirit cries, 
 And then, or joy, or sorrow holds the throne 
 Of thy strong heart, thou art no more alone. 
 
THE BARRICADE, 103 
 
 THE BARRICADE. 
 
 NE in a million ? True, sir, true ; 
 Nor is it strange you marvel so 
 To see such eyes look down on you 
 
 From walls so barren, mean and low. 
 But 'tis my only daughter's face. 
 
 For all the grace 
 Of the rich beauty that you see ; 
 And where, then, where a fitter place 
 For her to smile, than here on me, 
 Who nourished her in infancy ! 
 
 One in a million ! So was said 
 
 By many a one that, riding by, 
 Beheld her lovely bended head 
 
 Between them and the summer sky. 
 She wore so grand a look, you see, 
 
 Unconsciously ; 
 A lily musing in a beam 
 Of starlight, were as apt as she 
 To turn aside' and fondly dream 
 Of its own shadow in the stream. 
 
 She was so true. Ah, when by chance 
 
 I seem again her form to see, 
 
 It is not she who died for France, 
 
104 
 
 THE BARRICADE. 
 
 • That rises to my memory ; 
 But the dear girl who sat of yore 
 
 Within my door, 
 ReeHng her thread by night and day. 
 Contented, though the breezes bore 
 Up from the meadows strown with hay, 
 The sound of merry youth at play. 
 
 Too bright for such a doom ? Ah sir, 
 Her very brightness hid a tear ; 
 
 I scarce could ever look at her 
 Without a sigh of love and fear. 
 
 Such sacred stillness seemed enshrined 
 Deep in her mind ; 
 
 The stillness of a soul that knows 
 
 A trumpet call is on the wind 
 
 That unto others, only blows 
 
 The careless perfume of the rose. 
 
 What was her story ? Is it not 
 
 Then, written in those eyes of hers ? 
 
 Glances so deep and sad, I wot, 
 Should be their own interpreters. 
 
 Yet may there linger unaware 
 Beneath that tear. 
 
 The tokens of another's smart, 
 
 As oft in sweetest rhymes you hear 
 
 Beneath the language of his art. 
 
 The beatings of the poet's heart. 
 
 For he w^ho limned those features, sir, 
 Had loved her once ; poor Jean Vigny ! 
 
THE BARRICADE. 
 
 He died, they say, in blessing her, 
 
 Upon the field of Champigny. 
 A generous youth in all was he, 
 
 And true ; but she 
 Absorbed in girlish fancies bright, 
 Walked in his smile, serenely free, 
 Unknowing that its genial light 
 Sprang from the depths of darkest night. 
 
 Perchance it was that he had been 
 Her play-fellow from earliest youth. 
 
 And that there was no mystery in 
 His honest glance of love and truth. 
 
 But this I know, that one fair day 
 In early May, 
 
 He left us to return no more. 
 
 I saw him as he moved away. 
 
 Pause softly in the open door. 
 
 And bless the threshold o'er and o'er. 
 
 Next morn he came. Why is it now. 
 Remembering all as it befell, 
 
 I yet can bless the transient glow 
 Which led him to our humble well ? 
 
 He was so noble, sir, to see ; 
 Such majesty 
 
 Was in his mien and bearing bold : 
 
 My very cup took dignity 
 
 Beneath his glance which gently told 
 
 'Twas welcome as a cup of gold. 
 
 He quaffed, and in a moment more 
 Had passed forever from my sight, 
 
 105 
 
Io6 THE BARRICADE. 
 
 Had not the linnet at the door, 
 
 Upraised a song of such delight, 
 He turned — Ah, on what simple things 
 
 Our future swings ; 
 What wondrous issues hang upon 
 The idle song a linnet sings ! 
 He turned, and there, where roses run 
 Saw Clarice standing in the sun. 
 
 With one meek hand upon her breast, 
 The other clinging to the vine, 
 
 She stood in her young beauty dressed 
 As in a robe of golden shine. 
 
 I saw him start ; I saw the blush 
 Of manhood flush 
 
 Responsive to that vision bright. 
 
 And turning, let my whole soul rush 
 
 In love and fear, to hail the sight 
 
 Of her young innocent deHght. 
 
 But ah, in that uplifted face 
 
 No answering color met my view, 
 
 A mortal in her winning grace, 
 She seemed a tranced spirit too 
 
 I felt a stinging terror dart 
 
 Keen through my heart, 
 
 As I beheld that raptured eye, 
 
 And marked the reckless blood-drops start 
 
 Unheeded from her hand, and dye 
 
 The thorns she grasped unconsciously. 
 
 He saw, and gently laid his hand 
 Upon the bridle of his steed. 
 
THE BARRICADE. 
 
 That, faithful to his least command, 
 
 Paced slowly onward down the mead. 
 I marked him leaning backward still. 
 
 As o'er the hill 
 He passed and vanished in the wood ; 
 And turning with a nameless thrill 
 To clasp my darling where she stood. 
 Found silence there and solitude. 
 
 But when at eventide I drew 
 
 Her face to mine with fond good night, 
 No lurking shadow met my view 
 
 Commingled with its wonted light ; 
 Rather a shyly added gleam, 
 
 As though some dream 
 Had brushed her by with ardent wing ; 
 Some mellow sunset loosed its beam 
 Upon a wave yet fluttering 
 With ecstasy of early spring. 
 
 " Is it that he will come again ? " 
 
 I asked and sighed ; " or do some souls. 
 
 Like the deep sea-shell, catch one strain 
 Of the world's music as it rolls, 
 
 And tranced in wonder and delight, 
 Fold up their bright 
 
 Warm walls about it evermore ; 
 
 Content to whisper day and night. 
 
 By land and sea, the echo o'er 
 
 Of that one instant's joy and power." 
 
 I dared not think. Meantime the spring 
 Cast by her veil of amber mist, 
 
 107 
 
I08 THE BARRICADE. 
 
 And in full splendor stopped to ring 
 
 The lilac boughs with amethyst. 
 Methinks the world was ne'er so fair ; 
 
 The very air 
 Hung poised as if on golden wings ; 
 A light like love was everywhere, 
 And yet for me, the fear of things 
 Unknown, made dim earth's blossomings. 
 
 But one clear day in early June 
 
 As I sat busy at my wheel, 
 Crooning perhaps an old time tune 
 
 Of lover's woe or : over's weal, 
 I felt the shadow and the gloom 
 
 Of that small room 
 Yield to a sudden burst of light. 
 And glancing with a sense of doom 
 Toward the door, beheld her bright, 
 Full figure lifted to its height. 
 
 O never, never till I die 
 
 Shall I forget the look she wore. 
 
 As gazing on me silently 
 
 She crossed the sunny, sanded floor. 
 
 It was as if a regal crown 
 Had settled down 
 
 Upon the artless brow I knew ; 
 
 Her very step, her simple gown. 
 
 Transfigured in its lustre, grew 
 
 In dignity beneath my view. 
 
 "Mother — " and at the word her smile 
 Passed softly in a roseate bloom. 
 
THE BARRICADE. 
 
 As sinks the sun away, the while 
 
 All heaven flowers in its room — • 
 " There's one without av/aits the cheer 
 
 Of welcome here ; 
 Speak to him for I go," she said ; 
 And even while I faltered near, 
 Drooped lower, lower yet her head, 
 And vanished with reluctant tread. 
 
 That instant through the swaying vines 
 He proudly stepped. O lover eyes ! 
 
 lover brows I how brightly shines 
 The sun of hope in youthful skies I 
 
 My old heart trembled as I gazed, 
 ' My eyeballs dazed ; 
 
 1 seemed as by some vision's stress 
 To see that other go dispraised, 
 That yet in going stopped to bless 
 The threshold he no more would press. 
 
 But strong in might of motherhood 
 To save my child from loss and woe, 
 
 I moved and faced him where he stood, 
 With quivering lip but steady brov/. 
 
 " Fair sir," I said, " in careless hour 
 A wild-wood flower 
 
 May seem a treasure to the eye, 
 
 But place it in a lady's bower, 
 
 And what was radiant 'neath the sky 
 
 Seems only fit to fade and die." 
 
 " 'Tis true," he cried, " but lady's bower 
 And a man's earnest heart are twain : 
 
 109 
 
J 10 THE BARRICADE. 
 
 Sheltered by love, no stormy shower 
 
 Shall reach thy wilding sweet, again." 
 Then while I slowly shook my head, 
 
 He softly said, 
 " Thou hast a mother's constancy ; 
 I have no mother ; when I wed, 
 The mother of my wife must be 
 A mother also unto me.'' 
 
 I turned away. I could not speak ; 
 
 Like shadows on a moonlit stream, 
 I felt my thoughts confusing break 
 
 Across an underlying gleam. 
 A moment more, and through the flush 
 
 Of vine and bush 
 I 'saw him pass unto her side ; 
 Then all grew dark, and a great gush 
 Of music swam up on the wide. 
 Swift breeze that filled the mountain side. 
 
 Why need I linger ? Ere the week 
 Had passed in all its cheer away, 
 
 The April of my darling's cheek 
 
 Had bloomed and budded like the May. 
 
 She had no need of speech to tell 
 What fairy bell 
 
 Had rung its summons in her soul ; 
 
 The lips which smiled, the lids which fell, 
 
 The brow's transparent aureole, 
 
 Unwittingly revealed the whole. 
 
 You see she was a maiden, sir. 
 
 That till that time had never knovm 
 
THE BARRICADE. m 
 
 What 'twas to have another stir 
 
 The current of Hfe's undertone. 
 The falHng shadows in the woods* 
 
 Deep soHtudes, 
 My mother glance, the sudden flow 
 Of waters in the mountain floods, 
 Had moved her, but such passion, no ; 
 'Twas sunhght faUing upon snow. 
 
 My darhng loved, then ; but for such, 
 Grief follows love as night the day ; 
 
 And all this joy was but the touch 
 Of rapture ere it fled away ; 
 
 The last, soft glimmer of the blue 
 Of heaven through 
 
 The gathering rush of hurrying cloud ; 
 
 The final welling up of dew 
 
 Upon the blossom ere it bowed 
 
 Before the fierce destroyer proud. 
 
 But ere the Sunday eve had come, 
 The ringing trump of war had blown 
 
 Across the threshold of our home. 
 And he who held her dear had gone. 
 
 Gone, gone, and she, pure heart, was left 
 Behind, bereft 
 
 Ere love's first week had run its sands ; 
 
 Her thread of hope by stern fate, cleft 
 
 While yet its silver shining strands 
 
 Gleamed bright and beauteous in her hands. 
 
 My child, my child ! But she like one 
 Who sees beyond the deep abyss, 
 
112 
 
 THE BARRICADE, 
 
 A country flowering in the sun, 
 
 All luminous with love and bliss, 
 Lost not that look which was my joy, 
 
 But in the coy 
 Delight of. memory found a spell 
 The present grief could not destroy ; 
 The eyes o'erhung with asphodel, 
 Saw not the shade that round her fell. 
 
 But as the days fled by, and sounds 
 Of warfare mingled with the blast, 
 
 And nearer, nearer to our bounds 
 
 The frowning shade of Battle passed ; 
 
 As death and danger filled the air, 
 And many a fair 
 
 Fond woman's countenance showed trace 
 
 Of wasting grief or anxious care, 
 
 I marked upon my darling's face. 
 
 Another look find gradual place. 
 
 A new, strange look, not terror, no, 
 Nor anguish, no, nor fear for him ; 
 
 But something subtiler, such a glow 
 
 As a quick torch swung through the grim, 
 
 Dead darkness of the midnight air. 
 Might cause to flare 
 
 Upon the placid, marble brow 
 
 Of some sweet Mary, gleaming fair 
 
 From wayside shrine upon the woe 
 
 Of a lost wanderer down below. 
 
 A look that froze me, warmed me, dazed 
 And would not leave my dreams at night ; 
 
THE BARRICADE. jj^ 
 
 A look that deepened as I gazed, 
 
 And filled my soul with vague affright. 
 " Alas," I cried, " she hears afar 
 
 I'he voice of war ; 
 She will not linger long away ; 
 The sound of battle in her ear 
 Is like a call she must obey : " 
 But O the love, the heart's dismay ! 
 
 And I was right ; another week 
 And we had left our home behind, 
 
 In Paris' surging streets to seek 
 
 The work for which her spirit pined. 
 
 *' I could not live so far," she said, 
 " From where his head 
 
 May come some weary day to lie ; 
 
 Nor breathe my breath and know some bed 
 
 Of pain was comfortless, that I 
 
 Might ease perhaps with smile or sigh. 
 
 *'I am at rest now," and she turned 
 Her face in glad content on mine. 
 
 Through whose pure light her glances 
 burned 
 Like holy lamps on holy shrine. 
 
 " The smile I may not give to him 
 Need not grow dim 
 
 While pain and sorrow plead for aid ; 
 
 The eyes he loved, forget to brim 
 
 With pity, or the heart he made 
 
 His own, grow faint with hopes delayed." 
 
114 
 
 THE BARRICADE. 
 
 And clad with this strong hope, she grev/ 
 At once so beautiful and bright, 
 
 She seemed like one on whom some new 
 Fair world had opened in delight. 
 
 For me it was enough to see 
 The helpful, free, 
 
 Sweet way of her in all distress ; 
 
 To hear her voice, and know that she 
 
 Was happy, and that pain was less. 
 
 And sorrow, for that happiness. 
 
 But what say I ? ' Tis not of this 
 
 Our conflict with the foreign foe, 
 That I would speak to-day — it is 
 
 Of her and of our final woe. 
 And she was in no peril then, 
 
 Not even when 
 Gaunt Famine stalked the city through, 
 And women sickened, yes, and men 
 Lay down to die within our view. 
 And want was as the breath we drew. 
 
 It is of that dread after-hour 
 
 When passion oped the door of hell, 
 
 And glutting fury rose to power, 
 
 And might was lord, that I would tell. 
 
 O awful flame of burning homes ! 
 Of falling domes ! 
 
 Against your scarlet tapestry, 
 
 One figure only goes and comes 
 
 Whene'er I look, one only, see 
 
 How angel-like it smiles on me ! 
 
THE BARRICADE. 
 
 But to my story. France had bowed 
 Her haughty head unto her fate, 
 
 And the last Prussian's footstep proud 
 Had echoed through our city's gate : 
 
 And peace was ours at last, if not 
 The happier lot 
 
 Of conquerors in their victory ; 
 
 The last fierce cannon had been shot, 
 
 And life and love were safe, and he 
 
 Our hero ; priceless treasury. 
 
 To me no other thought was worth 
 The tribute of a passing sigh ; 
 
 I could have carolled in my mirth, 
 That day of shame and misery. 
 
 But ah, it was not so with her ; 
 For all the stir 
 
 Of hope upspringing in her breast, 
 
 A shadow like the dreamy blur 
 
 That veils the moon, lay half confessed 
 
 Upon her beauty's glowing crest. 
 
 And when I cried, ^' A happy day 
 
 Is this which sees the Prussians gone, 
 So happy, this dear forehead may 
 
 Soon wear, perhaps, its marriage crown, 
 She did not make me quick reply. 
 
 But dropped her eye 
 And shuddered faintly like a flower 
 That feels the wind go chilling by, 
 Though all things else around and o'er 
 Hang still nor own its artful power. 
 
 115 
 
1 5 THJ^ BARRICADE. 
 
 " A happy day, but — " and her gaze 
 Passed quickly to the open door — 
 
 " It is upon life's sunniest days 
 
 The storm prepares that whelms us o'er." 
 
 what was it that smote my heart ? 
 
 Whjct stinging dart 
 Of terror, menace, doubt or woe 
 Was hidden in those words apart, 
 - That all my life-blood ceased to flow 
 In peace, as she thus murmured low ? 
 
 Moving aside, I raised my eyes 
 
 To where her glance had sped before,. 
 
 When what was that which hid the skies 
 Just shining through the open door ? 
 
 A face, but ah, how dread, how rude 
 In its wild mood ! 
 
 If it had been a tiger's own, 
 
 1 had not sprung from where I stood 
 With fiercer cry, nor quicker thrown 
 My arms round Clarice standing lone. 
 
 And yet it was a manly face 
 
 Which some fond mother's lips had kissed, 
 A countenance where thought had place— 
 
 The thought, though of a dogmatist. 
 I did not know him then by name, 
 
 But through the flame 
 Of the fell glance which sought, alas ! 
 My daughter's face with passionate claim, 
 I seemed to see as in a glass 
 The spirit of a demon pass. 
 
THE BARRICADE. 
 
 And though in just a moment more 
 He vanished even while I looked, 
 
 And heaven's pure sky all sunnied o'er 
 .Came shining inward unrebuked, 
 
 I could not choose but feel the gloom 
 Of some near doom 
 
 Had fallen about us unaware ; 
 
 A breath, a whisper from the tomb 
 
 Had crossed our summer garden fair, 
 
 Leaving its poison in the air. 
 
 But hiding in my mother breast 
 The terror I could not repress, 
 
 I strove with merry smiles and jest 
 To win her back to happiness. 
 
 But she who ever until now 
 Had raised her brow. 
 
 Serene amid the darkest hour, 
 
 Drooped slowly from this time as though 
 
 She felt a blight upon the flower 
 
 Of her young life and maiden power. 
 
 But not until that fearful day 
 
 He came again and with some word 
 Of love and love's resistless sway. 
 
 Strove hard to make his passion heard ; 
 Not till commanded from her sight. 
 
 He turned his bright 
 Fierce gaze on us and bade us know 
 By the low sounds of restless fight 
 Just waking in the streets below. 
 That will was law in Paris now ; 
 
 117 
 
THE BARRICADE. 
 
 Did I foresee that we were lost, 
 If Victor came not soon to aid, 
 
 That the shy leaf by zephyrs tossed. 
 Was to the whirlwind's grasp betrayed. 
 
 But V^ictor could not come, the toils 
 With tightening coils 
 
 Had caught us in their fatal snare ; 
 
 The frantic freedom which despoils 
 
 And heedeth nought, was in the air. 
 
 And cannon's voice mocked every prayer. 
 
 And as the conflict round us grew 
 
 Intenser in its frenzy dire, 
 He fiercer turned as though he drew 
 
 Fresh fury from each mounting fire. 
 ^' Thou art my bride," he used to say ; 
 
 " And sharest sway 
 With freedom in this breast of mine ; 
 Your fates are one ; the self-same day 
 That sees her fall, sees thee and thine 
 Laid bruised and bleeding on her shrine.' 
 
 And when the hours in flying brought 
 
 The deadly struggle to a head. 
 And wild despair and passion sought 
 To do the work of hope, now d2ad, 
 It was no raging man that came 
 
 Red from the flame 
 To gloat a moment o'er his power. 
 But some mad demon dead to shame. 
 That in his frenzy found an hour 
 To tread and break a wilding flower : 
 
THE BARRICADE. 1 1^ 
 
 My innocent child ! But she with cahii, 
 High aspect kept him still at bay, 
 
 And with one name as with a charm, 
 Stayed up her courage night and day. 
 
 Meantime about our very door 
 The rush and roar 
 
 Of warfare 'gan to ebb and swell, 
 
 And barricades arose before 
 
 Our eyes, and nearer, deadlier, fell 
 
 The hissing shot and bursting shell. 
 
 And listening to their sullen call, 
 And looking on their angry glare, 
 
 I could but pray their wrath might fall 
 Upon us twain in our despair. 
 
 But she at that would whisper " Nay, 
 O rather pray 
 
 That you may live though Clarice die ; 
 
 If but upon some happier day 
 
 To tell my Victor, how that I 
 
 Was true unto life's latest sigh." 
 
 And leaning on my mother breast, 
 She raised her earnest face to mine 
 
 And murmured, '^ Death for me is best. 
 You must not grieve at God's design." 
 
 Then as I shuddered, added slow : 
 " The noon-day glow 
 
 Of life had been too bright for me ; 
 
 I was not made to stem the flow 
 
 Of daily care, nor live to see 
 
 My dreams fade in reality. 
 
I20 THE BARRICADE. 
 
 " To live, to love and then to die 
 
 While life and love are pure and sweet 
 As April's mingled smile and sigh 
 
 In which all hopeful fancies meet, 
 Is not so sad ; more sad to me, 
 
 It were to see 
 The falling leaves, the clouding sky. 
 To look around and miss the free 
 Glad singing of the birds, and sigh 
 In vain for hopes and days gone by. 
 
 " A mist just blown from off the hills 
 
 Across the roses of the dawn. 
 That for a moment burns and thrills, 
 
 With splendor from their glory drawn ; 
 It were not meet for me to scale — 
 
 A thing so frail — 
 The lofty fagade of the sky, 
 Nor made to shimmer and to fail. 
 Bear up my heart as though my way 
 Lay through the golden ranks of day. 
 
 " Even the love which God has given 
 To make my summer morn complete, 
 
 Is more a thing of happy heaven 
 Than happy earth, however sweet. 
 
 And he will say so, too, at last 
 When all is passed 
 
 And life resumes its wonted calm ; 
 
 ' Tis not for one like me to cast 
 
 My lot with such as he ; the balm 
 
 Is sweet, but mates not with the palm. 
 
THE BARRICADE. 121 
 
 " Yet does he love me ; meek, untaught, 
 And tender as all meek things be, 
 
 I know he holds me high as aught 
 
 That blooms or gleams on land or sea. 
 
 And I would ever shine thus bright 
 Within his sight ; 
 
 And if I die it will be so. 
 
 For Death's deep portals shed a light 
 
 On the dear ones who pass below. 
 
 That shrines them in enduring glow 
 
 " And thus in fair, eternal youth, 
 
 With cheek undimmed and smile unworn, 
 
 With eyes that never lose their truth, 
 
 And lips whose speech is ne'er forsworn, 
 
 I'll walk beside him day by day, 
 Life's long hard way ; 
 
 His hope in sorrow or despite, 
 
 But in his joy a memory ; 
 
 As stars shine o'er us, dim or bright, 
 
 As beams the morn or glooms the night." 
 
 Pausing, she stood with lifted head 
 
 Turned towards that fiery, booming sky. 
 
 Serene, though death and anguish sped 
 In every shot that hurried by. 
 
 When, hark ! from where the noise and glare 
 Seethe up the stair, 
 
 A sudden flash, a frenzied cry ! 
 
 And awful in his wild despair. 
 
 That demon fronts us with the high, 
 
 Red flame of conflict in his eye. 
 
122 THE BARRICADE. 
 
 Ah, God of grace I But with a bound 
 
 He caught her form from off the floor, 
 And shrieking out, " The end is found ! * 
 
 Fled with her through the open door. 
 I heard his footsteps as they rung, 
 
 The shriek she flung 
 To Heaven in her extremity, 
 And rousing, tottering upward, sprung 
 Along their wake, while under me 
 The earth rose heaving like the sea. 
 
 Down, down the 'stair that shook beneath, 
 Across the landing, out the gate, 
 
 And forth into the flaming death, 
 Fled like a mad thing to my fate. 
 
 A bullet struck me as I passed, 
 A fiery blast 
 
 Swept by me, scathing cheek and brow, 
 
 But heedless, reckless, onward, fast 
 
 As doom itself, I rushed, nor knew 
 
 I crushed the dying as I flew. 
 
 They told me later that it was 
 The very crisis of the fight ; 
 
 That even as I strove to pass, 
 
 The barricade fell from its height. 
 
 But I saw not ; my gaze, my all 
 Was on that small 
 
 Frail figure flying from my eyes. 
 
 Borne on through flame, past rushing ball, 
 
 Up, up, unto the topmost rise 
 
 Of those wild ruins 'gainst the skies. 
 
THE BARRICADE. 
 
 But stunned and deafened as I was, 
 The silence which fell on the fray, 
 As forth upon that tottering mass 
 
 He leaped with her, and stood at bay, 
 Is with me yet ; as if a flood 
 
 On rushing, should 
 In one wild moment fall backthrown — 
 The very life chilled in the blood, 
 And when he spake his w^ords rang lone. 
 As through some wilderness of stone. 
 
 " Ha, slaves ! and will you falter now ? " 
 I heard him shriek with frenzied cry. 
 
 " Now when fair Freedom waits your blow 
 To bow her radiant head and die ? 
 
 We do not falter," and he drew 
 His blade and threw 
 
 One frantic glance on Clarice's brow ; 
 
 " Never ! Then come." And into view 
 
 Raising his threatening arm, stood so 
 
 With maddened eye bent on the foe. 
 
 When hark, beneath, around, above, 
 A hurried cry, " On, comrades, on ! 
 
 He holds them back, they dare not move, 
 Their leader seemeth turned to stone ; 
 
 Vive la Commune! " And with a bound 
 That shook the ground, 
 
 A dozen threatening forms rushed by. 
 
 I heard, threw off my gathering swound, 
 
 Looked, saw in that same leader's eye 
 
 Our Victor's tortured soul flash high. 
 
 123 
 
124 
 
 THE BARRICADE. 
 
 She sees him too, and o'er her falls 
 
 A sudden light. " Ah, Heaven," she cri\is, 
 
 *' Do Frenchmen pause when duty calls 
 Because a single French girl dies ? 
 
 Rouse, Victor, rouse!" But stunned, dismayed, 
 He only swayed 
 
 One restless moment towards the strife : 
 
 I saw her tremble, look for aid, 
 
 Grow firm, then smile, and crying, " Life 
 
 For honor ! " spring to meet the knife. 
 
 The charm was broken. With a yell 
 
 That demon flung her to the ground, 
 And in the sudden tumult, hell 
 
 Itself seemed bursting from its bound. 
 But life and death were now to me 
 
 As equal ; she 
 The beautiful, the fond, the dear, 
 Had perished, and not ev'n the cry 
 Of Victor in his grief could e'er 
 Rouse me again to wrath or fear.