XXXVI.
FORGIVE AND FORGET.
1
“Forgive! forget! In haste I spoke.
My speech was rash. Resent it not.
Their words unwill'd my lips revoke.
Stretch out thy hand. Be all forgot.”
But stunn'd, and still'd, the listener stood.
From stricken heart to sullen brain
Rebounding beat the insurgent blood,
Then clogg'd the gates of life again.
2
Those rosy roads where tranquil Thought
And Feeling once, like merchant peers,
Embracing mix'd the treasures brought
From their harmonious hemispheres;
In these, Resentment, outraged Pride,
Wrong'd Honour, Wrath, and rebel Doubt
Now strove, with forces wandering wide,
From Reason's stately ranks thrown out.
3
“‘Forgive? Forget?’ 'Tis lightly said,”
The sullen answer came at last
Half-crusht, as thro' the spikes it sped
Of Pride's portcullis—teeth shut fast.
“‘Forgive! forget!’ And in my place,
Say what wouldst thou, the wronger, do?”
“I swear it, as I hope for grace,
I would forgive, forgetting too!
4
“And oh that in thy place I were,
The wronger thou, and mine the wrong!
Nay, hold me to the oath I swear,
And try me if it hold not strong.”
“Man, words are hasty: even so
Thyself hast said.”—“Not hasty this!
O trust it! try it! ask or do
Whate'er thou wilt.”—“Thou will'st it?”—“Yes.”
5
A blow . . . and he that spake the last
Beneath the bank where they two stood
Was rolling wrapt in foam, and fast
Borne onward by the boisterous flood.
He beats the blinding wave with strength:
Chill'd, shaking, aching, drench'd, to shore
He struggles: climbs the bank at length:
And feebly feels alive once more.
6
“Forgive! forget! I struck in haste.
My blow was rash. Resent it not.
Is wrong forgiven not wrong effaced?
Stretch out thy hand. Be all forgot.”
In wrathful mood he turn'd about,
Remember'd—realised—forgave—
And, with a rueful smile, held out
His right hand dripping from the wave.
7
“Nay, overhasty still! First dry
Yon chilly drench that drips amain,
For who would care to embrace (not I!)
A slobber'd gutter retching rain?”
“Unjust!” he cried. “Take witness, heaven,
Struck, sicken'd, soak'd to a sop by thee,
The shock, the shame, I have forgiven,
Nor mine the fault if chill'd I be.
8
“My garments drip, my blood runs cold,
My limbs are loosed, my lips are blue,
And if I live till I grow old,
'Twill be, methinks, no thanks to you.
I heed not how my hurts were got,
I only know they hurt me yet;
But all, it seems, suffices not,
Half-drown'd, you'd have me still not wet!”
9
“'Tis well! Thou understand'st me now.
I, too, can strive: I, too, can brave
What Friendship feels from Friendship's blow:
Can pluck my soul from out the wave
Of overwhelming wrath and shame,
Reach shore, and, shivering there (like thee)
Embrace my friend. But not the same
As Friendship was can Friendship be.
10
“For lost to love, tho' love may last,
Is all that love must needs forgive;
And, tho' forgot, the painful past
Its prey forgets not. Maim'd we live.
In memory's haunts a horror grows,
That marks one unremember'd spot;
And still the hoary hemlock blows
Where blows the blue forget-me-not.”
