Lucile By Owen Meredith [i.e. E. R. B. Lytton] |
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| I. |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. | IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVIII. |
| VI. |
| II. |
 | Lucile |  |
IV.
He felt ill at ease with himself. He could feel
Little doubt what the answer would be from Lucile.
Her eyes, when they parted—her voice, when they met,
Still enraptured his heart, which they haunted. And yet,
Though, exulting, he deem'd himself loved, where he loved,
Through his mind a vague self-accusation there moved.
O'er his fancy, when fancy was fairest, would rise
The infantine face of Matilda, with eyes
So sad, so reproachful, so cruelly kind,
That his heart fail'd within him. In vain did he find
A thousand just reasons for what he had done:
The vision that troubled him would not be gone.
In vain did he say to himself, and with truth,
‘Matilda has beauty, and fortune, and youth;
‘And her heart is too young to have deeply involved
‘All its hopes in the tie which must now be dissolved.
‘'T were a false sense of honour in me to suppress
‘The sad truth which I owe it to her to confess.
‘And what reason have I to presume this poor life
‘Of my own, with its languid and frivolous strife,
‘And without what alone might endear it to her,
‘Were a boon all so precious, indeed, to confer,
‘That a woman need weep to resign it? 'T will be
‘The brief, angry surprise of a moment, and she,
‘Who can never lack suitors more worthy than I,
‘In a year will recall, without even a sigh,
‘This broken engagement.
Little doubt what the answer would be from Lucile.
Her eyes, when they parted—her voice, when they met,
Still enraptured his heart, which they haunted. And yet,
Though, exulting, he deem'd himself loved, where he loved,
Through his mind a vague self-accusation there moved.
O'er his fancy, when fancy was fairest, would rise
The infantine face of Matilda, with eyes
So sad, so reproachful, so cruelly kind,
That his heart fail'd within him. In vain did he find
A thousand just reasons for what he had done:
The vision that troubled him would not be gone.
In vain did he say to himself, and with truth,
‘Matilda has beauty, and fortune, and youth;
‘And her heart is too young to have deeply involved
‘All its hopes in the tie which must now be dissolved.
‘'T were a false sense of honour in me to suppress
‘The sad truth which I owe it to her to confess.
‘And what reason have I to presume this poor life
‘Of my own, with its languid and frivolous strife,
‘And without what alone might endear it to her,
‘Were a boon all so precious, indeed, to confer,
‘That a woman need weep to resign it? 'T will be
‘The brief, angry surprise of a moment, and she,
111
‘In a year will recall, without even a sigh,
‘This broken engagement.
‘It is not as though
‘I were bound to some poor village maiden, I know,
‘Unto whose simple heart mine were all upon earth,
‘Or to whose simple fortunes my own could give worth.
‘Matilda, in all the world's gifts, will not miss
‘Aught that I could procure her. 'T is best as it is!’
‘I were bound to some poor village maiden, I know,
‘Unto whose simple heart mine were all upon earth,
‘Or to whose simple fortunes my own could give worth.
‘Matilda, in all the world's gifts, will not miss
‘Aught that I could procure her. 'T is best as it is!’
| Lucile | |