University of Virginia Library

It was a dark and ancient room
In which old Jasper sat alone;
Within, the sun had never shone:
But Jasper was cheerful amid the gloom,
As a light that burneth in a tomb.
“Ha! ha!” he chuckled, and rubb'd his hands;
“The sunshine that the ripple bears
Casteth its colour on the sands,
As yellow as harvest ears;
And why are we young, or why are we old,
If we see not our sunshine turn to gold?”
There was an opening of the door:
“Timely thou comest, my son, in sooth”—
(He spake unto a fair-hair'd youth,
Whose years were scarce a score):—
“Come, sit thee down, and sit thee near;
I have that to whisper in thine ear
Which—or my hopes will do me wrong—
Shall not be a secret long.
Thou knowest Master Barton? Well;
That he is rich I need not tell;
That he hath honey in many a cell;
Such honey as the summer bees
Gather'd in the Hesperides.
But Philip, my son, thou hast been blind:
Of Master Barton's is there aught
Thou hast not seen, or hast not sought,
Which is for thee designed?”

The young man took a moment's thought,
But it enter'd not his mind.
“Your pardon, Sir; aught sought or seen!
You are merry; I guess not what you mean.”

“Pshaw!” cried old Jasper, peevishly,
“Thou canst not see a star in the sky,
If downward thou wilt bend thine eye.
Its shadow, that frolics in the water,
Is marvel enough for thee, I wot;
Say, Mistress Alice hast thou forgot,
And is she not his daughter?”

There was a something in Philip's eyes;
It was not wonder or surprise;
And yet it made his brows to rise.
The old man gazes on the boy,
And well he sees it is not joy,
As slow his son replies:—

“What words of my poor speech can raise
A fitting tribute to her praise?
She is indeed a lovely maid
As ever grew to womanhood;
But is more worthy to be woo'd
By one who, when against her weigh'd,
Is held as virtuous and good.
Be his the prize whom schools refine,
In whom all nobler virtues shine;
I dare not hope it may be mine.”

“I see,” cried his father, “and well I see;
The tale has been often told;
There was a maiden of low degree,
And—but the story's old:—
'Twas a quaint play made out of a song.
I saw it presented, and it pass'd;
How love is deep, and the hill is steep;
How love is strong, and reason is wrong;
And the old man's outwitted at last.
But oh! false wretch! that would'st to me
Make thy humility thy plea!
Thou durst not hope! Well, then, refer
Thy fears, hope's counterparts, to her.
Thou durst not hope! thou mean'st, I ween,
Thou fearest lest thy hopes be seen.
Wherefore that face of blank dismay?
Have I not seen before to-day,
A traveller on a crooked way?
Hear me: Twelve years my memory dates,
Since the good ship, from Genoa's port,
(Would it had been the tempest's sport,
Wreck'd in the fell Gibraltar straits!)
Sail'd hither, bringing with her one,
By woe and bankruptcy undone.
Carlo Uberti was his name.
He sought me; urg'd a piteous claim
Of former merchandise consign'd;
(Weak fool! to think within his mind,
Who eats the fruit must love the rind.)
I was the fool. His story wrought
Upon my heart—his child he brought—
A little tender, touching thing,
A summer cheek, an eye of spring.
What more to move me could he bring?
My house receiv'd him and his child;
The father wept, the daughter smil'd;
Thus, like a fool, was I beguil'd.
He died. What more? The child remains;
The child whom I have foster'd still;
And how does she requite my pains,
My care repay, my hopes fulfil?
And thou, would'st thou, of simple wit,
Lure a poor sparrow to the sill,
And frame a cage, and cherish it,
As though its russet feathers vied
With birds, the sun's adopted pride,
Of scarlet plumage, golden-dyed?
Thou lov'st this Julia; spare the lie
That rises in thee to deny,
What thy cheek tells me, and thine eye.”
Philip stood mute, abash'd; nor durst
Meet Jasper's taunting glance at first;
For he was timid; had been nurs'd
Upon a mother's breast forlorn,
And rear'd at pious knees prayer-worn.
Oft blest with tears, in tones that spoke
Through sighs that more than language spoke;
And all the mother had been shed
Upon his young and thoughtful head:
He was in union with the dead.
Wherefore his gentle aspect took
(His nature being hers) her look,
Its patient softness, mild and sweet;
A home for sun-bright candour meet,
Too pure a dwelling for deceit.

And so upon his knees he fell
Entreatingly, hands clasp'd, and said,
“I have been rash, I know it well;
Yet blame on me alone be laid,—
On me alone: if we have lov'd—”
“Ye are two fools,” cried Jasper, mov'd
To laughter; “ye have both done wrong;
And now for pardon would ye sue?
First to do ill, and next to rue,
Is to tie knots in censure's thong,
Then beg exemption from its smart.
Rise, boy of an ignoble heart!
Groveller, against ambition proof,
Dreamer of visions weak and vain:
Content with straw will thatch his roof,
When Enterprise has seiz'd the grain:
Seek Mistress Alice, and transfer
Thy vows to Julia, unto her.”

“O, Sir, it cannot be undone;
Look not so sternly on your son;
The holy priest hath made us one.”

Never was cheek so sudden blanch'd
As Jasper's; never withering curse
Restrain'd, throat-strangled ere 'twas launch'd,
As that which, bursting as it dies,
Throws up its fire into his eyes.

“Thou liest, boy; those words recal:
Thy priest at the confessional,
If thou speak'st falsely, shall apply
His absolution to the lie;
If thou speak'st truly, priest nor Pope,
With dispensation seal'd and sign'd,
Can give thee joy, or peace, or hope,
Or cheer thy heart, or clear thy mind.”

He flung him from his feet—“Begone!
Leave me; I will—must be alone.”

The youth confounded and dismay'd
By wrath to violence betray'd,
His father silently obey'd.
'Twas well; for Nature had been loth
To hear the deep and fearful oath,
With which, upon his impious knees,
The aged man his vengeance arms;
It was an oath the blood to freeze,
But Jasper's blood it warms.