 | Studies in verse (1865) |  |
So tremulous home she went: yet could not tell
Her mother: wherefore tell her? Was she sure
As yet that she had anything to say?
Yet duty whispered tell her. So she told
Half, that he met her merely; but withheld
The serpent words at whose delicious tone
Her hands were trembling still, like delicate chords
Wrought by the wind to music.
41
As yet that she had anything to say?
Yet duty whispered tell her. So she told
Half, that he met her merely; but withheld
The serpent words at whose delicious tone
Her hands were trembling still, like delicate chords
Wrought by the wind to music.
Mary heard
Sadly, the mother heard exceeding pale,
Her eyes with love and anguish eloquent,
And reached her eager arms about her child,
And spake impetuous love,
Sadly, the mother heard exceeding pale,
Her eyes with love and anguish eloquent,
And reached her eager arms about her child,
And spake impetuous love,
“No, Agnes, no,
My tender child, my best and innocent dove,
Let this at least be spared my widowed days;
I do not think that God can mean so much
Of desolation for us; but beware:
There is no thing more pitiful on earth
Than one weak creature with a wounded heart.
Believe, my girl, all love impossible
Between you; now believe it, ere one word
Of love is spoken, easier: but if chance
Hereafter, God forbid it! make you hear
Such words of Edward Mayne, believe he lies
And mocks the sacred passion with false lips,
As false to you, as false elsewhere before.
His house is proud and noble, we are poor:
He could not, if he would, mean well by you,
The seaman's daughter could not sit a bride
Beneath the ancestral portraits of his line:
The seaman's daughter is too good and proud
To be the mistress of his idle hour.”
My tender child, my best and innocent dove,
Let this at least be spared my widowed days;
I do not think that God can mean so much
Of desolation for us; but beware:
There is no thing more pitiful on earth
Than one weak creature with a wounded heart.
Believe, my girl, all love impossible
42
Of love is spoken, easier: but if chance
Hereafter, God forbid it! make you hear
Such words of Edward Mayne, believe he lies
And mocks the sacred passion with false lips,
As false to you, as false elsewhere before.
His house is proud and noble, we are poor:
He could not, if he would, mean well by you,
The seaman's daughter could not sit a bride
Beneath the ancestral portraits of his line:
The seaman's daughter is too good and proud
To be the mistress of his idle hour.”
| Studies in verse (1865) | |