 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
JESSIE'S REVENGE.
All the heavens were blotted and black,
As in sackcloth and ashes,
Save where lightning just opened a crack
For its blue blinding flashes;—
As a door left ajar in a room
Of the regions infernal,
Shooting flame from the horrible gloom
In the burnings eternal;
For the storm was abroad and at strife
With tumultuous medley,
While its lashes cut keen as knife,
And their kiss was as deadly;
Yea, it churned the wild waters to snow,
Till the waves rose in mountains—
Past the highest high-watermark's flow,
Rushed the tide in fierce fountains;
Above scream of the tempest, a cry
Not of seabird or stranger,
Rang out clear as if scaling the sky,
From a seaman in danger;
Through the riot of shingle, and roar
Of the surf with its tearing,
Beyond rescue of rocket and oar,
Knelled the cry of despairing.
As in sackcloth and ashes,
Save where lightning just opened a crack
For its blue blinding flashes;—
As a door left ajar in a room
Of the regions infernal,
Shooting flame from the horrible gloom
In the burnings eternal;
For the storm was abroad and at strife
With tumultuous medley,
While its lashes cut keen as knife,
And their kiss was as deadly;
Yea, it churned the wild waters to snow,
Till the waves rose in mountains—
Past the highest high-watermark's flow,
Rushed the tide in fierce fountains;
Above scream of the tempest, a cry
Not of seabird or stranger,
Rang out clear as if scaling the sky,
From a seaman in danger;
Through the riot of shingle, and roar
Of the surf with its tearing,
Beyond rescue of rocket and oar,
Knelled the cry of despairing.
341
Ah, the tidings of sorrow soon flew,
Up that gray sloping village,
That the wind unto burials blew,
And the waves beat for pillage;
So they hastened and flocked far and near,
Old and young, and were carried
On the wings of confusion and fear—
Not a skulker who tarried;
To the strand did they gather and gaze
Out to sea, over travail
Of the labouring deep, through the haze
That they fain would unravel;
Flung the foam in their faces the spray
With its splashing, and fluttered
The shy maidens who cowered in the way,
Where it sported and spluttered;
Growled the surf, as it struggled with stones
It would grind into powder,
As do dogs that keep worrying bones,
Leaping higher and louder;
Hissed the gale that was cruel and cold,
With a venomous hissing,
As it snapped at their garments, and told
Of the man they were missing.
Up that gray sloping village,
That the wind unto burials blew,
And the waves beat for pillage;
So they hastened and flocked far and near,
Old and young, and were carried
On the wings of confusion and fear—
Not a skulker who tarried;
To the strand did they gather and gaze
Out to sea, over travail
Of the labouring deep, through the haze
That they fain would unravel;
Flung the foam in their faces the spray
With its splashing, and fluttered
The shy maidens who cowered in the way,
Where it sported and spluttered;
Growled the surf, as it struggled with stones
It would grind into powder,
As do dogs that keep worrying bones,
Leaping higher and louder;
Hissed the gale that was cruel and cold,
With a venomous hissing,
As it snapped at their garments, and told
Of the man they were missing.
With the glass running down, and a curse
At the moon for not shining,
He had sailed over night, that his purse
Might get somehow a lining;
He had drunk a small fortune away,
At the sign of the “Dragon,”
And he now would not brook a delay,
To replenish the flagon;
With a scowl of intent on his brow,
And a laugh as if landed,
He had sworn (with a terrible vow)
No return empty-handed;
What was weather to mariner's pluck,
Or the buffet of billow?
What was surf to the seafaring luck,
That would make it his pillow?
So he sailed forth alone, not a lad
Would go with him from haven,
With a jest at the bodings so bad,
And an oath for the craven;
And away to the south ward he went,
Without bidding or blessing,
With his credit and character spent,
And not one girl's caressing.
At the moon for not shining,
He had sailed over night, that his purse
Might get somehow a lining;
He had drunk a small fortune away,
At the sign of the “Dragon,”
And he now would not brook a delay,
To replenish the flagon;
With a scowl of intent on his brow,
And a laugh as if landed,
He had sworn (with a terrible vow)
No return empty-handed;
What was weather to mariner's pluck,
Or the buffet of billow?
What was surf to the seafaring luck,
That would make it his pillow?
So he sailed forth alone, not a lad
Would go with him from haven,
With a jest at the bodings so bad,
And an oath for the craven;
And away to the south ward he went,
Without bidding or blessing,
With his credit and character spent,
And not one girl's caressing.
342
But the tempest in shadow and shower,
From its lying and langour,
Like a giant awoke in its power
And arose in its anger;
Opened mouth that breathed fury and fire,
Poured fourth volumes of thunder,
With the hate that fulfilled dark desire,
And the night clove asunder;
Put forth hands that were ghastly and grim,
Through its dank trailing tresses,
That wove ruin and winding-sheets dim,
Out of cloudy recesses;
Flew on footsteps of passion and pride,
That sped fast and yet faster,
From its thousands of leagues on the tide,
In its unchecked disaster;
Grew in greatness of feature and face,
With its stride and its tangling,
Till it wrapt the whole world in embrace
Of a serpentine strangling;
Until sea and the skies were so mixed
With its devilish leaven,
None could guess, with all borders unfixed,
Which was earth, which was heaven.
From its lying and langour,
Like a giant awoke in its power
And arose in its anger;
Opened mouth that breathed fury and fire,
Poured fourth volumes of thunder,
With the hate that fulfilled dark desire,
And the night clove asunder;
Put forth hands that were ghastly and grim,
Through its dank trailing tresses,
That wove ruin and winding-sheets dim,
Out of cloudy recesses;
Flew on footsteps of passion and pride,
That sped fast and yet faster,
From its thousands of leagues on the tide,
In its unchecked disaster;
Grew in greatness of feature and face,
With its stride and its tangling,
Till it wrapt the whole world in embrace
Of a serpentine strangling;
Until sea and the skies were so mixed
With its devilish leaven,
None could guess, with all borders unfixed,
Which was earth, which was heaven.
Down it fell on the venturous boat,
In its ignorance lazy,
Like a toy thing in picture afloat,
Rocking helpless and hazy;
Full it swooped in its merciless march,
On the helm of the ranger,
With the infinite span of its arch,
As he dreamed not of danger;
As he huddled a fool at his post,
In a bestial slumber,
While the enemies gathered their host,
And drew near without number;
From the bosom that nothing could tame,
In gaunt cavernous windings,
It hurled arrows of rapine and flame,
Forged with sulphurous grindings:
And it struck the poor ill-fated craft,
Which forth boldly had swaggered,
Now before, now abeam, now abaft,
Till it stumbled and staggered;
Till it reeled, like a creature in pain,
And then moaned from its trouble,
As if conscious its labour was vain,
And itself but a bubble.
In its ignorance lazy,
Like a toy thing in picture afloat,
Rocking helpless and hazy;
Full it swooped in its merciless march,
On the helm of the ranger,
With the infinite span of its arch,
As he dreamed not of danger;
As he huddled a fool at his post,
In a bestial slumber,
While the enemies gathered their host,
And drew near without number;
From the bosom that nothing could tame,
In gaunt cavernous windings,
It hurled arrows of rapine and flame,
Forged with sulphurous grindings:
And it struck the poor ill-fated craft,
Which forth boldly had swaggered,
Now before, now abeam, now abaft,
Till it stumbled and staggered;
Till it reeled, like a creature in pain,
And then moaned from its trouble,
As if conscious its labour was vain,
And itself but a bubble.
343
Went the mast by the board, and away
Flew the sails into tatters,
That made lately such gallant display,
In the peaceful regattas;
There was cracking of spars and the kit
Yet more lightsome and limber,
With a rattling of ropes that were split,
And a groaning of timber;
All the boat felt that sinister strain,
And grew hopeless and humble,
Fore and aft was it struck, and again
Did it stagger and stumble;
Ah, it bowed to the pressure and pinch
Of its pitiless foeman,
Through each innermost fibre and inch,
As a puppet to showman;
As a drunkard the worse for his cup,
And in raggedest clothing,
To the horrid debauch totters up
Yet once more, though with lothing;
Gone were canvas and sticks, and the shore
Showed no friendlier token,
Than the mountainous waves that broke o'er,
And the rudder was broken.
Flew the sails into tatters,
That made lately such gallant display,
In the peaceful regattas;
There was cracking of spars and the kit
Yet more lightsome and limber,
With a rattling of ropes that were split,
And a groaning of timber;
All the boat felt that sinister strain,
And grew hopeless and humble,
Fore and aft was it struck, and again
Did it stagger and stumble;
Ah, it bowed to the pressure and pinch
Of its pitiless foeman,
Through each innermost fibre and inch,
As a puppet to showman;
As a drunkard the worse for his cup,
And in raggedest clothing,
To the horrid debauch totters up
Yet once more, though with lothing;
Gone were canvas and sticks, and the shore
Showed no friendlier token,
Than the mountainous waves that broke o'er,
And the rudder was broken.
Not a man moved a footstep, no hand
To the rescue was lifted,
As the wreck within sight of the land
To destruction came drifted;
When a girl, with a glorious leap
In the fearless old fashion,
Through that mob as of timorous sheep,
Sprang with lightning of passion;
With a branding on brow, but the love
That had strength beyond terror,
Burning brightly and looking above,
For the pardon of error;
Without word, nor the care to revolve
The qualms others might cherish,
And but filled with one noble resolve,
Just to save him or perish;
With a force that descended from God,
And that never was human,
She in triumph and majesty trod,
Single-handed, a woman;
Ran a boat down the beach and thrust out,
With no help but her Maker's,
Through that hell, and towards the wild shout
Disappeared in the breakers.
To the rescue was lifted,
As the wreck within sight of the land
To destruction came drifted;
When a girl, with a glorious leap
In the fearless old fashion,
Through that mob as of timorous sheep,
Sprang with lightning of passion;
With a branding on brow, but the love
That had strength beyond terror,
Burning brightly and looking above,
For the pardon of error;
Without word, nor the care to revolve
The qualms others might cherish,
And but filled with one noble resolve,
Just to save him or perish;
With a force that descended from God,
And that never was human,
She in triumph and majesty trod,
Single-handed, a woman;
Ran a boat down the beach and thrust out,
With no help but her Maker's,
Through that hell, and towards the wild shout
Disappeared in the breakers.
344
It was frantic, that shout, at his doom,
When all hope seemed to languish,
As of one who alive from his tomb,
Fights for help in last anguish;
Tolled so bitter and dreadful the cry,
That the women they trembled,
And the men could not muster reply,
If their fear was dissembled;
It was pleading for life and for aid,
By an agonized spirit
To eternity passing, afraid,
Which but woe must inherit;
It was wail of a sinner, who long
Has been rebel and rover,
And who feels for his manhood of wrong,
Now repentance is over;
It was call of a sufferer in need,
Who was too still a brother,
And still clung to some desperate deed,
Hope forlorn, from another;
But what keel in that chaos could live,
Through the darkness and distance?
And what hero adventure to give,
The one wanted assistance?
When all hope seemed to languish,
As of one who alive from his tomb,
Fights for help in last anguish;
Tolled so bitter and dreadful the cry,
That the women they trembled,
And the men could not muster reply,
If their fear was dissembled;
It was pleading for life and for aid,
By an agonized spirit
To eternity passing, afraid,
Which but woe must inherit;
It was wail of a sinner, who long
Has been rebel and rover,
And who feels for his manhood of wrong,
Now repentance is over;
It was call of a sufferer in need,
Who was too still a brother,
And still clung to some desperate deed,
Hope forlorn, from another;
But what keel in that chaos could live,
Through the darkness and distance?
And what hero adventure to give,
The one wanted assistance?
For a moment the stillness of awe
Fell upon those rude fishers,
As the boat tost about like a straw,
And they merely well-wishers;
As it flashed from the smoke of the surf
Seething, which she put off in,
Into water more clear, heaped like turf
On the bed of a coffin;
As it swept up the swirling of tall
Great green rollers, and breasted
The full brunt of the tempest, whose fall
Had those “white horses” crested;
As it sank for a season like lead,
In the hell of the hollows,
Then arose like a ghost from the dead,
That some destiny follows;
As it toppled first this way, then that,
And was tumbled and shaken,
Like a derelict hulk, which the rat
Now at length has forsaken;
As it swayed in the whirlpools, and swung
In the grip of the giant,
Or shot high in the flashes, and hung
For a second defiant.
Fell upon those rude fishers,
As the boat tost about like a straw,
And they merely well-wishers;
As it flashed from the smoke of the surf
Seething, which she put off in,
Into water more clear, heaped like turf
On the bed of a coffin;
As it swept up the swirling of tall
Great green rollers, and breasted
The full brunt of the tempest, whose fall
Had those “white horses” crested;
As it sank for a season like lead,
In the hell of the hollows,
Then arose like a ghost from the dead,
That some destiny follows;
As it toppled first this way, then that,
And was tumbled and shaken,
Like a derelict hulk, which the rat
Now at length has forsaken;
As it swayed in the whirlpools, and swung
In the grip of the giant,
Or shot high in the flashes, and hung
For a second defiant.
345
Then a burst of applause, from the men
So abashed and confounded,
Broke in thunder of rapture, and then
Yet again it resounded;
It was Jessie, the girl he had shamed
And consigned to damnation,
Who was only with whisperings named,
But now sought his salvation;
It was Jessie, the outcast and scorn,
And the dupe of seduction,
Who sublime in her purpose went, borne
To relief or destruction;
It was Jessie, the foolish and fair,
The despised of their daughters,
Who alone in her weakness would dare
The mad hubbub of waters;
It was Jessie, the fallen and frail,
Now by no one regarded,
Who replied to his pitiful hail,
Though he her had discarded;
It was Jessie, who thus from wild shore
Hurried out on waves wilder,
Who a boat never handled before,
To the wretch that defiled her.
So abashed and confounded,
Broke in thunder of rapture, and then
Yet again it resounded;
It was Jessie, the girl he had shamed
And consigned to damnation,
Who was only with whisperings named,
But now sought his salvation;
It was Jessie, the outcast and scorn,
And the dupe of seduction,
Who sublime in her purpose went, borne
To relief or destruction;
It was Jessie, the foolish and fair,
The despised of their daughters,
Who alone in her weakness would dare
The mad hubbub of waters;
It was Jessie, the fallen and frail,
Now by no one regarded,
Who replied to his pitiful hail,
Though he her had discarded;
It was Jessie, who thus from wild shore
Hurried out on waves wilder,
Who a boat never handled before,
To the wretch that defiled her.
In the glare of the lightning, they saw
The doomed man and the other,
Who would save, by the Gospel's grand law,
Her betrayer and brother;
Some believed they beheld in the boat,
With the earthlier feature,
Arms unearthly that kept it afloat,
A celestial creature;
When the billows seemed ready to whelm,
And to leave not a relic,
They thought surely was one at the helm,
Like a being angelic;
Others swore it was Christ, and His form
Who each obstacle scattered,
And would pilot the boat through the storm,
Which a ship must have shattered;
Others vowed she had sunk as she ought,
In that hurricane savage,
For the tempest waxed louder, and wrought
Direr ruin and ravage;
Others knew it was bootless, to mark
What could never be certain,
Or to read in that riddle so dark,
The sight veiled by its curtain.
The doomed man and the other,
Who would save, by the Gospel's grand law,
Her betrayer and brother;
Some believed they beheld in the boat,
With the earthlier feature,
Arms unearthly that kept it afloat,
A celestial creature;
When the billows seemed ready to whelm,
And to leave not a relic,
They thought surely was one at the helm,
Like a being angelic;
Others swore it was Christ, and His form
Who each obstacle scattered,
And would pilot the boat through the storm,
Which a ship must have shattered;
Others vowed she had sunk as she ought,
In that hurricane savage,
For the tempest waxed louder, and wrought
Direr ruin and ravage;
Others knew it was bootless, to mark
What could never be certain,
Or to read in that riddle so dark,
The sight veiled by its curtain.
346
And again a dead silence, the hush
Of suspense sorely troubled,
Fell upon them—they prayed—in the rush,
And the roar now redoubled;
O they prayed from compassion and fear,
In their hearts praying only,
To the God who is ready to hear,
And the God of the lonely;
Who is Lord of the tempest, to bind
Or unloose at His pleasure,
Who a bridle has set on the wind,
And gives all things by measure;
Yes, they prayed, who for years without thought
Had such Providence taken
As their right, and their welfare but sought,
Nor to praying would waken;
Prayed the men, for the mercy they hoped
Against hope, on the daring
Which unarmed and unaided yet coped
With the ocean unsparing;
Prayed the women, for pity on her
Whom He held in His keeping,
Who was His if she sadly did err;
Prayed the children, with weeping.
Of suspense sorely troubled,
Fell upon them—they prayed—in the rush,
And the roar now redoubled;
O they prayed from compassion and fear,
In their hearts praying only,
To the God who is ready to hear,
And the God of the lonely;
Who is Lord of the tempest, to bind
Or unloose at His pleasure,
Who a bridle has set on the wind,
And gives all things by measure;
Yes, they prayed, who for years without thought
Had such Providence taken
As their right, and their welfare but sought,
Nor to praying would waken;
Prayed the men, for the mercy they hoped
Against hope, on the daring
Which unarmed and unaided yet coped
With the ocean unsparing;
Prayed the women, for pity on her
Whom He held in His keeping,
Who was His if she sadly did err;
Prayed the children, with weeping.
He was struck, by the falling of mast
And the shifting of lumber,
As he roused to the peril aghast,
From his stupefied slumber;
One arm broken, half stunned, and the blood
Dripping fast from the gashing
Of a splinter, he faced the dark flood,
And the storm in mid crashing;
Ah, a frenzy of dread seized his soul,
And the horror of panic,
As he eyed the stern strife past controul,
And the battle Titanic;
He was doomed, he who never had cared
For a penitent station—
He was dying and all unprepared
Going forth to damnation;
All his sins in their vileness came back,
To his tortured reflection,
And they looked now so loathsome and black,
In the gaunt recollection;
And the wrong last committed, stood out
In its pestilent badness,
Till he shuddered, and heaved that last shout,
Which seemed wrung out of madness.
And the shifting of lumber,
As he roused to the peril aghast,
From his stupefied slumber;
One arm broken, half stunned, and the blood
Dripping fast from the gashing
Of a splinter, he faced the dark flood,
And the storm in mid crashing;
Ah, a frenzy of dread seized his soul,
And the horror of panic,
As he eyed the stern strife past controul,
And the battle Titanic;
He was doomed, he who never had cared
For a penitent station—
He was dying and all unprepared
Going forth to damnation;
All his sins in their vileness came back,
To his tortured reflection,
And they looked now so loathsome and black,
In the gaunt recollection;
And the wrong last committed, stood out
In its pestilent badness,
Till he shuddered, and heaved that last shout,
Which seemed wrung out of madness.
347
It returned in a flaring of fire,
Like a late dying ember
Leaping up, her last burning desire,
Which he quailed to remember;
Ashy agony, stamped in the stare
Of the face, as if hunted
By the hounds of importunate care,
With life stiffened and stunted;
And the looks more entreating than speech,
With the dumb writhen gesture
Of the hands that essayed to beseech,
In her grief's ghostly vesture;
And the feet that just faltered one pace,
Then refused to go farther,
As if seeking for hiding a place,
Or that earth would ope rather;
He recalled it too well, every link
Of the crime, though confusing
Through the fumes of debauches of drink,
In its baseness accusing;
And he now was descending alone,
In woe none had depicted,
With no Christ for his sins to atone,
Self-condemned, self-convicted.
Like a late dying ember
Leaping up, her last burning desire,
Which he quailed to remember;
Ashy agony, stamped in the stare
Of the face, as if hunted
By the hounds of importunate care,
With life stiffened and stunted;
And the looks more entreating than speech,
With the dumb writhen gesture
Of the hands that essayed to beseech,
In her grief's ghostly vesture;
And the feet that just faltered one pace,
Then refused to go farther,
As if seeking for hiding a place,
Or that earth would ope rather;
He recalled it too well, every link
Of the crime, though confusing
Through the fumes of debauches of drink,
In its baseness accusing;
And he now was descending alone,
In woe none had depicted,
With no Christ for his sins to atone,
Self-condemned, self-convicted.
What was that in the dark drawing near.
Through the blast with its scourges,
Now aloft on the foam driven drear,
Now below in the surges?
Was it Jesus yet walking the waves,
As in Galilee story,
And yet shedding on shipwrecks and graves
The new life of His glory?
Was He coming again with the light,
Which the shadows would shiver,
And again in His mercy and might,
The damned soul to deliver?
Was it dreaming, and only the cheat
Of delirious fancies,
That had dragged from their dusky retreat
The old boyish romances?
And that figure, he knew it too well—
But his brain must be giving—
Was it heaven he felt? was it hell?
Was he dead? was he living?
The curst drink had unmanned him, its mist
Filled his mind with fond guesses;
Yet that hair flowing loose, had he kist?
And that face, was it Jessie's?
Through the blast with its scourges,
Now aloft on the foam driven drear,
Now below in the surges?
Was it Jesus yet walking the waves,
As in Galilee story,
And yet shedding on shipwrecks and graves
The new life of His glory?
Was He coming again with the light,
Which the shadows would shiver,
And again in His mercy and might,
The damned soul to deliver?
Was it dreaming, and only the cheat
Of delirious fancies,
That had dragged from their dusky retreat
The old boyish romances?
And that figure, he knew it too well—
But his brain must be giving—
Was it heaven he felt? was it hell?
Was he dead? was he living?
The curst drink had unmanned him, its mist
Filled his mind with fond guesses;
Yet that hair flowing loose, had he kist?
And that face, was it Jessie's?
348
While he wondered and hardly believed,
What his fancies had painted,
As he pictured the girl he deceived,
For a moment he fainted;
Then he unclosed his eyes, and once more
It drew nearer and nearer,
And that vision of joy on him bore,
Growing clearer and clearer;
With her face all deflowered, and dim
From the tears beyond shedding,
She had sworn to wreak vengeance on him,
In a funeral wedding;
And yet now was she seeking him, she
Whom he marred in her blindness,
Fain to pluck him from ruin to be?
Was her vengeance but kindness?
Was she faithful, when nobody moved
For his succour one finger,
And the mates who his bounty had proved,
Were contented to linger?
Did the girl he dishonoured, and left
When he cared not to ravish,
Fly to rescue him lost and bereft,
And her own life to lavish?
What his fancies had painted,
As he pictured the girl he deceived,
For a moment he fainted;
Then he unclosed his eyes, and once more
It drew nearer and nearer,
And that vision of joy on him bore,
Growing clearer and clearer;
With her face all deflowered, and dim
From the tears beyond shedding,
She had sworn to wreak vengeance on him,
In a funeral wedding;
And yet now was she seeking him, she
Whom he marred in her blindness,
Fain to pluck him from ruin to be?
Was her vengeance but kindness?
Was she faithful, when nobody moved
For his succour one finger,
And the mates who his bounty had proved,
Were contented to linger?
Did the girl he dishonoured, and left
When he cared not to ravish,
Fly to rescue him lost and bereft,
And her own life to lavish?
Then he looked to his Father, and spoke
A brief stammering sentence;
For his heart was quite conquered, and broke
In a rush of repentance;
And he lifted his hands, and they met
Just the hands that they needed,
While she drew him within, nor would let
Him again toss unheeded;
And he opened his arms, and her name
From his lips fell in rapture,
And undoubting she hearkened, and came
To his passionate capture;
What of ruin the white waters churned,
Now his soul had been shriven—
Now the one he had outraged returned,
And their God had forgiven?
For the tempest, which robbed them of breath,
Bequeathed comelier graces,
Reunited and married by death,
In each other's embraces;
And the travailing ocean gave birth
To a marvellous blossom—
To a man who found Heaven in earth,
On a womanly bosom.
A brief stammering sentence;
For his heart was quite conquered, and broke
In a rush of repentance;
And he lifted his hands, and they met
Just the hands that they needed,
While she drew him within, nor would let
Him again toss unheeded;
And he opened his arms, and her name
From his lips fell in rapture,
And undoubting she hearkened, and came
To his passionate capture;
What of ruin the white waters churned,
Now his soul had been shriven—
Now the one he had outraged returned,
And their God had forgiven?
For the tempest, which robbed them of breath,
Bequeathed comelier graces,
Reunited and married by death,
In each other's embraces;
And the travailing ocean gave birth
To a marvellous blossom—
To a man who found Heaven in earth,
On a womanly bosom.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |