 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
Hearing this passionate strain, which had been lying
In wait for opportunity, I think,
All through the night's discourse, the storm broke out
So unexpectedly, I called to mind
Some passages between them, and the talk
That buzzed about them when he went away—
How people said that she had wrecked a life
Of splendid promise; how they pitied him,
All blaming her, and yet they nothing knew,
But that he loved, and that he loved in vain,
And that he wooed, but had not won her hand,
And that he rushed off, when his luck had failed,
To the far ends o' the earth. Musing on this,
And on his passionate upbraiding now,
I marvelled how he kept this open wound
Rankling, unhealed, through all the changeful years,
Wronging himself and her. What should I say?
Better the old pain Custom helps to bear?
Or the fresh anguish which the truth will give?
So my mind balanced it. But I resolved;
Better the truth restoring the old faith,
Even though it shame and break him.
In wait for opportunity, I think,
All through the night's discourse, the storm broke out
So unexpectedly, I called to mind
Some passages between them, and the talk
That buzzed about them when he went away—
How people said that she had wrecked a life
Of splendid promise; how they pitied him,
All blaming her, and yet they nothing knew,
But that he loved, and that he loved in vain,
And that he wooed, but had not won her hand,
And that he rushed off, when his luck had failed,
To the far ends o' the earth. Musing on this,
And on his passionate upbraiding now,
I marvelled how he kept this open wound
Rankling, unhealed, through all the changeful years,
Wronging himself and her. What should I say?
Better the old pain Custom helps to bear?
Or the fresh anguish which the truth will give?
So my mind balanced it. But I resolved;
Better the truth restoring the old faith,
Even though it shame and break him.
Then I said:
Poor Muriel! so you have not heard her story:
And you have held her but a wanton flirt,
Heartless, and with her beauty breaking hearts;
So high an inspiration, yet so mean
A nature too! Well; maybe; only flirts
Have not such souls as make one feel one's-self
Little beside them—as a rule, at least.
And Muriel who, you say, was such a flirt,
Rebuked me by the greatness of her soul,
And of her sorrow. Shall I tell you what,
I fear, may pain alike by gain and loss?
Poor Muriel! so you have not heard her story:
And you have held her but a wanton flirt,
Heartless, and with her beauty breaking hearts;
So high an inspiration, yet so mean
A nature too! Well; maybe; only flirts
Have not such souls as make one feel one's-self
Little beside them—as a rule, at least.
And Muriel who, you say, was such a flirt,
Rebuked me by the greatness of her soul,
And of her sorrow. Shall I tell you what,
I fear, may pain alike by gain and loss?
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |