 | Lucile |  |
VII.
At last, with sad face
He stopp'd short, and bent on his cousin awhile
A pain'd sort of wistful, compassionate smile,
Approach'd him,—stood o'er him,—and suddenly laid
One hand on his shoulder—
He stopp'd short, and bent on his cousin awhile
A pain'd sort of wistful, compassionate smile,
Approach'd him,—stood o'er him,—and suddenly laid
One hand on his shoulder—
‘Where is she?’ he said.
Alfred lifted his face all disfigured with tears
And gazed vacantly at him, like one that appears
In some foreign language to hear himself greeted,
Unable to answer.
Alfred lifted his face all disfigured with tears
And gazed vacantly at him, like one that appears
In some foreign language to hear himself greeted,
Unable to answer.
‘Where is she?’ repeated
His cousin.
His cousin.
He motion'd his hand to the door;
‘There, I think,’ he replied. Cousin John said no more,
And appear'd to relapse to his own cogitations,
Of which not a gesture vouchsafed indications.
So again there was silence.
‘There, I think,’ he replied. Cousin John said no more,
And appear'd to relapse to his own cogitations,
Of which not a gesture vouchsafed indications.
264
A timepiece at last
Struck the twelve strokes of midnight.
Struck the twelve strokes of midnight.
Roused by them, he cast
A half look to the dial; then quietly threw
His arm round the neck of his cousin, and drew
The hands down from his face.
A half look to the dial; then quietly threw
His arm round the neck of his cousin, and drew
The hands down from his face.
‘It is time she should know
‘What has happen'd,’ he said,... ‘let us go to her now.’
Alfred started at once to his feet.
‘What has happen'd,’ he said,... ‘let us go to her now.’
Alfred started at once to his feet.
Drawn and wan.
Though his face, he look'd more than his wont was—a man.
Strong, for once, in his weakness. Uplifted, fill'd through
With a manly resolve.
Though his face, he look'd more than his wont was—a man.
Strong, for once, in his weakness. Uplifted, fill'd through
With a manly resolve.
If that axiom be true
Of the ‘Sum quia cogito,’ I must opine
That ‘id sum quid cogito:’—that which, in fine,
A man thinks and feels, with his whole force of thought
And feeling, the man is himself.
Of the ‘Sum quia cogito,’ I must opine
That ‘id sum quid cogito:’—that which, in fine,
A man thinks and feels, with his whole force of thought
And feeling, the man is himself.
He had fought
With himself, and rose up from his self-overthrow
The survivor of much which that strife had laid low.
At his feet, as he rose at the name of his wife,
Lay in ruins the brilliant unrealized life
Which, though yet unfulfill'd, seem'd till then, in that name,
To be his, had he claim'd it. The man's dream of fame
And of power fell shatter'd before him; and only
There rested the heart of the woman, so lonely
In all save the love he could give her. The lord
Of that heart he arose. Blush not, Muse, to record
That his first thought, and last, at that moment was not
Of the power and fame that seem'd lost to his lot,
But the love that was left to it; not of the pelf
He had cared for, yet squander'd; and not of himself,
But of her; as he murmur'd,
With himself, and rose up from his self-overthrow
The survivor of much which that strife had laid low.
At his feet, as he rose at the name of his wife,
Lay in ruins the brilliant unrealized life
Which, though yet unfulfill'd, seem'd till then, in that name,
To be his, had he claim'd it. The man's dream of fame
And of power fell shatter'd before him; and only
There rested the heart of the woman, so lonely
265
Of that heart he arose. Blush not, Muse, to record
That his first thought, and last, at that moment was not
Of the power and fame that seem'd lost to his lot,
But the love that was left to it; not of the pelf
He had cared for, yet squander'd; and not of himself,
But of her; as he murmur'd,
‘One moment, dear Jack!
‘We have grown up from boyhood together. Our track
‘Has been through the same meadows in childhood: in youth
‘Through the same silent gateways, to manhood. In truth,
‘There is none that can know me as you do; and none
‘To whom I more wish to believe myself known.
‘Speak the truth; you are not wont to mince it, I know.
‘Nor I, shall I shirk it, or shrink from it now.
‘In despite of a wanton behaviour, in spite
‘Of vanity, folly, and pride, Jack, which might
‘Have turn'd from me many a heart strong and true
‘As your own, I have never turn'd round and miss'd YOU
‘From my side in one hour of affliction or doubt
‘By my own blind and heedless self-will brought about.
‘Tell me truth. Do I owe this alone to the sake
‘Of those old recollections of boyhood that make
‘In your heart yet some clinging and crying appeal
‘From a judgment more harsh, which I cannot but feel
‘Might have sentenced our friendship to death long ago?
‘Or is it ... (I would I could deem it were so!)
‘That, not all overlaid by a listless exterior,
‘Your heart has divined in me something superior
‘To that which I seem; from my innermost nature
‘Not wholly expell'd by the world's usurpature?
‘Some instinct of earnestness, truth, or desire
‘For truth? Some one spark of the soul's native fire
‘Moving under the ashes, and cinders, and dust
‘Which life hath heap'd o'er it? Some one fact to trust
‘And to hope in? Or by you alone am I deem'd
‘The mere frivolous fool I so often have seem'd
‘To my own self?’
‘We have grown up from boyhood together. Our track
‘Has been through the same meadows in childhood: in youth
‘Through the same silent gateways, to manhood. In truth,
‘There is none that can know me as you do; and none
‘To whom I more wish to believe myself known.
‘Speak the truth; you are not wont to mince it, I know.
‘Nor I, shall I shirk it, or shrink from it now.
‘In despite of a wanton behaviour, in spite
‘Of vanity, folly, and pride, Jack, which might
‘Have turn'd from me many a heart strong and true
‘As your own, I have never turn'd round and miss'd YOU
‘From my side in one hour of affliction or doubt
‘By my own blind and heedless self-will brought about.
‘Tell me truth. Do I owe this alone to the sake
‘Of those old recollections of boyhood that make
‘In your heart yet some clinging and crying appeal
‘From a judgment more harsh, which I cannot but feel
‘Might have sentenced our friendship to death long ago?
‘Or is it ... (I would I could deem it were so!)
266
‘Your heart has divined in me something superior
‘To that which I seem; from my innermost nature
‘Not wholly expell'd by the world's usurpature?
‘Some instinct of earnestness, truth, or desire
‘For truth? Some one spark of the soul's native fire
‘Moving under the ashes, and cinders, and dust
‘Which life hath heap'd o'er it? Some one fact to trust
‘And to hope in? Or by you alone am I deem'd
‘The mere frivolous fool I so often have seem'd
‘To my own self?’
‘One moment, dear Jack!
‘We have grown up from boyhood together. Our track
‘Has been through the same meadows in childhood: in youth
‘Through the same silent gateways, to manhood. In truth,
‘There is none that can know me as you do; and none
‘To whom I more wish to believe myself known.
‘Speak the truth; you are not wont to mince it, I know.
‘Nor I, shall I shirk it, or shrink from it now.
‘In despite of a wanton behaviour, in spite
‘Of vanity, folly, and pride, Jack, which might
‘Have turn'd from me many a heart strong and true
‘As your own, I have never turn'd round and miss'd YOU
‘From my side in one hour of affliction or doubt
‘By my own blind and heedless self-will brought about.
‘Tell me truth. Do I owe this alone to the sake
‘Of those old recollections of boyhood that make
‘In your heart yet some clinging and crying appeal
‘From a judgment more harsh, which I cannot but feel
‘Might have sentenced our friendship to death long ago?
‘Or is it ... (I would I could deem it were so!)
‘That, not all overlaid by a listless exterior,
‘Your heart has divined in me something superior
‘To that which I seem; from my innermost nature
‘Not wholly expell'd by the world's usurpature?
‘Some instinct of earnestness, truth, or desire
‘For truth? Some one spark of the soul's native fire
‘Moving under the ashes, and cinders, and dust
‘Which life hath heap'd o'er it? Some one fact to trust
‘And to hope in? Or by you alone am I deem'd
‘The mere frivolous fool I so often have seem'd
‘To my own self?’
Cousin John.
‘We have grown up from boyhood together. Our track
‘Has been through the same meadows in childhood: in youth
‘Through the same silent gateways, to manhood. In truth,
‘There is none that can know me as you do; and none
‘To whom I more wish to believe myself known.
‘Speak the truth; you are not wont to mince it, I know.
‘Nor I, shall I shirk it, or shrink from it now.
‘In despite of a wanton behaviour, in spite
‘Of vanity, folly, and pride, Jack, which might
‘Have turn'd from me many a heart strong and true
‘As your own, I have never turn'd round and miss'd YOU
‘From my side in one hour of affliction or doubt
‘By my own blind and heedless self-will brought about.
‘Tell me truth. Do I owe this alone to the sake
‘Of those old recollections of boyhood that make
‘In your heart yet some clinging and crying appeal
‘From a judgment more harsh, which I cannot but feel
‘Might have sentenced our friendship to death long ago?
‘Or is it ... (I would I could deem it were so!)
266
‘Your heart has divined in me something superior
‘To that which I seem; from my innermost nature
‘Not wholly expell'd by the world's usurpature?
‘Some instinct of earnestness, truth, or desire
‘For truth? Some one spark of the soul's native fire
‘Moving under the ashes, and cinders, and dust
‘Which life hath heap'd o'er it? Some one fact to trust
‘And to hope in? Or by you alone am I deem'd
‘The mere frivolous fool I so often have seem'd
‘To my own self?’
No, Alfred! you will, I believe,
Be true, at the last, to what now makes you grieve,
For having belied your true nature so long.
Necessity is a stern teacher. Be strong!
Be true, at the last, to what now makes you grieve,
For having belied your true nature so long.
Necessity is a stern teacher. Be strong!
‘Do you think,’ he resumed ...‘what I feel while I speak
‘Is no more than a transient emotion, as weak
‘As these weak tears would seem to betoken it?’
‘Is no more than a transient emotion, as weak
‘As these weak tears would seem to betoken it?’
Cousin John.
No!
Lord Alfred.
Thank you, cousin! your hand then. And now I will go
Alone, Jack. Trust to me.
| Lucile | |