 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE DEAD HAND.
I was a boy, a beardless stripling, then;
And all odd men were heroes to my notion;
So toward old Hamet, as the man of men,
I nursed a feeling bordering on devotion;
The mystery hanging round him, in my eyes,
Served like a mist to magnify his size.
And all odd men were heroes to my notion;
So toward old Hamet, as the man of men,
I nursed a feeling bordering on devotion;
The mystery hanging round him, in my eyes,
Served like a mist to magnify his size.
632
That he was rich was nothing; at that age
Wealth does not captivate and dull the fancy;
Nor did the fact he was reputed sage
Act on me with the power of necromancy;
But 'twas the mystery of his origin
That served my worship of the man to win.
Wealth does not captivate and dull the fancy;
Nor did the fact he was reputed sage
Act on me with the power of necromancy;
But 'twas the mystery of his origin
That served my worship of the man to win.
Among us he had come, and none knew why,
From some far home, perhaps, whence none discovered;
Gaunt, pallid, silent, and with bearing high,
And over him that nameless something hovered,
That cloud impenetrable, dense, and dark,
Which baffles inquiry, and checks remark.
From some far home, perhaps, whence none discovered;
Gaunt, pallid, silent, and with bearing high,
And over him that nameless something hovered,
That cloud impenetrable, dense, and dark,
Which baffles inquiry, and checks remark.
He bought the Beardsley place when Beardsley died,
Enlarged and beautified the stately dwelling,
Laid out a lawn in front, and on each side,
With lofty trees the noonday shade compelling,
And, with a troop of serfs to wait on him,
Lived there alone, stern, smileless, sad, and grim.
Enlarged and beautified the stately dwelling,
Laid out a lawn in front, and on each side,
With lofty trees the noonday shade compelling,
And, with a troop of serfs to wait on him,
Lived there alone, stern, smileless, sad, and grim.
How he first came, or why, to notice me,
Who, socially, moved in another station,
Was hard to fathom, save it were that he
Was flattered by the earnest admiration
I showed at all he said, the few times when,
Scarce once a month, he deigned to mix with men.
Who, socially, moved in another station,
Was hard to fathom, save it were that he
Was flattered by the earnest admiration
I showed at all he said, the few times when,
Scarce once a month, he deigned to mix with men.
So we two came to speaking terms at last,
And even to be companions in a fashion;
And when the Rubicon between was passed,
And he had found my most controlling passion
Was love of books, he let me win my Rome,
And in his library find sway and home.
And even to be companions in a fashion;
And when the Rubicon between was passed,
And he had found my most controlling passion
Was love of books, he let me win my Rome,
And in his library find sway and home.
633
And then that grim and silent man unbent,
And told me tales of travel and of wonder,
Of life within the Bedouin's leathern tent,
The yellow, heated sky Arabian under,
Rides on the pampas, and beneath the trees
Of the great forests in the Indian seas.
And told me tales of travel and of wonder,
Of life within the Bedouin's leathern tent,
The yellow, heated sky Arabian under,
Rides on the pampas, and beneath the trees
Of the great forests in the Indian seas.
But now and then amid the rushing flow
Of vivid words, he'd pause in the narration,
And sinking in his chair, would shrink as though
Of weight of woe some long accumulation,
Borne with a smiling face, but heart forlorn,
Had grown at length too grievous to be borne.
Of vivid words, he'd pause in the narration,
And sinking in his chair, would shrink as though
Of weight of woe some long accumulation,
Borne with a smiling face, but heart forlorn,
Had grown at length too grievous to be borne.
Reckless, boy-like, I asked him why he shrank,
What pulled him down so terribly and quickly;
A flash of pain passed o'er his features blank,
And came the answer huskily and thickly—
“No luxury, no wealth, remorse can drown;
There is a dead hand, boy, that pulls me down.
What pulled him down so terribly and quickly;
A flash of pain passed o'er his features blank,
And came the answer huskily and thickly—
“No luxury, no wealth, remorse can drown;
There is a dead hand, boy, that pulls me down.
“There is a dead hand ever grasping me,
The dead hand of my early aspirations;
The ghost of what is not, yet was to be,
Dizzies my brain with meaningless gyrations;
To seek, not find; to win, not woo; all these
Make up the wine of life; I drink the lees.”
The dead hand of my early aspirations;
The ghost of what is not, yet was to be,
Dizzies my brain with meaningless gyrations;
To seek, not find; to win, not woo; all these
Make up the wine of life; I drink the lees.”
He quickly rose, and sudden left the room,
And sought his chamber, while I sat there stunned;
We met no more in life; he nursed his gloom
Henceforth alone; companionship he shunned;
My words had bared some scar he fain would hide,
And ere a week the solitary died.
And sought his chamber, while I sat there stunned;
We met no more in life; he nursed his gloom
Henceforth alone; companionship he shunned;
My words had bared some scar he fain would hide,
And ere a week the solitary died.
634
I was his heir, but why he made me so,
I cannot fathom; 'tis to me a mystery;
Whose was that “dead hand,” who of us may know?
Who learn the dark lines of his former history?
None knew if it were lunacy, or sin,
None knew his origin; none found his kin.
I cannot fathom; 'tis to me a mystery;
Whose was that “dead hand,” who of us may know?
Who learn the dark lines of his former history?
None knew if it were lunacy, or sin,
None knew his origin; none found his kin.
None knew if crime had marked his early days,
Or if some faithless friend his trust deluded;
If woman's falsehood which so surely slays
Had with his love, his happiness concluded;
Only in this the curious world grew wise—
A dead hand dragged him down who hoped to rise.
Or if some faithless friend his trust deluded;
If woman's falsehood which so surely slays
Had with his love, his happiness concluded;
Only in this the curious world grew wise—
A dead hand dragged him down who hoped to rise.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |