 | The complete poems of S. Weir Mitchell |  |
76
THE CHASE
Two days later, in the afternoon of the summer day, Philip Vernon walks here and there in the great forest, and at last, leaning against a tree, speaks thus to himself:
“How wearily the hours go by! This chase
I haunt, as haunts a bird the lonely place
That holds her pillaged nest.”
I haunt, as haunts a bird the lonely place
That holds her pillaged nest.”
Seeing him of a sudden, Elizabeth Vernon comes timidly through the thickets.
Elizabeth Vernon.
I thought, Sir Knight,
You had been far from this. I would quick flight
Had set you miles away. I more than fear
My cousin's treachery. What keeps you here
Is much in question, and in days of war
The questioned man is lost. You should be far
From this to-morrow.
Philip Vernon.
Not while dangers grow
So thick about one frail old man.
Elizabeth Vernon.
I know
Of you, of him, no more than what I hear
From one who hates you, yet enough to fear
For you such peril as may cost too dear
Some woman-heart at home.
Philip Vernon.
Ah, there are none
Will weep for me. Of all that live not one.
As alien ships that only meet to part,
77
Learn to forget. 'T is a most wholesome art.
Elizabeth Vernon.
An art that women practise with less ease
Than men.
Philip Vernon.
There 's time to learn it, for no more
Shall we two meet.
Elizabeth Vernon.
No more!
Philip Vernon.
Dear heart, no more.
I said forget. How could I say forget?
No, rather let some shadow of regret
Still haunt thy better fortunes in glad hours
When Spring is come again, and with her flowers
Arise frail memories and thoughts long dumb,
That are the wildings of the mind, and come
With Nature's yearning season.
Elizabeth Vernon.
Hush! I heard
Steps in the wood.
Philip Vernon.
No, not a leaf has stirred.
Elizabeth Vernon.
I am grown fearful. If you would but go
While the near hour is gracious—
Philip Vernon.
No; ah, no!
Not for the bribe of love.
78
If, sir, you loved,
My prayer were quickly answered. You'd be moved,
And fly.
Philip Vernon.
You will not ask it. Those proud eyes
Would turn with scorn from him whose honor dies.
Men call me traitor: but, my lady fair,
That died in me when all of my despair
I cast before your feet. What mercy lies
In the sweet equity of honest eyes
I gladly trust.
Elizabeth Vernon.
Thank Heaven, I know not, sir,
What sad temptation may have bid you err.
I would not—will not—know. Do you forget
I suffer while you linger here?
Philip Vernon.
And yet
I cannot go. I would we had not met,
Or God had given to me a kinder fate,
A less uncertain birth, a nobler state.
Elizabeth Vernon.
Uncertain, said you?
Philip Vernon.
Yes, I said it—yes.
For that time has no comfort, no redress,
And you are worlds away. But here, alone,
Once let me speak. The falcon love has flown
Where the proud instinct of his haughty wings
Takes love that soars. Beneath it earth's mean things
Grow half unreal, and the morning rings
With new-born light his world of wish and will.
I love you—love you. Be it well or ill,
Still shall I love you. None may ever doubt
Hope's dying words. Alas! my treason's out.
Oh, traitor heart!
For that time has no comfort, no redress,
And you are worlds away. But here, alone,
Once let me speak. The falcon love has flown
Where the proud instinct of his haughty wings
Takes love that soars. Beneath it earth's mean things
Grow half unreal, and the morning rings
With new-born light his world of wish and will.
I love you—love you. Be it well or ill,
79
Hope's dying words. Alas! my treason's out.
Oh, traitor heart!
Elizabeth Vernon looks at Philip, and of a sudden seating herself upon a fallen tree, covers her face with her hands, and is silent for a moment.
Philip Vernon.
You will not speak?
Elizabeth Vernon.
Wait, wait!
—My God, I love him!—Sir, as sad a fate
As yours will make my life and land the prize
Of some debt-burdened noble.—It were wise
We part at once.
Philip Vernon.
At once!
Elizabeth Vernon.
Be merciful!
Go while my blinded sight with tears is dull.
You have been cruel. Ah, I cannot see
For tears of pity both for you and me.
Philip Vernon.
And have I wounded you, my gentle dove?
That were most sad of all, to hurt with love.
I have done wrong—
Elizabeth Vernon.
Yes—no! Would you were spared
This most unhappy fortune!
This most unhappy fortune!
80
As she ceases, Lord Grey comes abruptly into the open space, and cries out:
“Neatly snared!
'T is well I chanced to come. And have you dared,
A maid, a Vernon, thus to blot our fame,
My mother's lineage? Go! Go, take your shame
Where shame is common. Off with you! Fie! fie!
Have you no blushes? For this masking spy,
Who lured you hither—”
'T is well I chanced to come. And have you dared,
A maid, a Vernon, thus to blot our fame,
My mother's lineage? Go! Go, take your shame
Where shame is common. Off with you! Fie! fie!
Have you no blushes? For this masking spy,
Who lured you hither—”
Philip Vernon.
By my soul, you die!
They draw their swords as Hugh Langmayde, in haste coming through the wood, steps between them.
Philip Vernon.
Out of my path!
Hugh Langmayde.
No! no! In God's name, peace!
The Church forbids you.
The Church forbids you.
Lord Grey falls back, sheathes his sword, and says:
“Easy 't is to cease
When finer nets are spread. A priest, indeed!
And thus disguised. In truth, it seems decreed
My double debt shall wait.—You, madam, need
No further words from me. Begone with speed!”
When finer nets are spread. A priest, indeed!
And thus disguised. In truth, it seems decreed
My double debt shall wait.—You, madam, need
No further words from me. Begone with speed!”
Elizabeth Vernon.
Oh, for one hour to be a man!
Lord Grey.
True, true!
That had been better. There were less to rue.
81
I shall be surely man enough for two;
And you, whose tongue is quicker than your blade,
Shall lack no lesson.
And you, whose tongue is quicker than your blade,
Shall lack no lesson.
Lord Grey stands smiling, while Hugh Langmayde seizes Philip by the arm, and, drawing him away, says to him:
“Why have you delayed?
I waited long. 'T is like we are betrayed.
Lose not a minute; and if fall of night
Find me not with you at the ford, take flight:
I shall be dead. Now God protect the right!”
I waited long. 'T is like we are betrayed.
Lose not a minute; and if fall of night
Find me not with you at the ford, take flight:
I shall be dead. Now God protect the right!”
Philip cries to Elizabeth Vernon as he follows the priest:
“I may not wait. Heaven keep you!”
Then, turning to Lord Grey, says haughtily, and with a bow:
“We shall meet.”
Lord Grey.
Yes, where the gallows makes revenge complete.
With these words he walks swiftly away, while the priest and Philip hurry through the wood in the opposite direction, leaving Elizabeth Vernon, who for a time stands still in the deepening shadows, and looks along the path where her lover has gone.
| The complete poems of S. Weir Mitchell | |