 | Benoni |  |
318
MAGDALEN.
Speak to her heart, my brother! Take no thought
Of this vain show of lying circumstance
That makes her presence hateful: underneath
I know there is a heart—my very lips
Suck'd thro' the tainted rind its sweetness out
What time I led her by those moonlit elms
And spake of innocence. Her fallen eyes
Are glazed with gladness; but beneath, how far
The dense accumulations of despair
Do writhe and darken! Yet she shall not die:
How could we lift against a woman's gaze
The fulness of our own, or think it pride
To wear the front of men, unless some slow
And delicate work did struggle to atone
The madness of our fellows? Chiefly thou,
Favour'd of place and blessedly exempt
From odious stains of false opinion,—thou,
Fenced with the sombre magic of the priest,
Shalt do what others dare not. Thou hast leave
To minister in peace; therefore approach—
Most pure of purpose, saintliest in act—
The self-despising slave, and sweeping off
Those thin delusive gawds and each false clue
That proffers to thy search and would decoy
Thy spirit from the truth, do thou—like Him
Whose potent finger wither'd up the loins
That else had grace to conquer—feel at once
Straight to the core, and cushion thy soft touch
On the young nerve whose keen vitality
Lives all unsear'd within her.
Of this vain show of lying circumstance
That makes her presence hateful: underneath
I know there is a heart—my very lips
Suck'd thro' the tainted rind its sweetness out
What time I led her by those moonlit elms
And spake of innocence. Her fallen eyes
Are glazed with gladness; but beneath, how far
The dense accumulations of despair
Do writhe and darken! Yet she shall not die:
How could we lift against a woman's gaze
The fulness of our own, or think it pride
To wear the front of men, unless some slow
And delicate work did struggle to atone
The madness of our fellows? Chiefly thou,
Favour'd of place and blessedly exempt
319
Fenced with the sombre magic of the priest,
Shalt do what others dare not. Thou hast leave
To minister in peace; therefore approach—
Most pure of purpose, saintliest in act—
The self-despising slave, and sweeping off
Those thin delusive gawds and each false clue
That proffers to thy search and would decoy
Thy spirit from the truth, do thou—like Him
Whose potent finger wither'd up the loins
That else had grace to conquer—feel at once
Straight to the core, and cushion thy soft touch
On the young nerve whose keen vitality
Lives all unsear'd within her.
O the chasm
That instant cleaves her ragged rottenness
Of life, and fierce burns blasting to the roots
Of her scarr'd nature! Most unconsciously
Thro' that great fissure thou shalt enter in,
And o'er the blighted Eden of her soul
Move like a spring—soon, soon, drench'd deep and long
With sudden rains of penitential tears
Loosed sobbing from their source: till, in the cool
Of her wild day of sinning, shall be heard
Among reviving thickets of green palms
Immortal footsteps—and anon, with shame
Lifting her meek wet eyelids, she beholds
The calm forgiving presence of her God.
That instant cleaves her ragged rottenness
Of life, and fierce burns blasting to the roots
Of her scarr'd nature! Most unconsciously
Thro' that great fissure thou shalt enter in,
And o'er the blighted Eden of her soul
Move like a spring—soon, soon, drench'd deep and long
320
Loosed sobbing from their source: till, in the cool
Of her wild day of sinning, shall be heard
Among reviving thickets of green palms
Immortal footsteps—and anon, with shame
Lifting her meek wet eyelids, she beholds
The calm forgiving presence of her God.
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