[Poems by Trowbridge in] A masque of poets Including Guy Vernon, a novelette in verse |
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| 1. | PART I.
THE WEDDING JOURNEY. |
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 | [Poems by Trowbridge in] A masque of poets |  |
1. PART I.
THE WEDDING JOURNEY.
I.
He was as fair a bachelor as ever
Resolved to take a wife at forty-five.
Indeed, how one so amiable and clever,
Good-looking, rich, et cetera, could contrive
Till the high noon of manhood not to wive,
Was a vexed theme, and long remained a mystery
To those who did not know his early history.
Resolved to take a wife at forty-five.
Indeed, how one so amiable and clever,
Good-looking, rich, et cetera, could contrive
Till the high noon of manhood not to wive,
Was a vexed theme, and long remained a mystery
To those who did not know his early history.
And none knew that among his bride's relations.
At Saratoga, where you meet all grades
Of well-dressed people spending short vacations,
Manœuvring mothers, marriageable maids,
And fortune-hunters on their annual raids,
He saw her waltz, and spite of every barrier
Of years or influence, inly vowed, “I'll marry her!”
At Saratoga, where you meet all grades
Of well-dressed people spending short vacations,
Manœuvring mothers, marriageable maids,
And fortune-hunters on their annual raids,
He saw her waltz, and spite of every barrier
Of years or influence, inly vowed, “I'll marry her!”
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Barriers there were: she was but two-and-twenty,
He, twice her age, as I have intimated.
But that seems no great matter: there are plenty
Of wives to-day felicitously mated
With husbands whose nativities are dated
(I speak with some authority) a score
Of years before their own, and sometimes more.
He, twice her age, as I have intimated.
But that seems no great matter: there are plenty
Of wives to-day felicitously mated
With husbands whose nativities are dated
(I speak with some authority) a score
Of years before their own, and sometimes more.
One barrier in himself quite good and strong
There was,—the mystery no one could discover
Which kept our beau a bachelor so long:
But when a man is very much a lover
Such things are somehow easily got over:—
And one in her, on which he had not counted,
That could not be so readily surmounted.
There was,—the mystery no one could discover
Which kept our beau a bachelor so long:
But when a man is very much a lover
Such things are somehow easily got over:—
And one in her, on which he had not counted,
That could not be so readily surmounted.
The lady—though Guy Vernon did not know it—
Had left another lover in the city,—
Rob Lorne, a journalist, and sort of poet;
A fellow so unthrifty and so witty,
That honest people said it was a pity
A needle of such point should have a head
Too fine to take a strong and useful thread.
Had left another lover in the city,—
Rob Lorne, a journalist, and sort of poet;
A fellow so unthrifty and so witty,
That honest people said it was a pity
A needle of such point should have a head
Too fine to take a strong and useful thread.
179
While for a season they were separated,
And in his dismal editorial den
The lover labored and the lady waited
For him to make a fortune with his pen,—
A thing which does not come to scribbling men
So often as, for one, I wish it did,—
Vernon stepped up and made a higher bid.
And in his dismal editorial den
The lover labored and the lady waited
For him to make a fortune with his pen,—
A thing which does not come to scribbling men
So often as, for one, I wish it did,—
Vernon stepped up and made a higher bid.
II.
Guy Vernon's hand! a splendid offer truly!
And though Florinda (so the muse shall name her)
Was neither false nor fickle, nor unduly
Given to the world,—which never quite could claim her,
Much as she loved society,—don't blame her,
If, when a man like Vernon wished to bid her in,
She thought the matter worth, at least, considering.
And though Florinda (so the muse shall name her)
Was neither false nor fickle, nor unduly
Given to the world,—which never quite could claim her,
Much as she loved society,—don't blame her,
If, when a man like Vernon wished to bid her in,
She thought the matter worth, at least, considering.
Good family, good habits, handsome presence,
Breathing in dress, smile, gesture, look, and tone
That indefinable ethereal essence
Of culture and high breeding,—let alone
His private charities, which were well known,—
A match he seemed in every way superior
To him whose chances chanced to be anterior.
Breathing in dress, smile, gesture, look, and tone
That indefinable ethereal essence
Of culture and high breeding,—let alone
His private charities, which were well known,—
A match he seemed in every way superior
To him whose chances chanced to be anterior.
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Her friends all chorused, “Vernon!—Hear to us!
A man of soul and sense is always young!”
But conscience whispered, “Plighted troth!” While thus
Long time in even scale the battle hung
(As somebody has somewhere said or sung),
Her heart—or shall we say imagination?—
Was in a fearful state of perturbation.
A man of soul and sense is always young!”
But conscience whispered, “Plighted troth!” While thus
Long time in even scale the battle hung
(As somebody has somewhere said or sung),
Her heart—or shall we say imagination?—
Was in a fearful state of perturbation.
If she had been excessively in love,
The business would at once have been decided.
The one imperious, mighty power, above
All others in such matters—though unguided,
Misguided often, scorned, profaned, derided—
Is Love, whose little arrow seldom fails,
Thrown in, to turn the matrimonial scales.
The business would at once have been decided.
The one imperious, mighty power, above
All others in such matters—though unguided,
Misguided often, scorned, profaned, derided—
Is Love, whose little arrow seldom fails,
Thrown in, to turn the matrimonial scales.
The trouble is, we do not love: who loves
With that immortal passion, pure, supreme,
Strong and unselfish, tender as the dove's,
Which touches life with a celestial beam,
And wraps the world in its own radiant dream;—
Makes heavens of eyes, and then has power to bring
All heaven within the horizon of a ring?
With that immortal passion, pure, supreme,
Strong and unselfish, tender as the dove's,
Which touches life with a celestial beam,
And wraps the world in its own radiant dream;—
Makes heavens of eyes, and then has power to bring
All heaven within the horizon of a ring?
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III.
One loved, at least,—our poet. How he first
Learned of the complication, I've no notion;
But sudden lava-flood and flame outburst,
A young volcano in Love's summer ocean,
Which sank as suddenly; and, all devotion,
Humility, despair, self-sacrifice,
He wrote: “The world was right! you were not wise,
Learned of the complication, I've no notion;
But sudden lava-flood and flame outburst,
A young volcano in Love's summer ocean,
Which sank as suddenly; and, all devotion,
Humility, despair, self-sacrifice,
He wrote: “The world was right! you were not wise,
“To link your fate with one so poor as I:
You 're free.” And after many tears, and blind,
Swift gusts of passion, she accepted Guy.—
All which sounds commonplace enough, I find.
But somehow it seems better, to my mind,
The muse should be a trifle too familiar,
Than pompous, adipose, and atrabiliar,
You 're free.” And after many tears, and blind,
Swift gusts of passion, she accepted Guy.—
All which sounds commonplace enough, I find.
But somehow it seems better, to my mind,
The muse should be a trifle too familiar,
Than pompous, adipose, and atrabiliar,
Singing the past in those false tones I loathe.
Some poets seem oppressed with the conviction,
That to be classic, they must still re-clothe
The venerable forms of antique fiction
In what they deem approved poetic diction;
And so they let their unpruned fancies roll
Round some old theme, like hop-vines round a pole.
Some poets seem oppressed with the conviction,
That to be classic, they must still re-clothe
The venerable forms of antique fiction
In what they deem approved poetic diction;
And so they let their unpruned fancies roll
Round some old theme, like hop-vines round a pole.
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Give me the living theme, and living speech—
The native stem and its spontaneous shoots,
Fibres and foliage of the soul that reach
Deep down in human life their thrilling roots,
And mould the sunshine into golden fruits,
Not ashes to the taste, but fit to feed
The highest and the humblest human need!
The native stem and its spontaneous shoots,
Fibres and foliage of the soul that reach
Deep down in human life their thrilling roots,
And mould the sunshine into golden fruits,
Not ashes to the taste, but fit to feed
The highest and the humblest human need!
O singers of the sunset! is there naught
Remaining for the muse, but just to fill
Old skins of fable with weak wine of thought?
The child, Imagination, at his will
Reshakes to wondrous forms of beauty still
A few bright shards of common joy and hope,
And turns the world in his kaleidoscope.
Remaining for the muse, but just to fill
Old skins of fable with weak wine of thought?
The child, Imagination, at his will
Reshakes to wondrous forms of beauty still
A few bright shards of common joy and hope,
And turns the world in his kaleidoscope.
IV.
Well, they were married, sometime in the autumn,
At her aunt's house in town, with great display;
For though the bride was penniless, and brought him
Her beauty for sole dower (that proud array
Of lace and diamonds was his gift, they say),
A multitude of friends conspired to render
The wedding feast a perfect blaze of splendor.
At her aunt's house in town, with great display;
For though the bride was penniless, and brought him
Her beauty for sole dower (that proud array
Of lace and diamonds was his gift, they say),
A multitude of friends conspired to render
The wedding feast a perfect blaze of splendor.
183
She did not know, before, she had so many
Rich and enthusiastic friends: the snob,
Who never would have sacrificed a penny
In bridal gifts for one who married Rob,
Made haste to join the fashionable mob,
Since Vernon was the man, and would have given his
Last dime to buy her something nice at Tiffany's.
Rich and enthusiastic friends: the snob,
Who never would have sacrificed a penny
In bridal gifts for one who married Rob,
Made haste to join the fashionable mob,
Since Vernon was the man, and would have given his
Last dime to buy her something nice at Tiffany's.
Lorne bravely stood his ground till all was over;
Then quietly looked round him for some means
Of burying his dead hope; became a rover,
Visiting foreign countries and strange scenes;
And, writing verses for the magazines,
Newspaper sketches, stories, correspondence, he
Struggled with his hotel-bills and despondency.
Then quietly looked round him for some means
Of burying his dead hope; became a rover,
Visiting foreign countries and strange scenes;
And, writing verses for the magazines,
Newspaper sketches, stories, correspondence, he
Struggled with his hotel-bills and despondency.
The wedded pair went off to Louisiana,
Where Vernon owned a very large plantation,
And wintered in New Orleans and Havana,—
A season of delightful dissipation,
Sight-seeing, dining, driving, conversation,
And—best of all—the infinite variety
Found in each other's ever-fresh society.
Where Vernon owned a very large plantation,
And wintered in New Orleans and Havana,—
A season of delightful dissipation,
Sight-seeing, dining, driving, conversation,
And—best of all—the infinite variety
Found in each other's ever-fresh society.
184
A paragon of husbands; she admired
His noble, courtly manhood more and more;
And every day his constancy inspired
In her a tenderer deference than before:
So she began in earnest to adore
This married man and model of a hero,—
First love's quicksilver sinking fast to zero.
His noble, courtly manhood more and more;
And every day his constancy inspired
In her a tenderer deference than before:
So she began in earnest to adore
This married man and model of a hero,—
First love's quicksilver sinking fast to zero.
Such wedlock is, to true hearts truly wed;
Love's guarded paradise; where sometimes they
Who enter with indifference or dread
Find richest blessings; though I'm bound to say,
The rule too often works the other way,
And disenchantment leads to evil courses,
Domestic jars, elopements, and divorces.
Love's guarded paradise; where sometimes they
Who enter with indifference or dread
Find richest blessings; though I'm bound to say,
The rule too often works the other way,
And disenchantment leads to evil courses,
Domestic jars, elopements, and divorces.
V.
And all was lovely with our loving couple;
Till, one day in Havana, there befell,
What seems a trifle, their first serious trouble.
As they were riding on the Isabel
Paseo, which the traveller knows so well,—
'Tis truly a magnificent parade,
Walks, fountains, statues, carriage-way, and shade;
Till, one day in Havana, there befell,
What seems a trifle, their first serious trouble.
As they were riding on the Isabel
Paseo, which the traveller knows so well,—
'Tis truly a magnificent parade,
Walks, fountains, statues, carriage-way, and shade;
185
Thronged with pedestrians, horsemen, prancing spans;
Ladies in head-dress singularly scanty,
Darting dark glances from behind their fans,—
Never on foot, but drawn (behind a jaunty
Black-faced postilion) in a gay volante,
That Cuban gig, of easy jogging motion;—
Here, the fine harbor; there the circling ocean:
Ladies in head-dress singularly scanty,
Darting dark glances from behind their fans,—
Never on foot, but drawn (behind a jaunty
Black-faced postilion) in a gay volante,
That Cuban gig, of easy jogging motion;—
Here, the fine harbor; there the circling ocean:
Epitome and picture of Havana,
And that rich land of tropic fruit and tree,—
Fair Island of the orange and banana,
And endless summer in a sapphire sea!
Land of the cocoa and mahogany;
Voluptuous, balmy nights, and wondrous stars;
Of Creole beauties and the best cigars:
And that rich land of tropic fruit and tree,—
Fair Island of the orange and banana,
And endless summer in a sapphire sea!
Land of the cocoa and mahogany;
Voluptuous, balmy nights, and wondrous stars;
Of Creole beauties and the best cigars:
'Twas on that famous promenade, where daily
You meet the wealth and fashion of the isle,—
As they were riding and conversing gayly,
And now and then exchanging nod and smile,
With new-made friends, along that marvellous mile,
In the soft, rosy twilight of the tropic,
Florinda touched upon a dangerous topic.
You meet the wealth and fashion of the isle,—
As they were riding and conversing gayly,
And now and then exchanging nod and smile,
With new-made friends, along that marvellous mile,
In the soft, rosy twilight of the tropic,
Florinda touched upon a dangerous topic.
186
VI.
Guy had a bright mulatto for a servant,
A jewelled, gorgeous fellow; very handy
To pack a trunk, pay bills, discreet, observant;
Originally nicknamed Sam or Sandy,
But so superb and exquisite a dandy,
Resplendent in all sorts of gaudy things,
Florinda called him Saturn, for his rings.
A jewelled, gorgeous fellow; very handy
To pack a trunk, pay bills, discreet, observant;
Originally nicknamed Sam or Sandy,
But so superb and exquisite a dandy,
Resplendent in all sorts of gaudy things,
Florinda called him Saturn, for his rings.
Of all unfeathered bipeds,—Feejees, Negroes,—
In any clime, of race refined or rude;
Where crawls the crocodile, or where the tea grows;
Pale, swarthy, tawny-skinned, or copper-hued;
Turbaned or pigtailed, naked, furred, tattooed;—
The queerest yet turned out from Nature's shop
Is your complete, unmitigated fop.
In any clime, of race refined or rude;
Where crawls the crocodile, or where the tea grows;
Pale, swarthy, tawny-skinned, or copper-hued;
Turbaned or pigtailed, naked, furred, tattooed;—
The queerest yet turned out from Nature's shop
Is your complete, unmitigated fop.
And of all fops the foppiest yet was Saturn.
'Twas rumored, he had once been Vernon's slave,
Now freed for his fidelity: a pattern
Of your smooth, secret, serviceable knave;
Guy's varlet, barber, purse, and very grave
Custodian of his cash, mustache, and collars;—
And worth himself some twenty thousand dollars.
'Twas rumored, he had once been Vernon's slave,
Now freed for his fidelity: a pattern
Of your smooth, secret, serviceable knave;
Guy's varlet, barber, purse, and very grave
Custodian of his cash, mustache, and collars;—
And worth himself some twenty thousand dollars.
187
Of her dear Vernon he was such a travesty;—
The insufferable smile with which he asked
At what hour Guy would drive or dine or have his tea;
The lazy insolence with which he basked
In his own conscious gorgeousness,—so tasked
Florinda's patience and provoked her merriment,
That now she ventured on a rash experiment.
The insufferable smile with which he asked
At what hour Guy would drive or dine or have his tea;
The lazy insolence with which he basked
In his own conscious gorgeousness,—so tasked
Florinda's patience and provoked her merriment,
That now she ventured on a rash experiment.
“I'm sick of such magnificence of vest!
I hate the princely air with which he bends
That carded pate, oiled, scented! I detest
Crinkled mustaches with waxed, pointed ends!
But oh, I see!” she laughed, “the rogue intends
To have at least a few straight hairs about him.
Would the sky fall if we should do without him?
I hate the princely air with which he bends
That carded pate, oiled, scented! I detest
Crinkled mustaches with waxed, pointed ends!
But oh, I see!” she laughed, “the rogue intends
To have at least a few straight hairs about him.
Would the sky fall if we should do without him?
“Do please me, love,—get rid of this phenomenon!
Dear, will you make me happy?” But although
The wish seemed not an idle, nor uncommon one,
Vernon grew pallid, and with scarce a show
Of his accustomed graciousness, said, “No!”
So bluntly, coldly, that her quick tears started,
And for five minutes she was broken-hearted.
Dear, will you make me happy?” But although
The wish seemed not an idle, nor uncommon one,
Vernon grew pallid, and with scarce a show
Of his accustomed graciousness, said, “No!”
So bluntly, coldly, that her quick tears started,
And for five minutes she was broken-hearted.
188
“Darling!” she said, “I was but half in earnest;
I only meant to say that—I can't bear him!”
“Unfortunate,” he answered, with his sternest
And most forbidding scowl, “for I can't spare him!”
And, like the tyrant of a Turkish harem,
Thus having curtly uttered his conclusion,
He plucked his beard in anger and confusion.
I only meant to say that—I can't bear him!”
“Unfortunate,” he answered, with his sternest
And most forbidding scowl, “for I can't spare him!”
And, like the tyrant of a Turkish harem,
Thus having curtly uttered his conclusion,
He plucked his beard in anger and confusion.
But seeing her tears, he soon began to rally
His gentler thoughts: “My dear, you do not know
That faithful, that incomparable valet,—
A perfect nonpareil, as valets go!
In other matters I am seldom slow
To heed your lightest wishes; but in such
A case as this you—really—ask too much.
His gentler thoughts: “My dear, you do not know
That faithful, that incomparable valet,—
A perfect nonpareil, as valets go!
In other matters I am seldom slow
To heed your lightest wishes; but in such
A case as this you—really—ask too much.
“Reasons there are—but I can't undertake
To give the reasons.”—“Keep him, dear,” she sighed;
“I'll even resolve to love him for your sake.”
And so the matter dropped: Florinda tried
To make a jest of it, but only cried;
For Vernon's conduct, and the sallow fellow's
Strange influence with him, made her sad and jealous.
To give the reasons.”—“Keep him, dear,” she sighed;
“I'll even resolve to love him for your sake.”
And so the matter dropped: Florinda tried
To make a jest of it, but only cried;
For Vernon's conduct, and the sallow fellow's
Strange influence with him, made her sad and jealous.
189
VII.
So the ring'd planet kept his proud supremacy
Over Guy Vernon's person, mind, and purse,—
As if there blazed not such another gem as he
In the blue setting of the universe!
And still Florinda liked him worse and worse;
But practised wise duplicity, concealing
With innocent art her inmost thought and feeling.
Over Guy Vernon's person, mind, and purse,—
As if there blazed not such another gem as he
In the blue setting of the universe!
And still Florinda liked him worse and worse;
But practised wise duplicity, concealing
With innocent art her inmost thought and feeling.
And all seemed well; till something far more serious
Occurred her gentle tactics to derange:
First, something in the air, scarce felt, mysterious,
The subtile shadow of a coming change;
Then Guy grew restless, melancholy, strange,
Subject to absent moods and fitful sighs,
While Saturn watched him with keen, cautious eyes.
Occurred her gentle tactics to derange:
First, something in the air, scarce felt, mysterious,
The subtile shadow of a coming change;
Then Guy grew restless, melancholy, strange,
Subject to absent moods and fitful sighs,
While Saturn watched him with keen, cautious eyes.
Florinda pleaded fondly: “Tell me, dearest,
Your secret trouble! If you are in pain,
You know you have my tenderest, sincerest
Sympathy,—which, I pray you, don't disdain!”
But Vernon only groaned: “I can't explain!
Ask Sandy—there is something he will tell you.”
And then abruptly left her with the fellow.
Your secret trouble! If you are in pain,
You know you have my tenderest, sincerest
Sympathy,—which, I pray you, don't disdain!”
But Vernon only groaned: “I can't explain!
Ask Sandy—there is something he will tell you.”
And then abruptly left her with the fellow.
190
So the disgust and shame were forced upon her
Of begging Saturn to unfold the matter.
He smiled, bowed, hand on waistcoat: “'Pon my honor!”—
Quirking his eyebrows, he stood leering at her,
Like some bedizened, over-civil satyr,—
“Extremely sorry—news from our attorney—
In short,—hem!—madam, we must make a journey.”
Of begging Saturn to unfold the matter.
He smiled, bowed, hand on waistcoat: “'Pon my honor!”—
Quirking his eyebrows, he stood leering at her,
Like some bedizened, over-civil satyr,—
“Extremely sorry—news from our attorney—
In short,—hem!—madam, we must make a journey.”
“Where?” cries Florinda.—“Back to our plantation.”
“Tell me at once! what is the dreadful news?”
“The business scarce admits of explanation;
For ladies, altogether too abstruse!”
“When do we go?”—“Ah, madam! please excuse
The cruel circumstance, the—what you call
Necessity,—you do not go at all.”
“Tell me at once! what is the dreadful news?”
“The business scarce admits of explanation;
For ladies, altogether too abstruse!”
“When do we go?”—“Ah, madam! please excuse
The cruel circumstance, the—what you call
Necessity,—you do not go at all.”
“And what becomes of me?” Pale, stunned, she stared.
“Madam, you and your maid will be confided
To Captain Jones; so please you, be prepared
To sail next week: all things have been provided.”
He smiled, extremely bland, but quite decided:
“Believe me, madam, 'tis with deepest sorrow
That we must sail—the other way—to-morrow.”
“Madam, you and your maid will be confided
To Captain Jones; so please you, be prepared
To sail next week: all things have been provided.”
He smiled, extremely bland, but quite decided:
“Believe me, madam, 'tis with deepest sorrow
That we must sail—the other way—to-morrow.”
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She clasped her hands before him, speechless, trembling,
Fearing some terrible distress or treason;
While Saturn stood there, simpering, dissembling.
“Don't be alarmed,—you surely have no reason;
You join your friends, and later in the season,
This trifling business ended, he will meet you.
Be calm, be patient, madam, I entreat you!”
Fearing some terrible distress or treason;
While Saturn stood there, simpering, dissembling.
“Don't be alarmed,—you surely have no reason;
You join your friends, and later in the season,
This trifling business ended, he will meet you.
Be calm, be patient, madam, I entreat you!”
She answered: “Tell me all—I will be calm!
What is my husband's grief, this fearful trouble?
Money? a duel?” With a low salaam
He bent his brilliant person nearly double
(Body and soul seemed similarly supple):—
“Beg pardon, madam,—neither! To be brief,
Parting from you is his especial grief.”
What is my husband's grief, this fearful trouble?
Money? a duel?” With a low salaam
He bent his brilliant person nearly double
(Body and soul seemed similarly supple):—
“Beg pardon, madam,—neither! To be brief,
Parting from you is his especial grief.”
“Why does he leave me, then? O sir, be good!
Is there another woman? Tell me truly!”
The fellow was a study as he stood,
Grimacing, shrugging, lynx-eyed, white-toothed, woolly:
“The circumstance has been explained as fully
As seems desirable,—but this I'll say,
No other woman stands in madam's way.
Is there another woman? Tell me truly!”
The fellow was a study as he stood,
Grimacing, shrugging, lynx-eyed, white-toothed, woolly:
“The circumstance has been explained as fully
As seems desirable,—but this I'll say,
No other woman stands in madam's way.
192
“Excuse me, madam, if I say no more.
We go to-morrow, and you sail next week.”
The rogue retreated, bowing, to the door,
And adding,—“You'll do better not to speak
To him of this affair, unless you seek
His ruin and your own unhappiness,”—
Left her in tears of terror and distress.
We go to-morrow, and you sail next week.”
The rogue retreated, bowing, to the door,
And adding,—“You'll do better not to speak
To him of this affair, unless you seek
His ruin and your own unhappiness,”—
Left her in tears of terror and distress.
VIII.
She flew to Vernon's room: abstracted, moody,
Before his table, leaning on a chair,
Motionless, breathless, like a statue stood he,
With drooping arms, bent head, disordered hair,
In utter desolation and despair;
Then suddenly a shuddering sigh ran through him.
She stayed her steps, not daring to go to him.
Before his table, leaning on a chair,
Motionless, breathless, like a statue stood he,
With drooping arms, bent head, disordered hair,
In utter desolation and despair;
Then suddenly a shuddering sigh ran through him.
She stayed her steps, not daring to go to him.
Was this the noble Vernon she had wedded,
The tender husband and the ardent wooer?
Unspeakably her poor heart longed, yet dreaded,
To question, comfort him; when, turning to her,
Quick as some conscience-stricken evil-doer
In his dark moments taken by surprise,
He glared upon her with strange, awful eyes.
The tender husband and the ardent wooer?
Unspeakably her poor heart longed, yet dreaded,
To question, comfort him; when, turning to her,
Quick as some conscience-stricken evil-doer
In his dark moments taken by surprise,
He glared upon her with strange, awful eyes.
193
Othello's thus on Desdemona burned.
She took his hand, and silent, white with fear,
Yet, with the strength a strong heart gave, returned
His lowering look, from large eyes deep and clear,
Where love and pity trembled to a tear.
Then, as he smote his brow and turned away,
She asked, “Have you not one kind word to say?”
She took his hand, and silent, white with fear,
Yet, with the strength a strong heart gave, returned
His lowering look, from large eyes deep and clear,
Where love and pity trembled to a tear.
Then, as he smote his brow and turned away,
She asked, “Have you not one kind word to say?”
Strongly she held her wildly throbbing heart,
Determined not to question nor complain;
But only said, “To-morrow, then, we part?
O Guy! dear Guy! when shall we meet again?”
He wrung her hand until she shrank with pain;
Then flung her off, and from the chamber fled,
Leaving the little longed-for word unsaid.
Determined not to question nor complain;
But only said, “To-morrow, then, we part?
O Guy! dear Guy! when shall we meet again?”
He wrung her hand until she shrank with pain;
Then flung her off, and from the chamber fled,
Leaving the little longed-for word unsaid.
IX.
She felt her heart give way, and quickly grew ill,
Sinking upon the couch in abject woe.
There as she lay, and thought how strange, how cruel
That he should keep his secrets from her so,—
That she had none which Vernon might not know,—
She started, thinking how she had forborne
To tell him of her love-affair with Lorne.
Sinking upon the couch in abject woe.
There as she lay, and thought how strange, how cruel
That he should keep his secrets from her so,—
That she had none which Vernon might not know,—
She started, thinking how she had forborne
To tell him of her love-affair with Lorne.
194
Now had some recent, terrible discovery
Changed his regard to sudden deadly hate?
Oh! had she lost his love beyond recovery,
Through that one fault, which unforgiving Fate
Had left some loophole to reveal too late?
Was that malicious, treacherous, artful fellow
The dark Iago to her white Othello?
Changed his regard to sudden deadly hate?
Oh! had she lost his love beyond recovery,
Through that one fault, which unforgiving Fate
Had left some loophole to reveal too late?
Was that malicious, treacherous, artful fellow
The dark Iago to her white Othello?
Was this his vengeance for that talk with Guy
About his merits? Had some scrap of paper
Betrayed her secret? was her maid a spy?
For thus in mystery's magnifying vapor
The fearful soul sees giant shapes that ape her;
As in the Brocken spectre one discovers
One's own vast beckoning shade, that towers and hovers.
About his merits? Had some scrap of paper
Betrayed her secret? was her maid a spy?
For thus in mystery's magnifying vapor
The fearful soul sees giant shapes that ape her;
As in the Brocken spectre one discovers
One's own vast beckoning shade, that towers and hovers.
So Fear has oftenest but itself to fear.
But though imagined ills are still the worst,
To troubled souls this truth is never clear;
When evil lowers we deem the rule reversed,
And fancy blacker woes about to burst
Upon our heads than any yet conceived.
So now Florinda, right or wrong, believed.
But though imagined ills are still the worst,
To troubled souls this truth is never clear;
When evil lowers we deem the rule reversed,
And fancy blacker woes about to burst
Upon our heads than any yet conceived.
So now Florinda, right or wrong, believed.
195
X.
She rose and paced the room like one distracted;
And wrote, but tore in haste the blotted sheet;
Then turned—I know not by what power attracted—
To the front window-bars her restless feet,
And, looking out upon the quaint old street,
Saw—with lithe head on graceful shoulders borne—
Her late, discarded lover, Robert Lorne:
And wrote, but tore in haste the blotted sheet;
Then turned—I know not by what power attracted—
To the front window-bars her restless feet,
And, looking out upon the quaint old street,
Saw—with lithe head on graceful shoulders borne—
Her late, discarded lover, Robert Lorne:
Now habited like any Habenero,
Sauntering as leisurely, quite free from care;
His fine face shaded by a light sombrero,
Bearded, and brown as he had once been fair;
Smoking his cigarito with an air
Of such observant fancy and enjoyment,
As seems your poet-traveller's fit employment.
Sauntering as leisurely, quite free from care;
His fine face shaded by a light sombrero,
Bearded, and brown as he had once been fair;
Smoking his cigarito with an air
Of such observant fancy and enjoyment,
As seems your poet-traveller's fit employment.
He had not died of love,—that heart-disease
Which proves but seldom fatal, to my thinking.
Defeated hope, sick fancy, if you please,
Often induce a sentimental sinking,
Drive some to suicide and some to drinking,
But stop far short of any such forlorn
And dismal end, with high, brave hearts like Lorne.
Which proves but seldom fatal, to my thinking.
Defeated hope, sick fancy, if you please,
Often induce a sentimental sinking,
Drive some to suicide and some to drinking,
But stop far short of any such forlorn
And dismal end, with high, brave hearts like Lorne.
196
He had come down at first as far as Florida,
And seen the alligator and flamingo;
Then, passing on to regions somewhat torrider,
Reached the French-negro side of San Domingo,
And learned a little of the curious lingo
The people speak there, but conceived no mighty
Love for those Black Republicans of Hayti.
And seen the alligator and flamingo;
Then, passing on to regions somewhat torrider,
Reached the French-negro side of San Domingo,
And learned a little of the curious lingo
The people speak there, but conceived no mighty
Love for those Black Republicans of Hayti.
He had at Port-au-Prince remained a while, and,
With curiously well-furnished note-books, he
Was now returning by the greater Island,
Which sweeps its curve of beauty thro' the sea;
Where trade-winds temper the intensity
Of tropic heats—ah, would they might allay
The passions that distract the land to-day!
With curiously well-furnished note-books, he
Was now returning by the greater Island,
Which sweeps its curve of beauty thro' the sea;
Where trade-winds temper the intensity
Of tropic heats—ah, would they might allay
The passions that distract the land to-day!
And so it chanced that he was now in town,
And at this very moment passing by,
While poor Florinda stood there looking down.
All which seems natural enough; but why
He also chanced just then to turn his eye,
As if he felt the drawing of her glance,
Is a much more mysterious circumstance.
And at this very moment passing by,
While poor Florinda stood there looking down.
All which seems natural enough; but why
He also chanced just then to turn his eye,
As if he felt the drawing of her glance,
Is a much more mysterious circumstance.
197
XI.
At the long, open window, through the bars
(Those Cuban fronts are formidably grated)
Burned her deep eyes, like two bright burning stars;
Whereby it seemed that he was really fated
To be for ever fooled and fascinated!
He started, turned half round, then, flushed and flurried,
Lifting his broad sombrero, on he hurried.
(Those Cuban fronts are formidably grated)
Burned her deep eyes, like two bright burning stars;
Whereby it seemed that he was really fated
To be for ever fooled and fascinated!
He started, turned half round, then, flushed and flurried,
Lifting his broad sombrero, on he hurried.
A dream, beyond all dreams of possibility,
Her image there appeared! but none the less
The chance encounter jostled his tranquillity,
And shattered, as you readily will guess,
The new-filled crystal of his happiness;
As if a goblet, which he smiling bore,
Were dashed in fragments on a marble floor.
Her image there appeared! but none the less
The chance encounter jostled his tranquillity,
And shattered, as you readily will guess,
The new-filled crystal of his happiness;
As if a goblet, which he smiling bore,
Were dashed in fragments on a marble floor.
The tropic suns had not so scorched and wilted him
As those two eyes! They left him trembling, weak,
Fevered and shaken, as when first she jilted him.
He strode along with flaming heart and cheek,
As if to find—what strangers need not seek
Long time in vain there, wandering up and down—
The mind's distraction in that novel town.
As those two eyes! They left him trembling, weak,
Fevered and shaken, as when first she jilted him.
He strode along with flaming heart and cheek,
As if to find—what strangers need not seek
Long time in vain there, wandering up and down—
The mind's distraction in that novel town.
198
The place is picturesque with blacks and coolies,
Peasants and panniered beasts: there 's nothing odder
Than the slow-paced, half-hidden, peering mule is,
Beneath his moving stack of fresh green fodder.
It would be better if the streets were broader,
The windows glazed,—of that, though, I'm not sure,—
The hotels better, and mosquitoes fewer.
Peasants and panniered beasts: there 's nothing odder
Than the slow-paced, half-hidden, peering mule is,
Beneath his moving stack of fresh green fodder.
It would be better if the streets were broader,
The windows glazed,—of that, though, I'm not sure,—
The hotels better, and mosquitoes fewer.
Lorne ranged the town; dined, spite of sentiment;
Finished some correspondence for the morrow's
New Orleans mail; then hastened—with intent
To make an article, and drown his sorrows—
To see the town's renowned Plaza de Toros,
The place of bull-fights; for the first and last time
Assisting at the favorite Spanish pastime.
Finished some correspondence for the morrow's
New Orleans mail; then hastened—with intent
To make an article, and drown his sorrows—
To see the town's renowned Plaza de Toros,
The place of bull-fights; for the first and last time
Assisting at the favorite Spanish pastime.
He must have been fastidious, not to fancy
The frenzied multitude's vociferating,—
To wonder, as he did, what people can see,
In frightening, torturing, and infuriating
A poor dumb beast, so wildly fascinating;
What sport there is in all the shrieking, roaring,
Dart-piercing, spearing, bellowing, rushing, goring.
The frenzied multitude's vociferating,—
To wonder, as he did, what people can see,
In frightening, torturing, and infuriating
A poor dumb beast, so wildly fascinating;
What sport there is in all the shrieking, roaring,
Dart-piercing, spearing, bellowing, rushing, goring.
199
Departing with unspeakable disgust,
In sea-baths sheltered from the prowling shark
He cooled his fever and washed off his dust;
Walked the Paseo, spruce as any spark,
Looking in all the carriages, till dark;
Then to the theatre—I blush to say,
Hoping to see Florinda at the play.
In sea-baths sheltered from the prowling shark
He cooled his fever and washed off his dust;
Walked the Paseo, spruce as any spark,
Looking in all the carriages, till dark;
Then to the theatre—I blush to say,
Hoping to see Florinda at the play.
Nor novel scenes, nor all the blare and clamor
Of bull-fights, nor the evening's promenade,
Nor sitting through a Spanish melodrama,
Had power to make him any thing but sad
And irritated; for, alas! he had
No second vision of the eyes that haunted him,
Which being absent, nothing else enchanted him.
Of bull-fights, nor the evening's promenade,
Nor sitting through a Spanish melodrama,
Had power to make him any thing but sad
And irritated; for, alas! he had
No second vision of the eyes that haunted him,
Which being absent, nothing else enchanted him.
And so next day, in anger and despair
Because he could not keep his truant thought,
And scarce his footsteps, from the window where
That momentary glimpse of her was caught,
Safety against his traitorous heart he sought,
And, to its mad attraction risen superior,
Made a short journey into the interior.
Because he could not keep his truant thought,
And scarce his footsteps, from the window where
That momentary glimpse of her was caught,
Safety against his traitorous heart he sought,
And, to its mad attraction risen superior,
Made a short journey into the interior.
| [Poems by Trowbridge in] A masque of poets | |