[Poems by Trowbridge in] A masque of poets Including Guy Vernon, a novelette in verse |
 |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. | PART IV.
THE LOST BRIDEGROOM. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
 | [Poems by Trowbridge in] A masque of poets |  |
243
4. PART IV.
THE LOST BRIDEGROOM.
I.
Meanwhile Lazell accepted the commission;
Though it was long before he could report.
He moved with all the caution and precision
Of any practised diplomat at court,
Or strategist advancing on a fort;
And 'twas no fault of his if something less
Was compassed than unqualified success.
Though it was long before he could report.
He moved with all the caution and precision
Of any practised diplomat at court,
Or strategist advancing on a fort;
And 'twas no fault of his if something less
Was compassed than unqualified success.
All Lorne could tell him of the strange event,
Or he himself could learn at Guy's plantation,
Or at the bank from which the drafts were sent,
Or elsewhere, bearing on the situation,
Was added carefully to his equation,
When, by no common difficulties daunted, he
Essayed to cipher out the unknown quantity.
Or he himself could learn at Guy's plantation,
Or at the bank from which the drafts were sent,
Or elsewhere, bearing on the situation,
Was added carefully to his equation,
When, by no common difficulties daunted, he
Essayed to cipher out the unknown quantity.
244
II.
He wrote to Lorne of every thing, confessing—
“It makes me, Rob, exceedingly dejected,
To find that here 's a riddle there 's no guessing
From all the facts so carefully collected.
The man is known, and everywhere respected;
If a great villain, he must be a rare actor,
Still to preserve so excellent a character.
“It makes me, Rob, exceedingly dejected,
To find that here 's a riddle there 's no guessing
From all the facts so carefully collected.
The man is known, and everywhere respected;
If a great villain, he must be a rare actor,
Still to preserve so excellent a character.
“Here in the city, and at his estate,
His friends, when questioned, commonly replied,
‘We haven't seen nor heard from him, of late;
But he was here last winter with his bride.’
If he 's here now, why, then, we must decide,
Be what he may, whatever else he lacks,
He has the art of covering up his tracks.
His friends, when questioned, commonly replied,
‘We haven't seen nor heard from him, of late;
But he was here last winter with his bride.’
If he 's here now, why, then, we must decide,
Be what he may, whatever else he lacks,
He has the art of covering up his tracks.
“I don't believe he 's in these parts at all!
I'm wrong, no doubt you think: perhaps I am:
For his man Alexander,—whom they call
‘Big Sandy’ here, or sometimes ‘Dandy Sam,’—
That gorgeous graft upon the stock of Ham,—
Has been at V.'s plantation, and in town;
Though I could not contrive to hunt him down.
I'm wrong, no doubt you think: perhaps I am:
For his man Alexander,—whom they call
‘Big Sandy’ here, or sometimes ‘Dandy Sam,’—
That gorgeous graft upon the stock of Ham,—
Has been at V.'s plantation, and in town;
Though I could not contrive to hunt him down.
245
“I followed that embodied Will-o'-wisp
From place to place,—in hopes to overhaul
A waistcoat and the waxed ends of a crisp,
Pointed mustache: the trail was now so small,
I vowed that he, too, was not here at all;
Then I could swear—so great the rumor grew of him,
And he was here and there so—there were two of him!
From place to place,—in hopes to overhaul
A waistcoat and the waxed ends of a crisp,
Pointed mustache: the trail was now so small,
I vowed that he, too, was not here at all;
Then I could swear—so great the rumor grew of him,
And he was here and there so—there were two of him!
“'Twas now a flying visit to the bank
On Vernon's business,—if indeed it be
Not more his own than Vernon's: to be frank,
I 've not the slightest doubt but it is he
Who sends the monthly draft to Mrs. V.
In Vernon's name there is a large deposit,
But 'tis this Dandy Sam who always draws it.
On Vernon's business,—if indeed it be
Not more his own than Vernon's: to be frank,
I 've not the slightest doubt but it is he
Who sends the monthly draft to Mrs. V.
In Vernon's name there is a large deposit,
But 'tis this Dandy Sam who always draws it.
“When I rushed in to catch him there, I learned
That he was up the river, on the estate;
And though I had but recently returned
From reconnoitring thereabouts, with great
Celerity and caution back there straight
I sped, to pounce upon him like a cougar—
Pretending always to be buying sugar.
That he was up the river, on the estate;
And though I had but recently returned
From reconnoitring thereabouts, with great
Celerity and caution back there straight
I sped, to pounce upon him like a cougar—
Pretending always to be buying sugar.
246
“It seemed as if some magic must have aided
To screen a fellow of so great renown,
For he had vanished, somehow separated,
And gone, part up the river, and part down,
Half to the northward, and half back to town:
So said two sets of persons who had seen him,
And it was just my luck to pounce between him.
To screen a fellow of so great renown,
For he had vanished, somehow separated,
And gone, part up the river, and part down,
Half to the northward, and half back to town:
So said two sets of persons who had seen him,
And it was just my luck to pounce between him.
“V.'s is the best plantation in the parish,
Perhaps the very finest in the State;
The mansion, truly elegant, not garish;
Yet Vernon never stays there long of late;
And Sam—an object of especial hate
To every one, from Cuff to overseer—
Comes only now and then to domineer.
Perhaps the very finest in the State;
The mansion, truly elegant, not garish;
Yet Vernon never stays there long of late;
And Sam—an object of especial hate
To every one, from Cuff to overseer—
Comes only now and then to domineer.
“The people say that Vernon's with his wife
Somewhere up North,—the general opinion.
I 've learned from them a little of his life:
He is by birth and breeding a Virginian,
Who emigrated from the Old Dominion
Twelve years ago—if that be emigration,
To take possession of an old plantation.
Somewhere up North,—the general opinion.
I 've learned from them a little of his life:
He is by birth and breeding a Virginian,
Who emigrated from the Old Dominion
Twelve years ago—if that be emigration,
To take possession of an old plantation.
247
“Of the Virginia servants two alone,
Sam and an aged negress, now remain;
The latter very deaf: her wits have flown
Back to the deepening twilight of her brain,
So that, I find, there is not much to gain
By sounding that dim cave, to bring the bats
Zizzagging aimlessly around our hats.
Sam and an aged negress, now remain;
The latter very deaf: her wits have flown
Back to the deepening twilight of her brain,
So that, I find, there is not much to gain
By sounding that dim cave, to bring the bats
Zizzagging aimlessly around our hats.
“Yet some things this old creature has let fall
To others, which, whatever they may mean,
Are worth perhaps the trouble to recall:
How Vernon's mother perished of some keen
Heart-piercing anguish; and how she has seen
The father, ghastly pale, perspiring clammily
Over some fearful secret in the family.
To others, which, whatever they may mean,
Are worth perhaps the trouble to recall:
How Vernon's mother perished of some keen
Heart-piercing anguish; and how she has seen
The father, ghastly pale, perspiring clammily
Over some fearful secret in the family.
“Whether that secret be the same as this
Which we would fathom, can but be suspected:
For secret most assuredly there is,
And with it Sam is certainly connected;
Whose will has so mysteriously subjected
His master's, that you hear it said, he runs
Vernon and his plantation both at once.
Which we would fathom, can but be suspected:
For secret most assuredly there is,
And with it Sam is certainly connected;
Whose will has so mysteriously subjected
His master's, that you hear it said, he runs
Vernon and his plantation both at once.
248
“This is by no means Mr. Vernon's first
Mysterious disappearance, as I find;
Though, on his wife's account, it seems the worst
And strangest case of absence of the kind.
Suddenly he—or Sam—makes up his mind,
And, presto! like the slipperiest of debtors,
He 's off, beyond the reach of friends or letters.
Mysterious disappearance, as I find;
Though, on his wife's account, it seems the worst
And strangest case of absence of the kind.
Suddenly he—or Sam—makes up his mind,
And, presto! like the slipperiest of debtors,
He 's off, beyond the reach of friends or letters.
“So said, at least, my friend the overseer;
Declaring in half-earnest, grisly fun,
'Twas his conviction, that for many a year
Vernon at stated intervals has done
Some private business with the Evil One,
Which claims, in spite of friendship or the ladies,
His personal attention down in Hades!”
Declaring in half-earnest, grisly fun,
'Twas his conviction, that for many a year
Vernon at stated intervals has done
Some private business with the Evil One,
Which claims, in spite of friendship or the ladies,
His personal attention down in Hades!”
Thus wrote to Robert Lorne the young attorney,
To whom the curious case had been confided;
Adding, “Without another, longer journey,
I fear the question cannot be decided.
You may no doubt accomplish more than I did,
And gain some knowledge, or obtain some trace,
Of Vernon, on the Old Virginia place.”
To whom the curious case had been confided;
Adding, “Without another, longer journey,
I fear the question cannot be decided.
You may no doubt accomplish more than I did,
And gain some knowledge, or obtain some trace,
Of Vernon, on the Old Virginia place.”
249
III.
This letter, which had been so long awaited,
Caused in the wife an easy transformation:
The fever-pulse of hope and fear abated;
And with the lapse of high-wrought expectation,
There came a sudden, dangerous relaxation
Of those firm principles which hitherto
Had kept her, through all perils, pure and true.
Caused in the wife an easy transformation:
The fever-pulse of hope and fear abated;
And with the lapse of high-wrought expectation,
There came a sudden, dangerous relaxation
Of those firm principles which hitherto
Had kept her, through all perils, pure and true.
Now all her sinking, unsupported heart
Reached out for love,—trembling and insecure.
And so one day she dressed herself to start
Upon a fashionable shopping-tour,
Which—one might safely prophesy—was sure
To have a rather un-aristocratic,
Impulsive ending, in a young man's attic.
Reached out for love,—trembling and insecure.
And so one day she dressed herself to start
Upon a fashionable shopping-tour,
Which—one might safely prophesy—was sure
To have a rather un-aristocratic,
Impulsive ending, in a young man's attic.
A coach was called; and soon a coach came dinning
Its music in her ears; and, pondering more
The journey's joyous end than its beginning,
She hurried forth; but stopped, aghast, before
Some legs in the just-opened carriage-door,
Which to her startled gaze so much resembled
A missing pair, that she stood still and trembled.
Its music in her ears; and, pondering more
The journey's joyous end than its beginning,
She hurried forth; but stopped, aghast, before
Some legs in the just-opened carriage-door,
Which to her startled gaze so much resembled
A missing pair, that she stood still and trembled.
250
“Florinda!” said a voice; and some one, rising,
Peered out—then even the sky turned black above her!
As well it might: what could be more surprising
To the young wife, just going to meet her lover,
Than thus inopportunely to discover
A terrible reminder of her marriage,
In her own husband stepping from a carriage!
Peered out—then even the sky turned black above her!
As well it might: what could be more surprising
To the young wife, just going to meet her lover,
Than thus inopportunely to discover
A terrible reminder of her marriage,
In her own husband stepping from a carriage!
IV.
Fainting is commonplace, even in romances;
So let us say that, after some disorder,
When she was lying on a lounge, and Nancy's
Care—and cologne—had partially restored her,
She heard a voice which tenderly implored her
To calm herself; and, opening her eyes,
Found that it was indeed her dear, lost Guy's!
So let us say that, after some disorder,
When she was lying on a lounge, and Nancy's
Care—and cologne—had partially restored her,
She heard a voice which tenderly implored her
To calm herself; and, opening her eyes,
Found that it was indeed her dear, lost Guy's!
She sat right up and stared him in the face,
Half-doubtful if she really were beholding
Her husband or a spectre in his place,
And half inclined to give him a good scolding;
Then pulled away the hand which he was holding,
And dropped some passionate tears; but, for a miracle,
Was neither sentimental nor hysterical.
Half-doubtful if she really were beholding
Her husband or a spectre in his place,
And half inclined to give him a good scolding;
Then pulled away the hand which he was holding,
And dropped some passionate tears; but, for a miracle,
Was neither sentimental nor hysterical.
251
“Our sudden meeting has quite overcome you!
You blame me! but you do not know how strong
Was the necessity which kept me from you.
Although my absence has been strange and long,
I 've done no needless or intended wrong,
Believe me, love!”—a bit of an oration,
Too evidently studied for the occasion.
You blame me! but you do not know how strong
Was the necessity which kept me from you.
Although my absence has been strange and long,
I 've done no needless or intended wrong,
Believe me, love!”—a bit of an oration,
Too evidently studied for the occasion.
Even honest men, with something to conceal,
Not daring quite to trust the impetuous heart
To speak directly what they deeply feel,
Are sometimes tempted to prepare the part
Which they are called to act, and at the start
Put on the spirit—so to speak—a manacle,
Which makes their words seem formal and mechanical.
Not daring quite to trust the impetuous heart
To speak directly what they deeply feel,
Are sometimes tempted to prepare the part
Which they are called to act, and at the start
Put on the spirit—so to speak—a manacle,
Which makes their words seem formal and mechanical.
'Twas thus with Vernon, if I err not greatly:
His tongue was frigid, while his heart was torrid.
And when she saw him, elegant and stately,
With calm locks brushed across his bald white forehead,—
Still slightly corpulent and somewhat florid,—
In health, addressing her with all the awful ease
Of some well-combed and courtly Mephistopheles,—
His tongue was frigid, while his heart was torrid.
And when she saw him, elegant and stately,
With calm locks brushed across his bald white forehead,—
Still slightly corpulent and somewhat florid,—
In health, addressing her with all the awful ease
Of some well-combed and courtly Mephistopheles,—
252
As if the past were no such dreadful load,—
She looked at him amazed, and almost frightened,
(Forgetting quite the little episode
By which for her the burden had been lightened,)
And felt the horror of the mystery heightened,
But neither made complaint nor exclamation—
Only her eyes demanding explanation.
She looked at him amazed, and almost frightened,
(Forgetting quite the little episode
By which for her the burden had been lightened,)
And felt the horror of the mystery heightened,
But neither made complaint nor exclamation—
Only her eyes demanding explanation.
V.
“You were not looking for me in the coach?
You did not get my letter, then!” She darted
At him a look of terrible reproach:
“Never,” she cried, and now the deep sobs started,
“Never a line from you since last we parted!
Little I dreamed—when, yielding my consent,
I signed that dreadful paper —what it meant!”
You did not get my letter, then!” She darted
At him a look of terrible reproach:
“Never,” she cried, and now the deep sobs started,
“Never a line from you since last we parted!
Little I dreamed—when, yielding my consent,
I signed that dreadful paper —what it meant!”
Just then the maid, a letter in her hand
(She had been listening at the door until
That instant), entered: “This was on the stand;
It must have come just now when you were ill.”
Florinda took it, but without a thrill:
The flowers of hope, which we too long await,
May lose their bloom and come at last too late!
(She had been listening at the door until
That instant), entered: “This was on the stand;
It must have come just now when you were ill.”
Florinda took it, but without a thrill:
The flowers of hope, which we too long await,
May lose their bloom and come at last too late!
253
Post-marked New Orleans, July twenty-third;
The date conspicuously a fortnight older;
Written in Guy's fair hand (but not a word
To show where it was penned), the letter told her
How fondly he looked forward to behold her,
And prove his heart's devotion soon once more,—
Their trials passed, and happier days in store.
The date conspicuously a fortnight older;
Written in Guy's fair hand (but not a word
To show where it was penned), the letter told her
How fondly he looked forward to behold her,
And prove his heart's devotion soon once more,—
Their trials passed, and happier days in store.
This missive, which she read through flashing tears,
After its meagre contents were made out
She tossed to Guy; who colored to the ears,
Comparing date and postmark: he no doubt
(She thought) had mailed it in some roundabout,
Strange way, that his retreat might not be traced,
And afterwards outrun it in his haste.
After its meagre contents were made out
She tossed to Guy; who colored to the ears,
Comparing date and postmark: he no doubt
(She thought) had mailed it in some roundabout,
Strange way, that his retreat might not be traced,
And afterwards outrun it in his haste.
Then suddenly the sense of her great wrong
Possessed her; and—to make the story brief—
She sobbed so strongly, and she sobbed so long,
It seemed her soul could never find relief
To its wild, inextinguishable grief,
Which sighs but fanned, and tears in vain might drench,—
Like that Greek fire which water will not quench.
Possessed her; and—to make the story brief—
She sobbed so strongly, and she sobbed so long,
It seemed her soul could never find relief
To its wild, inextinguishable grief,
Which sighs but fanned, and tears in vain might drench,—
Like that Greek fire which water will not quench.
254
VI.
“Florinda!” said Guy Vernon, very grave,
When she could hear him,—studying now no more
What he should say, or how he should behave,—
“There 's something which I should have said before—
And would to Heaven that it might now restore
Our former happiness and dear repose,
Lost through no weakness of my heart, Heaven knows!
When she could hear him,—studying now no more
What he should say, or how he should behave,—
“There 's something which I should have said before—
And would to Heaven that it might now restore
Our former happiness and dear repose,
Lost through no weakness of my heart, Heaven knows!
“When first I saw—and loved you—I believed
A certain crisis in my life was passed.
Deceiving you, I was myself deceived,
Trusting the last misfortune was the last:
And still I held that fond delusion fast,
And would not think what shadow of strange fate
Lay on my life, until it was too late!
A certain crisis in my life was passed.
Deceiving you, I was myself deceived,
Trusting the last misfortune was the last:
And still I held that fond delusion fast,
And would not think what shadow of strange fate
Lay on my life, until it was too late!
“All unprepared, you justly were offended,
And filled, I know, with needless pain and dread.
Now once again I think my troubles ended,
And laid forever with the silent dead.
Still let me say what then I should have said;
And guard the future, if in spite of all
Precautions, evil should again befall.”
And filled, I know, with needless pain and dread.
Now once again I think my troubles ended,
And laid forever with the silent dead.
Still let me say what then I should have said;
And guard the future, if in spite of all
Precautions, evil should again befall.”
255
His trembling fingers for a moment flitted
Across his brow; and mind and frame were shaken;
Till, half-forgetting her own wrongs, she pitied
His greater woe, and felt her love rewaken.
“O, why was I so cruelly forsaken?
Left, a weak woman, in a land of strangers,
Exposed”—she thought of Robert—“to such dangers!
Across his brow; and mind and frame were shaken;
Till, half-forgetting her own wrongs, she pitied
His greater woe, and felt her love rewaken.
“O, why was I so cruelly forsaken?
Left, a weak woman, in a land of strangers,
Exposed”—she thought of Robert—“to such dangers!
“But that—all that—is now beyond recall.
You too have suffered—O for what, from whom?
All is forgiven, if you will tell me all!”
He turned away, and rose, and walked the room,
Upon his front a thunder-cloud of gloom,
And a portentous trouble in his eye;
Then paused, with downcast looks, and made reply.
You too have suffered—O for what, from whom?
All is forgiven, if you will tell me all!”
He turned away, and rose, and walked the room,
Upon his front a thunder-cloud of gloom,
And a portentous trouble in his eye;
Then paused, with downcast looks, and made reply.
“The cause,” he faltered, “never can be told;
We must not talk of that!” Florinda felt
Her heart grow suddenly all stony-cold,
Which love and pity had begun to melt.
“It was a dark necessity which dealt
So sternly with us both: should you outlive me,
You may know all,—and then you will forgive me.”
We must not talk of that!” Florinda felt
Her heart grow suddenly all stony-cold,
Which love and pity had begun to melt.
“It was a dark necessity which dealt
So sternly with us both: should you outlive me,
You may know all,—and then you will forgive me.”
256
He sank upon a chair, and once more covered
His changing visage, now convulsed and wan,
Where something of the awful anguish hovered,
Which art has fixed immovably upon
The deathless marble of Laocoön.
Alarmed she turned, appearing not to heed it;
And, after a brief struggle, he proceeded.
His changing visage, now convulsed and wan,
Where something of the awful anguish hovered,
Which art has fixed immovably upon
The deathless marble of Laocoön.
Alarmed she turned, appearing not to heed it;
And, after a brief struggle, he proceeded.
“Ask not the cause; but should there come a time,
When I once more may be compelled to leave you,
Account not my necessity a crime;
Nor deem that I would willingly deceive you;
Nor let my going, nor my silence, grieve you;
But bear my absence—which can never be
So sad to you as terrible to me!
When I once more may be compelled to leave you,
Account not my necessity a crime;
Nor deem that I would willingly deceive you;
Nor let my going, nor my silence, grieve you;
But bear my absence—which can never be
So sad to you as terrible to me!
“That such a time may never come again,
I do devoutly hope! But it is just
That you should know; then if it comes—O then”—
He lifted wide, imploring eyes—“you must—
You will support me with your love and trust!
Let me, unquestioned, go and come at will:
For only so can we be happy still!”
I do devoutly hope! But it is just
That you should know; then if it comes—O then”—
He lifted wide, imploring eyes—“you must—
You will support me with your love and trust!
Let me, unquestioned, go and come at will:
For only so can we be happy still!”
257
VII.
So earnest was he, and so well she knew
It would be vain and cruel to prolong
The pain of that unhappy interview,
That, though her curiosity was strong,
And deep the old resentful sense of wrong,—
Two things with which the unregenerate heart
Is apt to find it rather hard to part;—
It would be vain and cruel to prolong
The pain of that unhappy interview,
That, though her curiosity was strong,
And deep the old resentful sense of wrong,—
Two things with which the unregenerate heart
Is apt to find it rather hard to part;—
And though not much a heroine, she rose
Heroically to the situation,
And, prudently forbearing to oppose
Profitless question or expostulation
To these hard terms of reconciliation,
Bowed her proud will, as do the wise,—or just
As you and I do, when we find we must.
Heroically to the situation,
And, prudently forbearing to oppose
Profitless question or expostulation
To these hard terms of reconciliation,
Bowed her proud will, as do the wise,—or just
As you and I do, when we find we must.
She yielded, and immediately repented,
Foreseeing endless mystery, doubt, and slander.
Nor can I say that she was quite contented,
When Vernon told her, with surprising candor,
“For your sake, I have banished Alexander;
Though, to relieve my mind of many cares,
I still must let him manage my affairs.”
Foreseeing endless mystery, doubt, and slander.
Nor can I say that she was quite contented,
When Vernon told her, with surprising candor,
“For your sake, I have banished Alexander;
Though, to relieve my mind of many cares,
I still must let him manage my affairs.”
258
Which somehow did not please her altogether.
But now the maid approached once more, to say
The coachman at the door demanded whether
She wished the carriage ordered, still to stay.
“Why, no!” she answered; “send the man away.”
While sundry recollections rushing over her,
With quick, confusing blushes seemed to cover her.
But now the maid approached once more, to say
The coachman at the door demanded whether
She wished the carriage ordered, still to stay.
“Why, no!” she answered; “send the man away.”
While sundry recollections rushing over her,
With quick, confusing blushes seemed to cover her.
Ah, well her reäwakened soul might shrink
From the great peril that so late impended!
She shuddered at herself; and feared to think
How differently the morning might have ended,
If all had happened as she first intended;
What misery and remorse might now await her,
Had Vernon but arrived a minute later.
From the great peril that so late impended!
She shuddered at herself; and feared to think
How differently the morning might have ended,
If all had happened as she first intended;
What misery and remorse might now await her,
Had Vernon but arrived a minute later.
So slight a finger-post of circumstance
May turn one's fate! But to the soul, the savor
Of virtue saved, though saved by seeming chance,
And though it have a certain homely flavor,
Is sweet to taste, and sweeter grows forever!
While sin, so pleasant in the hour's swift haste,
Is biting-bitter to the after-taste.
May turn one's fate! But to the soul, the savor
Of virtue saved, though saved by seeming chance,
And though it have a certain homely flavor,
Is sweet to taste, and sweeter grows forever!
While sin, so pleasant in the hour's swift haste,
Is biting-bitter to the after-taste.
259
She felt the joy of rescued rectitude;
And from the rankling cinders of regret
Rose heavenward the pure flame of gratitude
For her deliverance; making her forget
What unseen Woe might walk beside her yet:
Her husband she regarded as her savior
From her own wayward heart and weak behavior.
And from the rankling cinders of regret
Rose heavenward the pure flame of gratitude
For her deliverance; making her forget
What unseen Woe might walk beside her yet:
Her husband she regarded as her savior
From her own wayward heart and weak behavior.
The long-lost bridegroom's cloudy brow soon cleared,
And even Florinda found new hope and peace
In their reunion. Then the Aunt appeared,
Flushed from the street, asthmatic and obese,
And welcomed home the husband of her niece,
With rapture: nothing could exceed the dear Aunt's
Surprise and pleasure at his reappearance.
And even Florinda found new hope and peace
In their reunion. Then the Aunt appeared,
Flushed from the street, asthmatic and obese,
And welcomed home the husband of her niece,
With rapture: nothing could exceed the dear Aunt's
Surprise and pleasure at his reappearance.
VIII.
Public opinion, having had satiety
Of adverse gossip, now began to waver.
Vernon had come! and once more Good Society
Inclined to take Florinda into favor.
Those who had wronged her graciously forgave her,
And, having spread the scandal, or received it,
Loudly declared that they had not believed it.
Of adverse gossip, now began to waver.
Vernon had come! and once more Good Society
Inclined to take Florinda into favor.
Those who had wronged her graciously forgave her,
And, having spread the scandal, or received it,
Loudly declared that they had not believed it.
260
Vernon's return had virtually acquitted her
Of every fault,—those wary ones reflected.
So, having wounded, they came round and pitied her;
And it was Vernon's turn to be suspected—
A man who had so shamefully neglected
That sadly injured and long-suffering one,—
As it appeared, for nothing she had done.
Of every fault,—those wary ones reflected.
So, having wounded, they came round and pitied her;
And it was Vernon's turn to be suspected—
A man who had so shamefully neglected
That sadly injured and long-suffering one,—
As it appeared, for nothing she had done.
But women—and the world—condone in men
What they condemn in women without charity.
And so when Vernon blossomed out again,
A fashion-flower of such distinguished rarity,
After his recent slight irregularity
Of conduct,—he was marvelled at, admired,
Gossiped about, and all the more desired.
What they condemn in women without charity.
And so when Vernon blossomed out again,
A fashion-flower of such distinguished rarity,
After his recent slight irregularity
Of conduct,—he was marvelled at, admired,
Gossiped about, and all the more desired.
If men have manners, never mind their morals!
And do not make too close investigation
Into the intrigues and domestic quarrels
Of such as hold high cards of wealth and station:
Why pass with scorn, or view with indignation,
Or any thing so impolite as passion,
A gentleman of fortune, or of fashion?
And do not make too close investigation
Into the intrigues and domestic quarrels
Of such as hold high cards of wealth and station:
Why pass with scorn, or view with indignation,
Or any thing so impolite as passion,
A gentleman of fortune, or of fashion?
261
Society is full of politic,
Smooth people, courteous, shunning all dissension,
Who, should they find even Judas in their clique,
Well-dressed, would treat him with polite attention,
And hardly think it worth the while to mention
That most unfortunate misunderstanding
He is reported to have had a hand in.
Smooth people, courteous, shunning all dissension,
Who, should they find even Judas in their clique,
Well-dressed, would treat him with polite attention,
And hardly think it worth the while to mention
That most unfortunate misunderstanding
He is reported to have had a hand in.
Behind this stucco of the world's politeness,
I find some moral framework not amiss,
To give the social fabric strength and lightness.
The sculptured forms of strong, fair courtesies
Uphold while they adorn the edifice;
Like Caryatides, whose true intent
Is strength and grace,—support and ornament.
I find some moral framework not amiss,
To give the social fabric strength and lightness.
The sculptured forms of strong, fair courtesies
Uphold while they adorn the edifice;
Like Caryatides, whose true intent
Is strength and grace,—support and ornament.
| [Poems by Trowbridge in] A masque of poets | |