 | Ellen |  |
ELLEN:
A POEM.
To JOHN SWINTON.
My dear Mr. Swinton:
I cannot put my name to “Ellen” unaccompanied by that of the friend from whom I received—while yet his bodily features were unknown to me—a most welcome sympathy and the kindest offices. In dedicating these pages to you I give myself a rare gratification, heightened by the peculiar enjoyment one has in making, with entire propriety, a public avowal of personal feelings.
Sincerely and gratefully yours,
G. H. CALVERT.
Newport, R. I., May, 1869.
[_]
A small edition of this Poem was published anonymously in 1867. In that were omitted eleven introductory stanzas, which are here restored, and which are needed to give completeness to the design. Nor was the whole divided into parts,—a division that marks the growth and purport of the Poem, and giving it a natural relief, assists the reader. Moreover, that edition was marred by misprints, whereby in several stanzas the meaning was obscured.
1869.9
I.
A SURPRISE.
I.
The world is full of fire. Stars, aye ablaze,Band the Infinitudes with burning links:
Wild comets flare on the tame earth amaze,
Hanging men's startled thought on being's brinks:
Fervent sun-scented gifts are all our days,
And of the solar surge each creature drinks;
While under Earth's cool grassy crust glows heat
That floods with soaring sap pine, rose, and wheat.
10
II.
Broad Nature feeds on warmth, whose overflowIs but the momentary froth of waves;
As when Night reels with Lightning's sudden blow,
Or Lava's torrid tide turns towns to graves,
Or Conflagration, wrapt in ghastly glow,
Leaping from roof to roof, wind-maddened raves.
'Tis Nature's joy and life, this blessèd fire,
In all things hid, as music in the lyre.
III.
Earth's paragon, Nature's dear masterpiece,—In whom has been, to hundredth proof, distilled
Her liveliest currents, whose unending lease
Of life (contracted here) is so o'erfilled
With great conditions, earth's select increase
Breeds but a fraction's mite of what was willed
When God made man, steeping a dormant clay
In the chaste baptism of immortal ray,—
11
IV.
He in the unmeasured circuits of his soulCoils flame, whereto lava and thunder-burst
Are shafts short-aimed at evanescent goal,
Hot agencies that fiercely slake their thirst
On things terrene. Darting from pole to pole
Of being's sphere, man now is self-immersed
In seething sense, now flashing to the heights
Where he can track free angels in their flights:
V.
Himself a budded angel graft on clay;Fresh Mercury a-tiptoe on the earth,
His wings invisible by solar day;
A new-born life, awaiting higher birth
With upward eyes, whose supersensuous play,
Seizing the farthest suns, draws in the worth
Beyond them swaying, inward to the nest
Where awe hatches great thoughts of God; and, blest
12
VI.
With glance supreme of intuition, manUplifts him o'er himself, to where pure mind
Rules in such ever-glowing light there can
No shadow come, and whither, unconfined
By doubt, unbalked by angered passion's ban,
He hies, his tangled counsels to unbind,
Free balanced clear of sense-cajoling clod,
Hearing with inward ear the voice of God.
VII.
What myriad worlds circle in the small roundWhence glow eyes bold to read the firmament;
Eyes lit with messages from realms whose bound
Is th' Infinite, thought's glittering legions pent
Within that petty spirit-swarming mound,
Aye luminous with orders heard or sent,
And lurid with a trembling glare at times,
When loves perverted boil to hates and crimes.
13
VIII.
Man is compact of loves; and when they turnInward upon himself, or outward spend
Unwarily their essences, they burn
Into the very frame of being, and rend
The impassioned pulses fine wherewith men earn
The all of joys that with life's labors blend.
The child of love, man is ensteeped in loves:
Promotion to their deepest music moves.
IX.
A stable hierarchy, a choral whole,The multitudinous mind of man is strung
To chords vibrating harmonies that roll
Through fineless space; and 'tis because are rung
Through the Infinite the discords of his soul
That thence such deepening agonies are wrung,—
Unwitnessed agonies, whose inward pain
Beyond the sun throws shadows of their stain.
14
X.
For thence we come; and thither we return,When the strong soul hath rent its clasping crust;
But if our restless fervors downward burn,—
We mixing us too freely with our dust,—
The ray divine, like lamp through earthen urn,
Irradiates not, or dimly, lightless lust,
With blight fraught single,—not from animalism,
But that, unchastened, lust works aye a schism;
XI.
Man's complex spheric being, for its wealNeeding co-active unity in all
His diverse powers, then only the white seal
Of good being set when act is not a thrall
Of passion, but the generous pulses feel
Their throb within its life. The ceaseless call
Of men to man were mocked by answers dark
With the close breathing of a bestial bark.—
15
XII.
A sunny brook, on whose clean floor the stonesSparkle unstained, that suddenly befoul,
Deep at its forest-head, putrescent bones
Thrust there by murder done beneath night's cowl
On trustful travellers, whose unpitied moans,
Heard but in Heaven, were married to the howl
Of wolves,—the brooklet's laughing life bedimmed,
Its glad pellucid pools with poison brimmed:
XIII.
A sward-bound bed the sun and earth and air(Wedding their blissful craft at beauty's hest)
Have hid with flowers, so fresh, so flashing fair,
With tender-tinted flames they seem possest,
When swiftly,—as if Hell's subjacent lair
Into their veins had shot a biting pest,—
They fall disbloomed, their sweetened delicate breath
Quenched in the blackness of unsavory death:
16
XIV.
What image else can hang within your eyesNature disrupted, thwarted, maimed, and bleak,—
Ocean senseless to wind, a Paradise
Ravished of blossoms,—such will faintly speak
What were those youthful women who in guise
Of modest maidenhood, so flattering meek,
Welcomed Horatio, whose unhardened skin
Flushed ruby at the sudden thought within;—
XV.
Then swift the bashful blood rewarmed his heart,And pale, an anger'd eye he cast around
For the false comrade who had played the part
Of trifler with him; but as swift the wound
Healed of itself. An impulse then to dart
Forth from the gairish room, and at a bound
Heaven's air rebreathe, shot through him. That, too, died;
And almost ere it parted, at his side
17
XVI.
Spake one whose sleepy yearning tones were linksOf chain, whose other end a lisping child
Bound to her mother's lap, a dimpled minx,
Who in the mother's plundered bosom piled
Such heaps of love, they brimmed the very brinks
Of joy at times, and overflowed in mild
Unwitnessed tears, which quick were sunned away
By arch look of the little girl at play.
XVII.
Where two small velvet valleys greenly met,To slope as one towards hearkened Hudson's shore,
Their cottage nestled by a rivulet
That ran outleaping from the shadows hoar
Of stormy oaks, and prattling with her, wet
The fondling's feet, and made her fingers more
Like bursting rose-buds, as in sultry heat
She dabbled in it with her hands and feet.
18
XVIII.
A playmate was she of the blossomed trees,The first to spy the unlooked-for gleaming rings
Of wild flowers in the grass, as at her knees
New violets peeped from their cold coverings
To watch her joy. The summer-heated bees
Sang round her, as she were of honeyed things,
And birds near her in Eden were, and lighted
Upon her shining shoulder unaffrighted.
XIX.
When the fleet years had poured into her veinsThe rapid juice of more ambitious blood,
Her little longings leaped to loftier gains,
And taught the senses wider walks. The flood
Of the quick rivulet,—more quick with rains,—
She mounted gleesome to its lowering wood.
There mystery answered mystery, and the deep
Dim silence, like to sense-upfolding sleep,
19
XX.
Unlocked her soul and loosed a brood of thoughtThat ranged for food within the obscurer caves
Of umbrage, where in rock-strewn dusk were taught
The hushed delight of awe that, like the waves
Of untrod ocean, is with tidings fraught
From worlds which vast imagination laves.
Thence with the mimic cataracts she bounded
Back to her home with naked feet unwounded.
XXI.
The mould-exhalèd balms of many springsSo fed the fragrance of her breathful day,
That she was like the perfumed offerings
Of a wild wilderness of buds to May.
So dashed were eye and cheek by tints from wings
Of mounting morns, dyed was the mortal clay
In light as from a heaven-expirèd air;
And sunbeams hid them in her golden hair.
20
XXII.
Not closer did the summer-shrunken brookCling to its pebbly bed, than the bereft
Deserted mother worn, with heart and look
To the one single child, all that was left
To love of her own blood. Her eyelids shook
Heart-moisture on the sleeping girl, a theft
Of covert sorrow from the darkness,—tears
Folded by day within blind bodeful fears.
XXIII.
Death grasping her pale child—this was the viewOld dolors graved upon a bruisèd brain.
And they were kind; for had they limned the new
Unheralded rank truth, so near, the pain
Had rift her clay; for when it fell it slew
Her earth-life at a stroke; and now the rain,
That made the brook laugh with her laughing child,
Wets sod above her lonely body piled.
21
II.
O WOMAN!
I.
Fair Death! who look'st so dark, because our sightIs dim with reek from godless fears; so dread,
Because our loves are lawless; whose deep night
Is but a drooping cloud, disgorged and fed
And nursed by howling fantasies that blight
The fresh heart's sunshine, so thy name is wed
To hideous thoughts men call thee Terrors' King,
In joy forefeeling cold thy fated sting,
22
II.
And at thy coming crouch, like a new guiltBefore old conscience' doomful eye awaked.
Dear Death! grimed earthlings are we, and have built
Our life with faithless mortar, whence is shaked
So sharp a dust about our heads thou wilt
Forgive our blindness, that we still have quaked
'Fore brain-coined demon at the name of thee,
High handmaid of our immortality!
III.
Eternal beckoner to upper seats!'Twixt earth and Heaven winged carrier sure and swift!
Life-quickening Death! who seem'st to quench the heats
Thou dost redress with finer life and gift.
Haunted by glib imagination's cheats,
This fear-filled mother watched for thee to lift
Thy scythe and make her hearth a wilderness,
And choke her veins with grief and loneliness.
23
IV.
But when dishonor's loathly blastment creptUpon her child's warm breathing pure,—smooth blown
From the hell of a cold lustful heart, while slept
A dream-disturbèd innocence,—a moan
Rent her twin being, and the spirit leapt
Up towards its home, where Death the demon shone
A God, relinking her to the lorn child,
Her beautiful, soft, loving girl defiled.
V.
So by redeeming Death are sped the senses,A deepening freshening insight she did gain
Through earth's fierce fumes and vacant violences
And all the fevered joys that nourish pain,
Such insight far, distracted innocences
Now almost seemed what had been sinful stain:
Through sifted disencumbered thought she smiled
Upon her anguished flesh-imprisoned child.
24
VI.
Was due this heaven-lit smile to the new friend,God's holy harvester, the Archangel Death;
For with the lights that calm around her blend,
And privileges goodness doth bequeath,
Content can see that toward the loved one tend
So fast Death's muffled feet, her sighful breath
Grows less and less; wherein the mother joyed,
Even as when the blue-eyed babe she toyed.
VII.
And the lone, watched one, she at times would turn,As though she felt her mother's voice; and then
The cottage by the brook itself would burn
Into her eyes, they staring strange, of ken
All vacant, till,—short respite given,—the stern
Loathed present seized and crushed her in a den
Of reptiles cold, created of her wings,—
A cherub's plumes self-changed to scalding stings.
25
VIII.
Horatio looked into those large blue eyes,Now the dull haunts of homeless wincing woes,
Once joy-flamed angels in a paradise;
And tenderly he read her spirit's throes,
And reading, inly sighed her woman's sighs,
And tuned his breath to such warm life as blows
From April's cheeks to dry the frosty dew
An unschooled night hath dropt on violets new.
IX.
In wonderment looked she upon his eyes.Like a spent swimmer who on a sudden feels
His feet buoyed by a rock, delight's surprise
Vaults full her being, and she hears the peals
Of her hushed maiden laughter, as far cries
Are heard in dreams: then quick her mother steals
Into her sight, part interfused with him
Who stands there, overt angel, clear and dim.
26
X.
For many moons, no, not for a dread year,—Not since that wild hour when, convulsèd pale,
She left the cottage with a shuddering fear,
That yet foretold but tithe of garnered bale,—
Had sound of love wooed her wan starvèd ear.
No new-come infant with more easeful hail
Doth pallid mother prayerful greet than she
Those strange low words of bashful sympathy.
XI.
They lifted her above the tainted waste,Where holiest feelings are disfranchised quite,
And the heart's fairest garnitures defaced.
To man's high only heaven, the self-delight
(Mounted when he with selfless thought is braced)
Where love, like to the God-replenished might
Of planet-warming suns, works outward aye,
And lives by making for new worlds the day,—
27
XII.
For a brief moment's pasture, even to thisThey lifted her, and she, through the mild power
Of that creative cadence, the gone bliss
Of filial duteousness refelt, in shower
Of thoughts that glistened o'er the bald abyss
Of her nude noisome life a rainbow's dower,
As beautifully sudden and as brief,
Aërial glow gilding a fen of grief,—
XIII.
From topmost life a flash, that showed the hellWherein she agonized, more ghastly dead,
Revealing too (what misery sought to quell)
A heavenly good within the spirit bred,
A flushing font, a sure upheaving well,
Which now outsparkled from its fountain-head
To freshen even her trampled virgin wreath,
Making her move aside to weep for death.
28
XIV.
Horatio turned him quickly to the wall,And deeply scanned a shallow picture there;
For he had seen the tear about to fall
From swollen o'ertasked eyelids, and would spare
Himself and her.—Soon at his side a tall
Pale woman stood, of whose black eye a glare,
Wild, restless, had one-half the lustre drunk;
The other back into the brain had sunk.
XV.
Each feature fine was shrunken by a scarCut by the crushing of three several crowns,
An arch'd head circling once and reigning far,
The tokens of the choice of earth's renowns
By woman earned, each centred by a star
That with its light all other radiance drowns,—
The holy royalties of feminine life,
Clasping the brow of daughter, mother, wife.
29
XVI.
In this fast-lapsing crowded desolation,—A noble visage marred,—beauty still throned,
As mid the iconoclastic devastation
By passionate throng that will not be postponed,
And wreaks itself in vaporous elation
On statue-peopled temple, some still-zoned
Melonian Venus stands, maimed, blackened, pelted,
Erect, with all her fallen trophies belted.
XVII.
The splendor of the ruin, at a glanceHoratio seeing, in the brain there flamed
A light so luminous, his countenance
Glowed saintly deep, to manly reverence tamed.
On her it fell, as on one in a trance
Music unearthly. Then the past reclaimed
Her mutinous heart, and flooding it with beauty,
Repeopled all the desert fields of duty.
30
XVIII.
For a brief space she stood illuminated,The banished loves, called sudden home, replaying
With eye, ear, lip and cheek and hair, elated
With unsoiled breath to fill her core, and raying
Through inmost avenues, to thought remated,—
Great loves, that are the life of life, defraying
The costliest costs of being, with home-caressing
Healing man's wounds, and woman hourly blessing.
XIX.
Whoe'er upon a lustrous face delighted,Hath seen the headlong lapse from joy to pain,
When one with warmest happiest eye-beam sighted,
Reels, sinks, and dies, by unwarned death-stroke slain,—
Can see that radiance in a moment blighted,
As the quick ruddy flood ebbed back again,
And she knows that she has but felt and seen
A vision brief of what she once had been.
31
XX.
What she had been—and what she is! O fallUnthinkable! Groan, nursing Nature, groan
Through thy divinest deeps; hoarse discords all,
Howl curst confusion's howl; loud load of moan,
Break the strong heart of woe; black night, appall
Hell's inmates with thy gloom; for here is grown
A deed that outbids chaos, while the power
That wrought this death,—the social whole,—doth lower,
XXI.
And menace more, deaf as the darkening cloudThat clasps the earth with sleety fingers hard,
Heedless as the sunned sea that, wild and loud,
Outroars the wind his mate, and on the scarred
Defenceless shore wrecks a whole navy proud,
Smiling on victims like a springing pard.
How long, O God! how long shall this be fate?
O man! this needs not, must not, be thy state.
32
XXII.
O woman! thou, thou art a heaven-hung nest,By soundless wings o'erbrooded, where is hatched
Earth's paragon, Heaven's heir and 'waited guest.
Earth worships thee, and warmly art thou watched
By prescient angels, and, by all the best
That know exulted in as the unmatched
Delight of whate'er lives and wills and loves,
The central majesty to all that moves.
XXIII.
All essences that sparkle, in their gleeOf life, upon the joy of Nature's face,
And, quivering in the wind-waved cypress-tree
Or in the leopard's gait, glow into grace,
Or, throbbing through the wood's wild melody,
To music soar, find their selectest place
In thee, selectest for a large fulfillment,
And sweetest, subtlest for a fine distillment.
33
XXIV.
All integrants of being, the low and higher,The lords of work, the visionary powers,
Leap with the lightnings of a holier fire
In thee; and, like young bees to honeyest flowers,
Imaginations in unbought attire
Crowd to thy brain, and, buoyed by sweetening showers,
Shed softly by the tenderest loves, presage
Life's mightiness from their elected cage.
XXV.
The gladdened insights, intuitions named,That flashing come,—so wise their swift discernings,—
A freight from Heaven on sightless fibril flamed,
Hushed duties, aspirations, holiest yearnings,
Prime impulses most prodigally framed,
All reap in thee their ripest inmost earnings.
The Fates their longest ranges weave through thee,
Sorrow and joy their deepest ecstasy.
34
XXVI.
She is a woman, too, this haggard one,And those about her, some more sunken still,
A monstrous group, each fearfully alone,
All homeless, uncaressed, the cloven will
Confounded, blinded, shattered on its throne
Mid rifled loves, that naught of earth can kill,
And whose sick pulses throb a pauseless dirge
And all their music in one wailing merge.
XXVII.
And like them, there outside, that blasted throngUbiquitous, stript of their woman's dues,—
A live distemperature that saps the strong
Well blood of manhood,—jubilant abuse,
Defiant ever-pelting storm of wrong,
Discordant willingness in the strung thews
Of myriad harps, swept by a touch so foul
The tuneful strings yield but a barren howl.
35
XXVIII.
No victor Knight beside his lady fair,Mid glittering gaze of plumèd chivalry,
Not Bayard's self, whose deferential air
A bloom of inwardness was sure to be,
With more of Christian lustre shone than there
Horatio on that friendless company.
He full performed the gentlemanly task,
To see the woman still behind the mask.
XXIX.
And those banned, lonesome lost ones, they were saved,A moment saved. A moment their soul-ache
Stopt beating, when the woman new was laved
By the resurging spirit, as in a lake
Of soft absolving light, and thoughts that raved
Around infected prison-walls, now take
Repose,—stilled in that manly presence pure,—
And tune themselves, again serene, secure.
36
XXX.
E'en in the most unsexed of all, whom yearsHad more and more in fleshly bands enwrapt,
Through smeary eyelids, long unwashed by tears,
A light (chaos with primal day-beam capt)
Strange glistened in the unhallowed lap of leers,
A soft maternal light inaptly apt,
Ray from a blessing that had failed to bless,
Sole flower in a hot weedy wilderness.
XXXI.
In younger days she lost an infant boy,And the dead babe had grown within her mind
(Angel asleep mid sensual tumult's joy),
Until by such mute secret nurture kind
He came to manhood, so without alloy
She seemed in this fine form her child to find;
And when Horatio touched with grief she saw
She trembled, and her heart stood still for awe.
37
III.
THE RESCUE.
I.
Horatio's heart grew faint with tears. He slidInto another room, where one meek light
Left unbetrayed, in stillness' ambush hid,
A seated figure, till at sudden sight
Of him, with scream quick counterchecked, it did
Upleap, and then relapsed as swiftly, fright
Outwailing, “Heaven! it is not he: No! No!”
Like one in the tight agony of woe.
38
II.
Gushed hot her sobs, as though voracious griefWould break upon her heart a lenten fast.
Her tears made issue,—bringing sad relief,—
For his, so long inpent, and now at last
Free poured, as loosened brooklet after brief
Frost-prisonment when winter should be past.
Her weeping paused, to hearken to his sighs;
Then, soft as cloud that on a summit lies,
III.
She laid her hand upon his sleeve, and said,In voice with wonder weak and tenderness,
“Who are you?” And Horatio raised his head
To look on girlish model of distress,
Of whose original splendor yet was dead
Scarcely a beam,—a face made to caress
And be caressed. “To save you I am come.”
Like warbled welcome to supernal home,
39
IV.
Sang to her soul the words. Up she aroseEre he could rise; and ere the breath was cold
That he had uttered, 'round them were the rows
Of sleeping houses, and wide heaven uprolled.
Their footsteps were not effort, but repose,
Like sway of uncaged eagle when unfold
His wings, and he all flutterless the brow
Shades swift of mountain, such their motion now.
V.
They walked as though with sightless pinion urged;For joy doth counterweigh the body's weight,
And the smit soul, if rearward it hath verged,
Rebounds against the stumbles of its mate,
Catching at heavenward cords when most submerged.
This trustful girl was thrown upon the great
Thick-panting whirlpool of the nether town,
Wherein, unhelpt, she surely must go down.
40
VI.
But when she saw those tears and heard those sighs,And looked upon that face; with woman's sure
Swift insight, and resolve as quick as wise,—
Yielding, like the tall juicy pine, most pure
Her balm when wounded,—nimbly did she rise
Above the slimy damps, unclean, obscure,
Oozing from heated thoughts that thaw the will,
And through the senses venomed flavors still.
VII.
The stars looked near and friendly on the two,And they,—as people will when they have had
The spirit bathed in hope or joy,—their view
Turned thankful thither, and, though she was sad
Amid her hope, their light shone heavenly new.
Horatio moved as a strong savior glad.
They reached her door, to have their mood redaunted;
From a near open window thus was chaunted:
41
“Will you not come to me, mother,
Will you not come to me?
I am alone, I am alone.
Come to me, mother, come to me,
I am alone, alone.
Come to me, come to me,
I am alone.
Will you not come to me?
I am alone, I am alone.
Come to me, mother, come to me,
I am alone, alone.
Come to me, come to me,
I am alone.
“When will you come to me, sister,
When will you come to me?
I am alone, I am alone.
Come to me, sister, come to me,
I am alone, alone.
Come to me, come to me,
I am alone.”
When will you come to me?
I am alone, I am alone.
Come to me, sister, come to me,
I am alone, alone.
Come to me, come to me,
I am alone.”
42
VIII.
Upon these words the cadence rose and fellWithin a single bar, now weak then weaker,
Repeating them, revolving, like a spell
Of weird monotony by some wild seeker.
More than the words the tone a tale did tell,—
A heart's deep dirge, self-sung and meek; and meeker
With every repetition, till it dwindled
To faintest flame, no more to be enkindled;
IX.
As if one heeded, on a silent shore,After a season of dismasting storms,
A corpse, white, beautiful,—from the sea's core
Singly upthrown of all its swallowed swarms,—
And saw it rocked, and gently more and more
As the waves calmed, and they, now stilled of harms,
Licked it all tenderly, the heaving sea
Softly uplifting it repentantly.
43
X.
Tears, tears,—gems wrought in Nature's glowing mineWhen the heart beats its truest beat,—they set
Their liquid lustres in enravished eyne,
To beam their brightest when large lids are wet
With life-drops pearled in bosom feminine.
Death's silence ranged until 'twas faintly met
By trembling sighs. Horatio soothed her sorrow,
Saying, when leave he took,—“To-morrow, to-morrow.”
XI.
O Sleep! hushed nursling of the whispering night,Thou dost unknot the skeins of tangled day,
And at thy bidding comes the delicate light
Of stars to be thy watcher, while their ray
Token sidereal is of mightiest might
That guards thy dreamful nest; thou dost allay
The heartache, unbreathed torture, tameless strife,
And whet'st the blunted tools of wearied life;
44
XII.
Thou rich man's luxury and poor man's aid,Kind soother of the fretted brow of care,
Celestial dew, on drooping labor laid
As gently as the heaving of an infant's air,
Brisk fancy's feeder, mould wherein are made
Imagination's marshaled grandeurs fair,
Choice lap of jealous brooding secrecy,
Where root the seeds of all that is to be;
XIII.
Sweet Sleep, thou universal comforter,That dost intrench us in oblivion,
Thy daily balm thou didst withhold from her,
The youthful, desolate, deserted one;
For when thou sought'st thy blessing to confer,
Where 'twas implorèd with enfamined tone,
And on thy bed wouldst lie as in the past,
At the wan tremor there thou stood'st aghast.
45
XIV.
By a pale figure sleep's brain-bed was haunted,That in frail accent said, “Alone, alone”;
And with a look that would not be avaunted
Kept whispering this appeal with ardent moan,
And gazed beseechingly, as though it wanted
Condolence from a warm companion:
Then it grew dim and faded, like a mist
By an ascending sun serenely kist.
XV.
It soon returned, and more ethereal,Aye feebly syllabling the one sad word,
A clear transparency aerial,
Yet plain to sight, with tone like silver cord
Touched tenderly by breath empyreal.
Fainter and fainter grew its mild abord,
Until at last it slowly disappeared,
Leaving the charmèd ear and eye afeard.
46
XVI.
But sallow fear was tinct with fellow-feeling,And the awe at this new life-experience,—
That was to her mazed soul sublime revealing
Of sights beyond the current ken of sense,
And of the pact divine supreme unsealing,—
Threw a halo round her dread, as round the dense
Portentous darkness of a cloud at even
Effulgence glows, flamed from the further heaven.
XVII.
So, by degrees her pulse ran quieter,A quiver of the heartstrings' play was stilled,
As of a shoaly stream th' outflowing stir
When by great ocean's tideful swell 'tis filled.
She to herself was hallowed: messenger
From God seemed to unbind her; and, unskilled
As young thoughts are in widest themes, her being
Ranged in the distances of new far-seeing.
47
XVIII.
Long hours had waned since the sure sun did steepThe expectant air in his strong helpfulness,
Ere she could yield her to the embrace of sleep
And give him sway o'er all that fair distress.
At last the wetted eyes were closed, and deep
And even heaved her breast in quietness.
On the soft cheek recumbent, as she slept
Unfollowed lay the tear-drops she had wept.
XIX.
She lay involved in beauty and in graceAs in a limpid film of sparkling mist.
A night-storm stamps its tumult on the face
Of orient day, so she could not resist
The turmoil of the past, which would displace
The calm upon her lips. Like Venus kist
By sooty Vulcan, her lulled features bore
At times the torment of an inward sore.
48
XX.
This gentle creature, peril'd there, so fullOf love and guileless life, signed with God's marks
Of favor, intellectual, beautiful,
Whose destiny should be the lifesome lark's
To mount singing towards Heaven,—which to annul
Shows compact coarse of the base howls and barks
Of bestial man, envious of elevations,
Thrust on by wanton Hell to desecrations,—
XXI.
O, 'tis a sight to summon angel-swarmsDown from their heedful home, through threatened earth
And rallied Heaven sounding their high alarms
Against the ravage of a moral dearth.
There lies God's masterpiece, clutched at by harms
That maim creation's might and Nature's worth.
Men, rouse ye from cold stupor, and be men,
That your dear daughters deck no harlot's den.
49
XXII.
The tender girl lay there asleep, enfoldenIn all the magic curves that beauty weaves.
Myriad-eyed light, as he had ne'er beholden
Creature more fair, blazed on her,—as on sheaves
In ripening June,—his fiery rapture golden;
And poet gazing, whose thrilled bosom heaves
With inspiration, from long-wooed ideal,
Still deeper draught had drawn from fleshly real.
XXIII.
More from the dazzlement of inward sightThan that of beams glancing with glistening glee,
Her eyes oped sudden, to behold a bright
Majestic woman:—“You are come for me”—
Uttered with faith from a mysterious light.
“I am,” the lady said benignantly,
Her face relucent with those sleeping charms:
Then the sweet girl she folded in her arms.
50
IV.
A COUNTRY HOME.
I.
On turf soft sloping to an inland bay,That brought sure messages from far-off ocean,—
Or through a whisper of the tidal play,
Or moody mutterings of tempestuous motion,—
A spot where sunny Spring loves to display
His fresh habiliments and annual portion
Of green delight, a modest dwelling stood,
Unboastful low, and humbly built of wood.
51
II.
The door looked westward, and in the after hoursOf the ampler days thence was inhaled the glow
Of flushed immensities, when regnant powers
Conspire to joy recipient eyes with show
Of golden splendency,—one of the showers
The spirit on earth is quickened with, the low
Necessities of sense to compensate,
And foretaste feel of its enfranchised state.
III.
A place where commune might be lonely heldAt best advantage with wise Nature's soul,
And hearkened to the deep discourse that welled
Unceasing from her bosom; for, the roll
Of her munificence unparalleled
Well-nigh it was, and so profuse her dole
Of broader bounties to the chosen spot,
It raised the bliss of contemplation's lot.
52
IV.
Beyond the narrow bay the landscape drewThe eye through reaches undulant to hills;
Then to the right brought sudden close the view
With treeless rocks high raised on granite sills,
Whence morning's breath, sea-scented, sometimes blew
Thin masking mists; when the air was still, near rills
Trilled softly to an unpossessèd ear;
And when was far away the sun, and clear
V.
The night, swift stars came down from their high bedTo lie upon the bay's inviting breast.
A grove of pine-trees redolent so wed
Their limbs they were a home and motherly nest
For birds that from the ravening snow-rage fled;
And of the north-winds made a near arrest
Ere they could strike the lowly house. Old trees
Stood around that music drew from summer's breeze.
53
VI.
Beneath the quiet roof a household dwelt,In home's sweet troth intwined with triple ties:
Grandparents with grandchildren were a belt
That smooth embraced in common smiles or sighs
What father and dear mother keenly felt.
And now, warm sorrow surging in all eyes,
On them, the centres, heaviest hung the gloom
Of all, that followed each from room to room.
VII.
'Twas not the patient sorrow, ashy-hued,Sunk by a death, that sighs internally,
And with religious tonic balm imbued,
Uplifts the humbled spirit to be free;
But feverish lowness, pale incertitude,
The restlessness of toiled anxiety,
That gnawed each member of the stricken group,
And made their very life-strings writhe and droop,
54
VIII.
As though there had been struck a stunning strokeAnd yet a heavier were about to fall.
The mother's hours were strained with sighs. She awoke
From spectral sleep to taste a bitterer gall
Each day: grief cradled every word she spoke.
A daughter, blandly bright, unwonted tall
For fifteen summers, hung about her neck,
As she with tears her mother's tears would check.
IX.
The son, but two years older, all aloneWould sadly range afar, as though the task
Were laid to seek one who was lost and gone.
A prattler, six years grown, would weep and ask,
“Is sister coming home?” with puzzled tone,
And then in childhood's silver sunshine bask,
Feeling with baffled sense the tearful gloom,
Unsounded yet the deeps of such a doom.
55
X.
Silent the father sat,—his wonted moodOf voiceful cheerfulness by dark surmise
O'ershadowed,—stung by a spiteful buzzing brood
Of fancies ruthless, such as tortuous rise,
Black swarming, to infect each drop of blood
That thrids a wounded heart, his painful eyes
Busied with vacancy, or inward bent,
As witnesses to some sore grapplement.
XI.
At times a shudder seized his manly frame,And he would stride across the room, to shake
The horror from his fear, which then in flame
Of scalding words would burst, that made all quake
With grief:—“O Ellen! Ellen!—O thy name
It burns me—O my child—my heart will break.”
His mother then would circle him, in vain
Striving to assuage the torment of his brain.
56
XII.
One evening, at the height of such a scene,Was brought a letter. All, between despair
And hope, stood still. Swiftly the envelope's screen
With trembling hand the mother rent, to bare
The hoped dreaded contents; then with mother's mien
Outcried—“She's safe—she's saved.” Upon a chair
The father sank, to sob his joy, the others
Outweeping theirs around the weeping mother's.
XIII.
The grandsire, more controlled than all the rest,Outgave the riches of the written stores.
“Two weeks your child hath lain upon my breast,
And there for aye should lie, were she not yours.
So true, so fair, so pure, I should be blest
To keep her ever in my core of cores.”
'Twas dated from the city near, that is,
The great American Metropolis.
57
XIV.
While they were listening yet, the door was oped:All hearts leapt towards it, and the father rose
Paternally, to meet, not what he hoped,
But a majestic woman, the repose
Of whose large face with glow of love was coped.
All quick re-read the letter, and their woes'
Relief, in that sweet noble countenance,
As warm she met their grateful glistening glance.
XV.
The father, moving towards her, suing said,In voice o'erladen with affection's store,
“My child, my child—where is my child?” afraid
Almost to trust his hope. Through the half-closed door
Rushed Ellen, falling on his knees. He laid
His heart to hers—and all were on the floor
'Round her, a pile of weeping happiness.
Heaven raised the lady's hands the group to bless.
| Ellen | |