 | The silver bridge and other poems |  |
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FALSE AND TRUE.
Two walked under the olive trees shading the walls of an ancient town,
Long ago, as with gold and purple canopied bravely the sun went down.
Long ago, as with gold and purple canopied bravely the sun went down.
Strangely mated for lovers, they—he an eagle, and she a dove—
He with eyes of prophecy, under such a forehead as laurels love;
He with eyes of prophecy, under such a forehead as laurels love;
She with bashful and tender face, softly radiant with love's surprise—
Flushed with pink, like a peach-tree blossom under the fair Italian skies.
Flushed with pink, like a peach-tree blossom under the fair Italian skies.
“Farewell, darling,” he smiling said; “though this parting be bitter pain,
To the labor whose crowning waits me I must go—but I come again.
To the labor whose crowning waits me I must go—but I come again.
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“Then, sweet love, how your heart will beat! From your swallow's nest looking down
You shall see how the eager people greet me back to the dear old town!
You shall see how the eager people greet me back to the dear old town!
“Years may pass ere that golden day, fate and fortune may be unkind,
Yet no woman shall call me husband, save the dear one I leave behind.
Yet no woman shall call me husband, save the dear one I leave behind.
“Will you love me with patient love?—hold me precious the long years through?
Let us see, when the test is over, which of our two hearts proves most true!”
Let us see, when the test is over, which of our two hearts proves most true!”
So he followed his guiding star to the region of song and art,
Wrought his dreams in the deathless marble, wooing Fame with a lover's heart.
Wrought his dreams in the deathless marble, wooing Fame with a lover's heart.
Every shape of immortal youth which the soul of the artist thrills,
Charmed to sleep by some weird enchanter under the fair Carrara hills—
Charmed to sleep by some weird enchanter under the fair Carrara hills—
Gods and heroes of days gone by, saints and cherubs, a shining band—
Woke and rose, in their snowy beauty, perfect under his master-hand.
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Friendship sought him, and praise, and power; many a heart he wronged and rent;
Many a worship he won and wasted—smiling, spoiling, where'er he went—
Many a worship he won and wasted—smiling, spoiling, where'er he went—
Went the way that an artist loves, skimming the selfish sweets of life—
Giving to no one noble woman, loved and reverenced, the name of wife;
Giving to no one noble woman, loved and reverenced, the name of wife;
Yet he frittered his heart away, little by little, on many shrines,
Keeping nothing for her who, waiting, looked for him through her window vines.
Keeping nothing for her who, waiting, looked for him through her window vines.
So his beautiful years went by, charmed by honors and ease and gold,
Till at last, after fourscore summers, all the days of his life were told.
Till at last, after fourscore summers, all the days of his life were told.
Then they took him in splendid state, back once more to the dear old town,
Where with his early love he wandered long ago as the sun went down.
Where with his early love he wandered long ago as the sun went down.
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Down the street as his funeral passed, leaning out from her casement high,
Pale and trembling, a white-haired woman gazed and wept as the crowd went by.
Pale and trembling, a white-haired woman gazed and wept as the crowd went by.
All are conquered by Fate or Time—there are changes in fifty years—
Fifty years! and alas, a widow gave the dead man these burning tears.
Fifty years! and alas, a widow gave the dead man these burning tears.
She whose youth he had sorely wronged, she whose heart he had starved and slain,
Now at his tardy coming uttered all her passionate grief and pain.
Now at his tardy coming uttered all her passionate grief and pain.
Eating the bread of lonely toil, she had waited through tedious years,
Hoping all things, in tears and silence, fond and faithful despite her fears;
Hoping all things, in tears and silence, fond and faithful despite her fears;
Then with a languid, cold consent, after patience and hope were dead,
Wedded another, whose constant passion sought her still, though her youth had fled.
Wedded another, whose constant passion sought her still, though her youth had fled.
Moan of people and chant of priest rose and wailed like a soul in woe;
Plumes like midnight, and trailing sables slowly swept through the street below.
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“Oh, my darling!” she sobbed aloud, shaken sore by her utter woe,
“Oh, my dearest, is this the coming which you promised so long ago?
“Oh, my dearest, is this the coming which you promised so long ago?
“Taunt me not with my broken troth, O my love whom I still adore!
You who lived in the love of women, winning, wasting forevermore—
You who lived in the love of women, winning, wasting forevermore—
“You who honor the empty husk of your vow when your lips are dumb,—
No proud woman has called you husband, and you come—as you pledged to come.
No proud woman has called you husband, and you come—as you pledged to come.
“Loyal to him whose name I bore, yet I loved you, and only you;
Judge between us, O Mary mother, which is the false and which the true!”
Judge between us, O Mary mother, which is the false and which the true!”
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