 | Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) |  |
117
JACYNTH.
Jacynth her name—a strange one, was it not?
I thought so, I, frail girl that knew her born
While the young mother panted life away,
There in those calm hills by the Shenandoah.
I thought so, I, frail girl that knew her born
While the young mother panted life away,
There in those calm hills by the Shenandoah.
When they had buried that sweet mother-shape,
It looked as if my master would go mad
For grief ... I reared the babe. He scarcely knew
If yet 'twere live till it was one year old.
It looked as if my master would go mad
For grief ... I reared the babe. He scarcely knew
If yet 'twere live till it was one year old.
We blacks were all slaves, then. My master owned
But me and twelve stout others, men that tilled
His acres, few yet rich. I, Lydia, spoke
As whites do, a quadroon, no common slave.
But me and twelve stout others, men that tilled
His acres, few yet rich. I, Lydia, spoke
As whites do, a quadroon, no common slave.
They said my master was my brother born;
I never knew nor cared. Whate'er he was,
He raised me above ignorance. I was taught
From books, and treated with all kindliness.
I never knew nor cared. Whate'er he was,
He raised me above ignorance. I was taught
From books, and treated with all kindliness.
Horrors of slavery? Yes, the whole South reeked,
I doubt not, with dark evils worse than pest.
But I and they that served with me were cloaked
In mercy. Fierce tales reached us; we were safe.
I doubt not, with dark evils worse than pest.
But I and they that served with me were cloaked
In mercy. Fierce tales reached us; we were safe.
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I never mated with black man or white;
Straight on for years, while sweet Miss Jacynth grew
From child to girl, I watched her innocence
Break into maidenhood, like bloom from bud.
Straight on for years, while sweet Miss Jacynth grew
From child to girl, I watched her innocence
Break into maidenhood, like bloom from bud.
The first fierce grief gone, master changed his mood.
He treasured Jacynth (let me drop the “Miss”;
It wears a sound so cold, so far-off, now!)
Prizing her tenfold more than he had shunned.
He treasured Jacynth (let me drop the “Miss”;
It wears a sound so cold, so far-off, now!)
Prizing her tenfold more than he had shunned.
She conned her lessons at his knee. Her face,
Her smile, her touch, her step, was dear to him
As any wavering cloud that stopped in drouth
To damp the dry slopes of our thirsting hills.
Her smile, her touch, her step, was dear to him
As any wavering cloud that stopped in drouth
To damp the dry slopes of our thirsting hills.
I think such large affection never lived
Between two souls as that which now brimmed theirs.
He was her comrade, playmate, guardian, friend;
She drank his thoughts, and paid the draughts in love.
Between two souls as that which now brimmed theirs.
He was her comrade, playmate, guardian, friend;
She drank his thoughts, and paid the draughts in love.
For hours they roamed the woodsides, hand in hand;
At eight she claimed his saddle in long rides;
At twelve she spurred her pony near his horse;
At seventeen, mounted fine, she shared his hunts.
At eight she claimed his saddle in long rides;
At twelve she spurred her pony near his horse;
At seventeen, mounted fine, she shared his hunts.
One day, while she was yet of tender age,
My master said to me in private talk,
“Lydia, no word of heaven or hell, of creeds
Or heresies, must my Jacynth ever hear.
My master said to me in private talk,
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Or heresies, must my Jacynth ever hear.
“I bade you even ere now say naught to her
On themes like these. Have you obeyed me well?”
I answered, “Yes, I have obeyed you well,”
But added, “Master, she has learned of death.”
On themes like these. Have you obeyed me well?”
I answered, “Yes, I have obeyed you well,”
But added, “Master, she has learned of death.”
“How could she help,” he sighed, “but learn of it?
Still, 'tis my wish that she should look on death
As only on slumber that we all erelong
Shall find, and fold us with, like some soft gear.
Still, 'tis my wish that she should look on death
As only on slumber that we all erelong
Shall find, and fold us with, like some soft gear.
“Pain, she will see, is oft the prickly stem
Whence death, a white and opiate flower, is born;
The stern stem wounds us when we pluck the flower,
But from those petals pale we drink dear sleep.
Whence death, a white and opiate flower, is born;
The stern stem wounds us when we pluck the flower,
But from those petals pale we drink dear sleep.
“I shall live long; 'tis in me to live long;
But when I am dead she will inherit me.
No love shall vex her of a stormier sort
Than filial. Peace will smile on all her days.
But when I am dead she will inherit me.
No love shall vex her of a stormier sort
Than filial. Peace will smile on all her days.
“For look you, Lydia, we are girt with calms
Of solitude among these healthful hills.
The town is far from us; no man her peer
In birth or culture will behold her face.
Of solitude among these healthful hills.
The town is far from us; no man her peer
In birth or culture will behold her face.
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“Unwedded shall she live; unwedded, die;
And dying unconscious of those turbid ghosts
That throng the doors of death—void wills-o'-the-wisp.
Mere shadowy dross of human fears and dreams—
And dying unconscious of those turbid ghosts
That throng the doors of death—void wills-o'-the-wisp.
Mere shadowy dross of human fears and dreams—
“I do believe her lot will far transcend
For joy the usual one earth's millions meet.
So shall I pluck that single soul at least
From many an anguish countless hearts have known!”
For joy the usual one earth's millions meet.
So shall I pluck that single soul at least
From many an anguish countless hearts have known!”
.. The war, a dim red spark of fire, gave threat
Of greatening, yet long steadfast bode. .. At last
Our valley and mountains felt its heat and scathe.
My master left us, then, one blaze of wrath.
Of greatening, yet long steadfast bode. .. At last
Our valley and mountains felt its heat and scathe.
My master left us, then, one blaze of wrath.
In his first fight he fell; the tidings drove
Through Jacynth's bosom like a bayonet-thrust.
But rallying after swoon and apathy,
She let her own sweet strong youth work its will.
Through Jacynth's bosom like a bayonet-thrust.
But rallying after swoon and apathy,
She let her own sweet strong youth work its will.
“Lydia,” she said to me, “though he is gone,
He gets the eternal peace in lieu of breath.
Surely 'tis better. Can we mourn those dead?
Think of it, Lydia! Infinite repose!
He gets the eternal peace in lieu of breath.
Surely 'tis better. Can we mourn those dead?
Think of it, Lydia! Infinite repose!
“Yet I do mourn his absence bitterly!
Still, soon .. who knows if I. too, may not share
That same serene oblivion he gains now?
And yet to have seen him once ere housed in dust!”
Still, soon .. who knows if I. too, may not share
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And yet to have seen him once ere housed in dust!”
Her tears flowed bounteous while she clasped my neck;
For on the battle-field where he sank slain,
That day of hideous rout and massacre,
His corpse with others lowlier was confused.
For on the battle-field where he sank slain,
That day of hideous rout and massacre,
His corpse with others lowlier was confused.
Found not, perchance 'twas mangled so none knew
The dear familiar features. Yet, if seen,
What comfort? Happier that he dwelt with her
Forever thus in memory, sound and hale!
The dear familiar features. Yet, if seen,
What comfort? Happier that he dwelt with her
Forever thus in memory, sound and hale!
“Good Lydia,” soon she urged, “the negroes all
Have left us. Can we bide here and not starve?
I have kindred in the North—my mother's blood.
Let us go seek them; help me; do not thwart.”
Have left us. Can we bide here and not starve?
I have kindred in the North—my mother's blood.
Let us go seek them; help me; do not thwart.”
Why should I thwart her, I, a slave, who loathed,
The land that brought me bondage? Long ere this
I would have fled but for the vigilant love
She kept forever live within my soul.
The land that brought me bondage? Long ere this
I would have fled but for the vigilant love
She kept forever live within my soul.
We passed the lines, by trick, by shrewd disguise—
We reached the North, and after journeying sore,
Came to her Northern kindred. These were two,
An old man, hard as flint, a grey gaunt wife.
We reached the North, and after journeying sore,
Came to her Northern kindred. These were two,
An old man, hard as flint, a grey gaunt wife.
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Their home, a square cold prim New England house;
Their greeting, frost; their hospitality,
A truce between amazement and contempt.
Still, they allowed us lodgment; this we prized.
Their greeting, frost; their hospitality,
A truce between amazement and contempt.
Still, they allowed us lodgment; this we prized.
We prized it, being worn out with strain and fret.
But soon the wife warned Jacynth: “You must meet
Our minister, a reverend godly man.
Tell us what faith you practiced in the South.”
But soon the wife warned Jacynth: “You must meet
Our minister, a reverend godly man.
Tell us what faith you practiced in the South.”
“Faith?” murmured Jacynth, and her eyes' dark stars
Beamed wonderingly on mine. .. “She had no faith,”
I answered for her. .. “What! no faith?” shot forth
Her kindred, wife and man, in one fierce breath.
Beamed wonderingly on mine. .. “She had no faith,”
I answered for her. .. “What! no faith?” shot forth
Her kindred, wife and man, in one fierce breath.
“None,” said I. “She was reared with gentlest care;
Her heart is full of love to all hurt things,
A wounded bird—yes, even a smitten worm—
But worship, church, religion, she hath none.”
Her heart is full of love to all hurt things,
A wounded bird—yes, even a smitten worm—
But worship, church, religion, she hath none.”
Then I told more. They stared at me aghast.
“What pagan has our kinsman made of her!”
Stammered the wife. And with applauding frown
The husband groaned, “Oh, sinner ripe for hell!”
“What pagan has our kinsman made of her!”
Stammered the wife. And with applauding frown
The husband groaned, “Oh, sinner ripe for hell!”
123
“Hell? What is hell?” cried Jacynth, while her cheek
Faded as if in fear of some strange threat.
“We'll teach you if we can!” the woman piped;
“We'll teach you if our Lord wills!” fumed the man.
Faded as if in fear of some strange threat.
“We'll teach you if we can!” the woman piped;
“We'll teach you if our Lord wills!” fumed the man.
They taught her. Summoned from his pious lair,
The pastor of the village-flock drew nigh.
He droned to her for hours his laws of creed,
He filled her breast with tremors, doubts and glooms.
The pastor of the village-flock drew nigh.
He droned to her for hours his laws of creed,
He filled her breast with tremors, doubts and glooms.
A kindly and earnest soul, this minister;
Yet ere a week he had so dulled and chilled
My darling that her sweet face gleamed to me
Drawn with strange pain, as though life stung her hard.
Yet ere a week he had so dulled and chilled
My darling that her sweet face gleamed to me
Drawn with strange pain, as though life stung her hard.
“Good? But I'm good, I, Lydia, am I not?
And this meek man, with voice all tender tones,
Has told me first of some great power he names
God—then he has told of this god's wrathful hate.”
And this meek man, with voice all tender tones,
Has told me first of some great power he names
God—then he has told of this god's wrathful hate.”
“Not hate,” I ventured. “There is Christ, they say,
The son of God, who came to save the world—”
But here I paused, remembering what I swore
To my dead master ere fight smote him cold.
The son of God, who came to save the world—”
But here I paused, remembering what I swore
To my dead master ere fight smote him cold.
“Christ? Yes, he spoke of one more merciful
Than God. .. Ah, Lydia, but he scared me so,
With all his curious talk of things beyond death!”
She clasped me close with wild arms. “Is it true?”
Than God. .. Ah, Lydia, but he scared me so,
124
She clasped me close with wild arms. “Is it true?”
“Have you not thought it true?” I answered her,
And kissed the pearly cheek so lovingly
Laid near my duskier one. She started back,
With terror glittering from her eyes' chaste calms.
And kissed the pearly cheek so lovingly
Laid near my duskier one. She started back,
With terror glittering from her eyes' chaste calms.
“True? No! And yet he is wiser than am I,
This minister they call the ‘man of God.’
But think what father taught me of death's boons,
Its rest, its beauteous exodus from care!”
This minister they call the ‘man of God.’
But think what father taught me of death's boons,
Its rest, its beauteous exodus from care!”
How could I answer, then? My heart was wrung.
And her poor heart—they wrung it worse than mine!
They peopled it with phantoms, visions, fears;
They stormed a heaven upon it, flared a hell.
And her poor heart—they wrung it worse than mine!
They peopled it with phantoms, visions, fears;
They stormed a heaven upon it, flared a hell.
Believe them? Why, they dazed her into that.
They left her with no force to disbelieve.
'Twas all so piteous! Death had meant to her
Serenity, and they made it fierce turmoil!
They left her with no force to disbelieve.
'Twas all so piteous! Death had meant to her
Serenity, and they made it fierce turmoil!
They shocked her with the sin she might have sinned;
They pierced her with the sin she must have sinned;
They awed her with Jehovah's threat and curse;
They stained her white peace with the bleeding Christ.
They pierced her with the sin she must have sinned;
They awed her with Jehovah's threat and curse;
They stained her white peace with the bleeding Christ.
125
I dared not tell her to disdain their words
And seek the old contentment, shorn of dread.
I think they would have driven us out to starve
Had they even dreamed I would so spoil their aims.
And seek the old contentment, shorn of dread.
I think they would have driven us out to starve
Had they even dreamed I would so spoil their aims.
Yet I beheld her frenzied with dismay,
Horror, sharp fright of self. She oft would cry:
“Oh, Lydia, am I then so steeped in guilt?
Why did this God make evil, he being good?”
Horror, sharp fright of self. She oft would cry:
“Oh, Lydia, am I then so steeped in guilt?
Why did this God make evil, he being good?”
Or yet again: “If God hath meant us fair,
Why should he trip us with desires to sin?”
Or yet, “If Satan be God's furious foe,
Why should Omnipotence not crush him dead?”
Why should he trip us with desires to sin?”
Or yet, “If Satan be God's furious foe,
Why should Omnipotence not crush him dead?”
Or still: “How can this God be merciful,
Seeing the souls he wrought with his own hands
Writhe on in flame for all eternity?
Oh, Lydia, who could love a God like that?
Seeing the souls he wrought with his own hands
Writhe on in flame for all eternity?
Oh, Lydia, who could love a God like that?
“Nay, give me back my heavenly dream of death,
Where no heaven enters, nor a dream of hell,
Nor any memory of earth's pain or bliss,
But all is one large long forgetfulness!”
Where no heaven enters, nor a dream of hell,
Nor any memory of earth's pain or bliss,
But all is one large long forgetfulness!”
Then would she stare at some blank point of space,
As though an eye were in it, or a voice.
Ah, 'twas so piteous to behold her thus!
I felt her strained heart reel while pressed to mine!
As though an eye were in it, or a voice.
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I felt her strained heart reel while pressed to mine!
And all this time her kindred watched us close—
The flintlike man, and she, his grey gaunt mate.
They flooded her with texts and parables;
They drowned her in their sermons, maxims, prayers.
The flintlike man, and she, his grey gaunt mate.
They flooded her with texts and parables;
They drowned her in their sermons, maxims, prayers.
I went to them, one day, and begged their grace
Of kindlier dealing. With her acid mouth
Firm-set, the wife repelled me; with brows dragged
In scowl above lacklustre eyes, her lord.
Of kindlier dealing. With her acid mouth
Firm-set, the wife repelled me; with brows dragged
In scowl above lacklustre eyes, her lord.
What meant I? Would I plunge the girl in doom?
Was not I Christian? They had thought we slaves
Were piety to the bone. So I, too, shared
The shame of my dead atheist master! Pah!
Was not I Christian? They had thought we slaves
Were piety to the bone. So I, too, shared
The shame of my dead atheist master! Pah!
I flung myself before them. “Do not heed
My piety or impiety,” I beseeched.
“Think only of her, dear Jacynth, whom I love!
Think only of her who never bore till now
My piety or impiety,” I beseeched.
“Think only of her, dear Jacynth, whom I love!
Think only of her who never bore till now
“This weight of ponderous wonder and suspense!
I know her delicate nature! It will break
Below the burden that you load it with!
Your stern stress of religion comes too late!”
I know her delicate nature! It will break
Below the burden that you load it with!
Your stern stress of religion comes too late!”
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“Too late?” they shouted. “There is always time
For sinners that repent! We'll save her yet!”
Then the gaunt wife with one fond bony arm
Girt her lean lord. (Their childless bed was plain!)
For sinners that repent! We'll save her yet!”
Then the gaunt wife with one fond bony arm
Girt her lean lord. (Their childless bed was plain!)
They saved her—yes, they saved her! Baptism came
Hard on conversion's heel. Their village-church
Was packed, one morn, when Jacynth, paler grown
Than the white gown they clad her in, came forth.
Hard on conversion's heel. Their village-church
Was packed, one morn, when Jacynth, paler grown
Than the white gown they clad her in, came forth.
A stubborn soul—and yet she had found at last
Salvation! Gently did the minister
Dip her frail form in so-called sacred bath...
I waited, quick to change her dripping garb.
Salvation! Gently did the minister
Dip her frail form in so-called sacred bath...
I waited, quick to change her dripping garb.
But ere I had changed it she went mad, poor child!
There in my arms dear Jacynth raved and shrieked!
She called on Christ to cleanse her of vile stain;
Then screamed “He will not hear!” deliriously.
There in my arms dear Jacynth raved and shrieked!
She called on Christ to cleanse her of vile stain;
Then screamed “He will not hear!” deliriously.
Shuddering, I clasped her. All that day she raved,
Calling her father from the sweet cold sleep
He had taught her so to trust in—calling me,
“Lydia, dear Lydia!”—though she knew me not.
Calling her father from the sweet cold sleep
He had taught her so to trust in—calling me,
“Lydia, dear Lydia!”—though she knew me not.
Toward night her glazed eyes melted into tears,
But still with pale and quivering mouth she cried:
“Father, come forth from your deep sweet sleep—come!
Take me to lie beside you and get peace!”
But still with pale and quivering mouth she cried:
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Take me to lie beside you and get peace!”
I love to think that he who loved her so
Came to her, took her, laid her down by him.
I love to think this, for at dark you died,
My Jacynth! .. She that tells this tale lives on.
Came to her, took her, laid her down by him.
I love to think this, for at dark you died,
My Jacynth! .. She that tells this tale lives on.
| Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) | |