 | The Baroness of New York |  |
XV.
Sir Francis and his lady fair
Rode far from out the Park and town.
A star was in her midnight hair,
Her hand shone with a starry stone
That lit their bridle path at night.
Like some tall shepherd, shepherding
His flock upon the soundless flood,
A far ship anchored, tall and white.
The snapping bat was on the wing,
A dog howled from the distant wood;
And right and left, and white and lone,
Some mighty marbles ghostly stood.
Rode far from out the Park and town.
A star was in her midnight hair,
Her hand shone with a starry stone
That lit their bridle path at night.
Like some tall shepherd, shepherding
His flock upon the soundless flood,
A far ship anchored, tall and white.
The snapping bat was on the wing,
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And right and left, and white and lone,
Some mighty marbles ghostly stood.
'Twas night, and yet it was not dark.
They long had passed broad Central Park;
And yet they rode on silently,
Until the great, white-girdled moon,
As soft as summer afternoon,
Came wheeling up the sea, and lay
Her broad, white shoulders bare as day;
As if at some fair, festal ball
Of gathered stars at carnival.
They long had passed broad Central Park;
And yet they rode on silently,
Until the great, white-girdled moon,
As soft as summer afternoon,
Came wheeling up the sea, and lay
Her broad, white shoulders bare as day;
As if at some fair, festal ball
Of gathered stars at carnival.
He reined, he turned him home at last,
Yet scarce a word his lips had passed.
And at his side his lady, she
Rode silent and as wrapt as he;
Rode still and constant, as if she
Had been his guardian angel, bound
To lead him through some dark profound.
Yet scarce a word his lips had passed.
And at his side his lady, she
Rode silent and as wrapt as he;
Rode still and constant, as if she
Had been his guardian angel, bound
To lead him through some dark profound.
His soul was as some ship that drew
All silent through the burst of seas,
Pursuing some far distant star
That spun unfixed forever through
The boundless upper seas of blue.
She seemed so near, and yet so far.
Just now she seemed as near as woe;
Just now she seemed as far as though
They dwelt in the antipodes.
All silent through the burst of seas,
Pursuing some far distant star
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The boundless upper seas of blue.
She seemed so near, and yet so far.
Just now she seemed as near as woe;
Just now she seemed as far as though
They dwelt in the antipodes.
They silent rode. She looked away,
As one that had no word to say.
She had her secret, this he knew;
Yet ofttime in the night alone,
He waked and wondered if the true
And heart-pent history was known—
If painted in its blackest hue,
'Twould make a shadow to his own.
As one that had no word to say.
She had her secret, this he knew;
Yet ofttime in the night alone,
He waked and wondered if the true
And heart-pent history was known—
If painted in its blackest hue,
'Twould make a shadow to his own.
Two strange, uncommon souls were these
That silent sailed uncompassed seas.
Far out from any ship or shore,
Far out from reef or breakers' roar.
Where ships of commerce never drew
A keel, these two ships crossed, and knew
Each other as they sailed alone,
And on, to under worlds unknown,
O golden, sacred silentness!
Take thou the silver coin of speech,
And bribe your way to hearts, so less
Than hearts the silences shall reach.
That silent sailed uncompassed seas.
Far out from any ship or shore,
Far out from reef or breakers' roar.
Where ships of commerce never drew
A keel, these two ships crossed, and knew
Each other as they sailed alone,
And on, to under worlds unknown,
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Take thou the silver coin of speech,
And bribe your way to hearts, so less
Than hearts the silences shall reach.
Two strangers rode in silence down
Against the sounding, teeming town;
Two strangers. Yet two souls that knew
Heart histories far better than
The wisest and profoundest man
That ever read earth's archives through.
Against the sounding, teeming town;
Two strangers. Yet two souls that knew
Heart histories far better than
The wisest and profoundest man
That ever read earth's archives through.
Didst ever think how souls have size
And weight and measure in God's eyes,
So other than the weight and span
And measure given them by man?
And weight and measure in God's eyes,
So other than the weight and span
And measure given them by man?
Why, there be hunchback souls that stand
Beside tall souls, broad-browed and grand;
And these bend ever, and look down
Upon the great soul's rumpled gown,
And see upon its trail a stain,
Obtained, perchance, in some great fight,
In silent battle for the right;
And then they mock and make complain,
And wagging point the world the stain.
Beside tall souls, broad-browed and grand;
And these bend ever, and look down
Upon the great soul's rumpled gown,
And see upon its trail a stain,
Obtained, perchance, in some great fight,
In silent battle for the right;
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And wagging point the world the stain.
Then there be shallow souls that seem
To foam along like shallow stream,
As if they feared the while you would
Forget that they had ever been,
Did they not keep their clang and din:
And, come to think, perhaps, you should.
To foam along like shallow stream,
As if they feared the while you would
Forget that they had ever been,
Did they not keep their clang and din:
And, come to think, perhaps, you should.
In middle heaven moved the moon.
Still slow they rode and silently,
Till sudden distant thunder fell
From out fair heaven. Like a knell
Of some departed afternoon,
That dying, leaves a heritage
Of undivided memory
Of most delicious love, it fell
Upon the wrapt Sir Francis Jain
And startled him. He threw the gage
To fate, rose full, clutched at his rein,
Struck heel to flank, threw back his hair,
Spoke loud, and laughed with careless air
Of tempest driving up the skies,
And lifting unto her, his eyes,
At touch of large, slant drops of rain,
He gathered up his strength again,
And strange, far thought, that still would roam,
And plunged and led right hard for home.
Still slow they rode and silently,
Till sudden distant thunder fell
From out fair heaven. Like a knell
Of some departed afternoon,
That dying, leaves a heritage
Of undivided memory
Of most delicious love, it fell
Upon the wrapt Sir Francis Jain
And startled him. He threw the gage
To fate, rose full, clutched at his rein,
Struck heel to flank, threw back his hair,
Spoke loud, and laughed with careless air
Of tempest driving up the skies,
And lifting unto her, his eyes,
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He gathered up his strength again,
And strange, far thought, that still would roam,
And plunged and led right hard for home.
The desolation of the plain,
The perfect solitude, the reign
Of ghosts and spirits of the dark
Came down. The tempest's wild complain
Was monsterlike. The driving rain
And loud-voiced furies rode the air.
No lamp, no light, stood out that night,
No star in heaven set a mark—
'Twas darkness, darkness, everywhere.
They pierced the middle of the Park.
Their road led underneath the ground;
The arches echoed far, profound.
The winding paths led in and out,
The tempest rode in merry rout;
They rode against the slanting rain,
They rode a circle round and round,
And rode in circle yet again.
The perfect solitude, the reign
Of ghosts and spirits of the dark
Came down. The tempest's wild complain
Was monsterlike. The driving rain
And loud-voiced furies rode the air.
No lamp, no light, stood out that night,
No star in heaven set a mark—
'Twas darkness, darkness, everywhere.
They pierced the middle of the Park.
Their road led underneath the ground;
The arches echoed far, profound.
The winding paths led in and out,
The tempest rode in merry rout;
They rode against the slanting rain,
They rode a circle round and round,
And rode in circle yet again.
And still they rode, still round and round,
By darkling arch, beneath the ground,
The while the hoofs kept clanging sound.
At last quite wild and quite worn out,
Sir Francis turned and gave a shout
From underneath an arch. From out
A deeper arch, a cave, hard by,
There came a sharp, responding cry.
By darkling arch, beneath the ground,
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At last quite wild and quite worn out,
Sir Francis turned and gave a shout
From underneath an arch. From out
A deeper arch, a cave, hard by,
There came a sharp, responding cry.
“Ho! ho! A call for help. We come!
Come! Up! my comrades; follow me!”
Sir Francis turned his head, and he
Stood still, as one struck stark and dumb;
For lightnings fell in sheets just then,
And showed a line of surly men.
Come! Up! my comrades; follow me!”
Sir Francis turned his head, and he
Stood still, as one struck stark and dumb;
For lightnings fell in sheets just then,
And showed a line of surly men.
But these Sir Francis heeded not;
His flashing eyes the instant fell
Upon their leader; one who stood
The tallest tree of some dark wood.
He stood as one that time forgot,
Or feared to tackle, or to lay
A hand upon—he stood so well,
That time went by the other way.
His flashing eyes the instant fell
Upon their leader; one who stood
The tallest tree of some dark wood.
He stood as one that time forgot,
Or feared to tackle, or to lay
A hand upon—he stood so well,
That time went by the other way.
And still Sir Francis sat and sat
His steed, and stared and stared thereat.
He looked right in the robber's face,
Who stood and boldly stood his place;
The while the men drew circle round,
And made secure their vantage-ground.
His steed, and stared and stared thereat.
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Who stood and boldly stood his place;
The while the men drew circle round,
And made secure their vantage-ground.
Their leader bowed and stepped before
Sir Francis, and laid hold the rein.
He bade the lady pass; she passed,
Then turned, and peering glances cast.
His lifted brow was white and broad,
His presence like a demigod.
He was all coolness—leisure now,
He shook his brown locks from his brow,
Half smiled, and blandly bowed again;
And then he turned, stern raised a hand,
Toward his men, gave some command,
Held high his lamp before Sir Jain,
Half laughed, then smiling, bowed again.
Sir Francis, and laid hold the rein.
He bade the lady pass; she passed,
Then turned, and peering glances cast.
His lifted brow was white and broad,
His presence like a demigod.
He was all coolness—leisure now,
He shook his brown locks from his brow,
Half smiled, and blandly bowed again;
And then he turned, stern raised a hand,
Toward his men, gave some command,
Held high his lamp before Sir Jain,
Half laughed, then smiling, bowed again.
Again he jerked his lantern high,
Half turned, and heard the lady's cry,
The while she sat her steed hard by.
Quite lowly then he bowed once more,
And stepping back, with bended head
And courteous bearing, gaily said
He did most certainly deplore
The state of weather; 'twas severe;
A sort of equinox, he thought;
He said to-morrow surely ought
In conscience, to be bright and clear,
For sunshine surely follows rain;
Then turned him to Sir Francis Jain.
Half turned, and heard the lady's cry,
The while she sat her steed hard by.
Quite lowly then he bowed once more,
And stepping back, with bended head
And courteous bearing, gaily said
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The state of weather; 'twas severe;
A sort of equinox, he thought;
He said to-morrow surely ought
In conscience, to be bright and clear,
For sunshine surely follows rain;
Then turned him to Sir Francis Jain.
He haughty bowed his broad, high head,
And in the Queen's best English, said:
“But now this weather question, sir—
The winds, the rains, the sudden rise
Of choler in the angered skies;
The fall of the barometer,
The storms by land, the calms by seas,
Are fixed by Probabilities!
And in the Queen's best English, said:
“But now this weather question, sir—
The winds, the rains, the sudden rise
Of choler in the angered skies;
The fall of the barometer,
The storms by land, the calms by seas,
Are fixed by Probabilities!
“You meet your neighbor now at morn,
Shake hands, how-how, then hesitate.
You first look fluttered, then forlorn.
You cannot speak. You know the great
Eternal question now is done.
Six thousand years men met together
And calmly talked about the weather,
But now, the papers run the sun.
A man asks, ‘Will it rain to-day?’
Give him two cents and go your way.
Shake hands, how-how, then hesitate.
You first look fluttered, then forlorn.
You cannot speak. You know the great
Eternal question now is done.
Six thousand years men met together
And calmly talked about the weather,
But now, the papers run the sun.
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Give him two cents and go your way.
“And you, my friend, if you had thought
This evening as you galloped out
And hailed a poor newsboy and bought
A first-class paper, why, no doubt
The small investment, sir, had been
A big investment for your tin.
This evening as you galloped out
And hailed a poor newsboy and bought
A first-class paper, why, no doubt
The small investment, sir, had been
A big investment for your tin.
“And this reminds me, by-the-way,
That tin is what we want. I know,
A very common want to-day.
But so extravagant, and so
Exacting are the ladies, and
So many are the needs of men
To hold respect and have a place
In woman's heart—
Ah! madam, I,
I do assure you, I had rather die
Than make offense, or so disgrace
Myself and fellows, as to stand
In your sweet presence here and say
One word against the sex for which
We hazard all. Yes, madam! you
Can hardly think what men pull through
To be illustrious, grand, or rich;
To please you, charm you, win the prize
Of love, in love's enchanting eyes!
That tin is what we want. I know,
A very common want to-day.
But so extravagant, and so
Exacting are the ladies, and
So many are the needs of men
To hold respect and have a place
In woman's heart—
Ah! madam, I,
I do assure you, I had rather die
Than make offense, or so disgrace
Myself and fellows, as to stand
In your sweet presence here and say
One word against the sex for which
We hazard all. Yes, madam! you
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To be illustrious, grand, or rich;
To please you, charm you, win the prize
Of love, in love's enchanting eyes!
“And, sir! I end as I begin,
By hinting, I am out of tin.
But not for self, believe me, sir,
I make demand, but all for her.
By hinting, I am out of tin.
But not for self, believe me, sir,
I make demand, but all for her.
“The ships that plow the foamy track,
The mines that open mouths of gold,
The smoke of battle rolling back,
Enshrouding thousands stark and cold,
The tracking of the trackless climes,
The thousand crowns, the thousand crimes
Of man, the woman-worshiper—
All won or done alone for her.
The mines that open mouths of gold,
The smoke of battle rolling back,
Enshrouding thousands stark and cold,
The tracking of the trackless climes,
The thousand crowns, the thousand crimes
Of man, the woman-worshiper—
All won or done alone for her.
“But, lady, please pass on a pace;
Pray climb that ridge above the moat,
The truth is, being gentle-born, you see,
The presence of a lady's face
It always did embarrass me
Whene'er I meant to cut a throat.
“Nay, nay, pass on. I do but jest.
'Tis one of my rough, playful pranks;
I only have a slight request
To make of this, your gallant knight;
And I, in truth, am too polite
To talk of business in the sight
Of ladies. Ah! thanks, madam, thanks!
I will not keep you long. The night
Is damp. Then 'tis so very late,
'Twere impolite to make you wait.
Pray climb that ridge above the moat,
The truth is, being gentle-born, you see,
The presence of a lady's face
It always did embarrass me
Whene'er I meant to cut a throat.
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'Tis one of my rough, playful pranks;
I only have a slight request
To make of this, your gallant knight;
And I, in truth, am too polite
To talk of business in the sight
Of ladies. Ah! thanks, madam, thanks!
I will not keep you long. The night
Is damp. Then 'tis so very late,
'Twere impolite to make you wait.
“And now, sir, one word with you, I pray,
Be you banker, merchant, what you may;
I read you truly this prophesy.
And profit who may; it is naught to me;
But go on as you go, and your tramps shall be,
In a few years more, your majority.
Your bold, bad merchants of the vote,
The politician with his hand
Clutched tight around the country's throat,
While helpless millions weeping stand
And shiver in their rags before
The silent, closed, and mouldy door,
Of factory and busy mill,
With loom and spindle rusting still
That make sweet melody no more—
These men they nothing risk at all
Save reputation. And take note
That that is most exceeding small.
Now, sir, we pay you our respects
Like men. We rob, but do not lie.
We take your purses openly,
We rob, but also risk our necks.
Be you banker, merchant, what you may;
I read you truly this prophesy.
And profit who may; it is naught to me;
But go on as you go, and your tramps shall be,
In a few years more, your majority.
Your bold, bad merchants of the vote,
The politician with his hand
Clutched tight around the country's throat,
While helpless millions weeping stand
And shiver in their rags before
The silent, closed, and mouldy door,
Of factory and busy mill,
With loom and spindle rusting still
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These men they nothing risk at all
Save reputation. And take note
That that is most exceeding small.
Now, sir, we pay you our respects
Like men. We rob, but do not lie.
We take your purses openly,
We rob, but also risk our necks.
“Ah! so you would proceed. No doubt!
Nay, stop! Stand sir! Stand! Take out
That quick right hand that you have just
This moment in your bosom thrust!
Take out your hand! No? Shall it be
Purse? or pistol? Look at me!
You see I do not flinch. My face
Is lifted unto yours.
My place
Is peril's front. I know not fear.
You have the drop. Then slay me here,
And gallop into town and they
Will name you hero of the day.
Nay, stop! Stand sir! Stand! Take out
That quick right hand that you have just
This moment in your bosom thrust!
Take out your hand! No? Shall it be
Purse? or pistol? Look at me!
You see I do not flinch. My face
Is lifted unto yours.
My place
Is peril's front. I know not fear.
You have the drop. Then slay me here,
And gallop into town and they
Will name you hero of the day.
“Now draw! Shoot centre! deadly, true!
What, sir? Your purse! By heaven, you
Were born a king! Whom can you be,
To bravely spare a man like me?
Where drew you breath?
I know but one—
But one lone man beneath the sun
Who thus could turn and scornfully
Give back the life that clutched at his,
And with it, purse well filled as this.
What, sir? Your purse! By heaven, you
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To bravely spare a man like me?
Where drew you breath?
I know but one—
But one lone man beneath the sun
Who thus could turn and scornfully
Give back the life that clutched at his,
And with it, purse well filled as this.
“And that one man, he wore a chain
For many a long year at my side
In wild Australia.
And that name?
My true chain-fellow—chained in shame—
I speak it with a lofty pride—
'Twas Jain, Sir Jain! Sir Francis Jain!
For many a long year at my side
In wild Australia.
And that name?
My true chain-fellow—chained in shame—
I speak it with a lofty pride—
'Twas Jain, Sir Jain! Sir Francis Jain!
“Nay, nay, my lady! Start not so!
No harm shall happen him, I swear.
Stand back, my men! Now may he go;
There is a wildness in his air
That even I would hardly dare
To trifle with
Stand wide, my men,
And lift your hats with gallant grace:
We shall not see his like again.
Come! let my lantern strike his face!
Now as he gallops from the place;
And note him well, that after this
No harm shall hap to him or his;
And mark—
By heaven, it is Jain!
'Tis Jain, 'tis Jain! Sir Francis Jain!
Come back! Come, take your gold; why, I—
I would not touch it though I die.
No harm shall happen him, I swear.
Stand back, my men! Now may he go;
There is a wildness in his air
That even I would hardly dare
To trifle with
Stand wide, my men,
And lift your hats with gallant grace:
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Come! let my lantern strike his face!
Now as he gallops from the place;
And note him well, that after this
No harm shall hap to him or his;
And mark—
By heaven, it is Jain!
'Tis Jain, 'tis Jain! Sir Francis Jain!
Come back! Come, take your gold; why, I—
I would not touch it though I die.
“You will not turn! Then take the right
Upon the rise. You see the light
Above the city's centre rise
Like London, dashing all the skies?
Then ride for that. Ride straight, and you
Will strike the lighted Avenue;
And mind, sir Jain—Sir Francis Jain,
Some morrow eve we meet again.
This ready gold will guide me through;
I, I, the learned young Greek, and you,
The lion of the Avenue;
I, I, the patriot Greek, denied—
Gods! they are gone! hear how they ride!”
Upon the rise. You see the light
Above the city's centre rise
Like London, dashing all the skies?
Then ride for that. Ride straight, and you
Will strike the lighted Avenue;
And mind, sir Jain—Sir Francis Jain,
Some morrow eve we meet again.
This ready gold will guide me through;
I, I, the learned young Greek, and you,
The lion of the Avenue;
I, I, the patriot Greek, denied—
Gods! they are gone! hear how they ride!”
| The Baroness of New York | |