LIII.
Sudden the door was opened wide,
And entering was seen
His promised bride, so cold, so pale,
She looked like sorrow's queen;
But not with sorrow's bending port,
For pride's sustaining power,
Backed by her conscious rectitude,
Had nerved her for this hour.
She bent her head with haughty grace,
As with a swelling breast,
Scorn darting from her eyes the while,
She thus the youth addressed.
THE BETROTHED (SPEAKS).
“My lord! I trust you will not deem that I
Am swayed by whim, or girlish phantasy,
In what I have to say: I would entreat,
You will not let an empty phantom cheat
Your hopes so far. I were indeed to blame,
If I permitted a false sense of shame
To turn me from what I consider right;
Else, had I gladly shunned my task to-night.
Dream not that whispered malice has the power,
In my esteem, a valued friend to lower.
Scandal I loathe, but I were mad indeed
To friendly caution to refuse all heed;
Or treat with incredulity a tale,
Whose sad relation caused my soul to quail;
A tale in which you played so black a part
(Though I believed you guiltless in my heart),
That it was due to me, no less than you,
To prove the accusation was untrue.
Need I say more? my efforts failed; and why?
Too deep, too patent, was your infamy.
I might have left to fitter lips than mine
The task of stating why I now decline
The honour, which you kindly would confer
On my unworthy self. I know I err
Against ‘the tyrant custom’; but with me
Candour and truth outweigh propriety.
My lord! I own I gave a full assent
To your attentions—nay, was well content
To trust my fate to one who seemed to me,
In heart and feelings, all that man should be.
I saw the mind reflected in the face,
Where, foolish girl, I dreamt that I could trace
A thousand signs of truth's ingenuous grace.
To such a being I engaged my hand;
Not to a serpent who had coldly plann'd
The ruin of a young and trusting heart
By foulest treachery and basest art;
Who, after heaping on her wretched head
The worst of insults, like a coward fled.
Little I guessed, forsooth, that every smile
Was stolen from the victim of your guile;
And I a party to the theft—poor fool!
I was too vain to deem myself a tool.
But I forget my purpose: I am wrong
In giving this wide license to my tongue.
Enough that I refuse a rank to share,
Enough that I disdain a name to bear,
Which have been sullied by such acts as prove
Their owner quite unworthy of my love.
Farewell, my lord! and may that power, who
Absolves our sins, show mercy unto you.
Your wanton crime compels me thus to sever
Our promis'd bond—my lord, adieu for ever!”
