Denzil place a story in verse. By Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] |
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| III. |
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| V. | V. |
| VI. |
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| X. |
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 | Denzil place |  |
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V.
“Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal'd,
I strove against the stream and all in vain;
Let the great river take me to the main:
No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield;
Ask me no more.”
Tennyson.
I strove against the stream and all in vain;
Let the great river take me to the main:
No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield;
Ask me no more.”
Tennyson.
“Ce que les poêtes appellent l'Amour, et les moralistes l'Adultère.”
Ernest Feydeau.
What is it makes the silent hours of night
So sad, so desolate, to those who love?
It cannot be because in lieu of sun,
A paler planet sails aloft in heav'n;
Or that the firmament is prick'd with stars—
Is it, maybe, when half the drowsy world
Are made oblivious by the chains of sleep
To grief, and joy, and love, that thro' some strange
Mysterious compensating natural law,
The other half of human kind, who wake,
Made doubly sensitive, with keener force
Feel those emotions which the sleeping world
Forget in dreams?
So sad, so desolate, to those who love?
It cannot be because in lieu of sun,
A paler planet sails aloft in heav'n;
Or that the firmament is prick'd with stars—
Is it, maybe, when half the drowsy world
Are made oblivious by the chains of sleep
To grief, and joy, and love, that thro' some strange
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The other half of human kind, who wake,
Made doubly sensitive, with keener force
Feel those emotions which the sleeping world
Forget in dreams?
Outside the diamond panes
Of the bay-window'd room where Constance sat
One night in early March, the tempest howled
With all the fury of the Equinox;
Whene'er the wind abated, in a show'r
Of stinging sleet, the noisy midnight rain
Beat on the window. Now and then the fire
(By which she linger'd reading) hissed and smoked
As down the chimney, driven by the wind
There fell a hailing handful of the storm.
Of the bay-window'd room where Constance sat
One night in early March, the tempest howled
With all the fury of the Equinox;
Whene'er the wind abated, in a show'r
Of stinging sleet, the noisy midnight rain
Beat on the window. Now and then the fire
(By which she linger'd reading) hissed and smoked
As down the chimney, driven by the wind
There fell a hailing handful of the storm.
Constance had long been reading, now she paused,
Push'd back her hair, and softly sighing, closed
The finish'd second volume of her book.
The house was silent—the tempestuous voice
Of the conflicting elements without
Made the dim chamber where she sat alone
Seem doubly desolate. A thrill of fear,
She knew not why, crept over ev'ry sense,
(A feeling difficult to realize
In daylight, but which oftentimes at night
Hath chill'd the blood in braver hearts than her's)—
Thinking to scare away this haunting shade
Of an invisible terror, one by one
She lit the candles, stirr'd the dying fire,
And strove to summon fear-dispelling thoughts;
As thus she ponder'd, suddenly there rose
The long-denied and heart-forbidden dream,
Flashing across her mind; she seem'd to hear
With sad distinctness ev'ry silent tone
Of that dear voice—that well remember'd face
Arose so plainly to her memory
She long'd to call upon this shadow-man
To speak—to move, to show himself indeed
To her expectant eyes!
Push'd back her hair, and softly sighing, closed
The finish'd second volume of her book.
The house was silent—the tempestuous voice
Of the conflicting elements without
Made the dim chamber where she sat alone
Seem doubly desolate. A thrill of fear,
She knew not why, crept over ev'ry sense,
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In daylight, but which oftentimes at night
Hath chill'd the blood in braver hearts than her's)—
Thinking to scare away this haunting shade
Of an invisible terror, one by one
She lit the candles, stirr'd the dying fire,
And strove to summon fear-dispelling thoughts;
As thus she ponder'd, suddenly there rose
The long-denied and heart-forbidden dream,
Flashing across her mind; she seem'd to hear
With sad distinctness ev'ry silent tone
Of that dear voice—that well remember'd face
Arose so plainly to her memory
She long'd to call upon this shadow-man
To speak—to move, to show himself indeed
To her expectant eyes!
It was as tho'
The room was full of Geoffrey—all the air
Seem'd heavy with his presence, tho' unseen
It was as if his spirit hover'd near—
So near it seem'd, that o'er her heart a dread
Crept like an icy blast, for she had heard
That oftentimes ere mortals leave the earth
Their spirits hover thus a little while,
Making the influence of their presence felt
By those who lov'd them; oh, if he had died!
If somewhere far away, with land and sea
And mountain-ridges rising up between
Their sunder'd hearts, his thoughts had turned to her,
And thro' some subtle nameless agency
His soul, upon the wings of his desire
Had flown to nestle near her, ere it rose
Above all human loves? In vain she tried
To wake some more substantial train of thought
Instead of this unreasonable dread
Of the impossible. Alas, her book
(A simple story of a city life—
The wholesome history of honest toil,
Inventions, strivings after modest fame
Amongst the smoke of London,) she had read.
It was a book the very thought of which
Would exorcise perforce all foolish fears
Of midnight phantoms, bringing as it did
Such unromantic scenes of common life
Before the mind, unsentimental—real—
She took it up, and listlessly turn'd o'er
The pages she had read, then starting up
Bethought her that the third last volume lay
Upon the sofa in the library
Where she had left it with her worsted work
Some hours ago—
The room was full of Geoffrey—all the air
Seem'd heavy with his presence, tho' unseen
It was as if his spirit hover'd near—
So near it seem'd, that o'er her heart a dread
Crept like an icy blast, for she had heard
That oftentimes ere mortals leave the earth
Their spirits hover thus a little while,
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By those who lov'd them; oh, if he had died!
If somewhere far away, with land and sea
And mountain-ridges rising up between
Their sunder'd hearts, his thoughts had turned to her,
And thro' some subtle nameless agency
His soul, upon the wings of his desire
Had flown to nestle near her, ere it rose
Above all human loves? In vain she tried
To wake some more substantial train of thought
Instead of this unreasonable dread
Of the impossible. Alas, her book
(A simple story of a city life—
The wholesome history of honest toil,
Inventions, strivings after modest fame
Amongst the smoke of London,) she had read.
It was a book the very thought of which
Would exorcise perforce all foolish fears
Of midnight phantoms, bringing as it did
Such unromantic scenes of common life
Before the mind, unsentimental—real—
She took it up, and listlessly turn'd o'er
The pages she had read, then starting up
Bethought her that the third last volume lay
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Where she had left it with her worsted work
Some hours ago—
She almost fear'd to pass
In her “uncanny” superstitious mood
The row of staring Denzils on the walls
Of the deserted corridor, but yet
Knowing how foolish were such childish fears,
She wrapp'd herself in a long flowing robe
Which made her seem herself a lovely ghost,
And taking up her candle, flitted thro'
The quiet passage—down the flight of stairs,
And pushing noiselessly the oaken doors
She glided quickly thro' the silent room
To where she saw the volume of her book.
In her “uncanny” superstitious mood
The row of staring Denzils on the walls
Of the deserted corridor, but yet
Knowing how foolish were such childish fears,
She wrapp'd herself in a long flowing robe
Which made her seem herself a lovely ghost,
And taking up her candle, flitted thro'
The quiet passage—down the flight of stairs,
And pushing noiselessly the oaken doors
She glided quickly thro' the silent room
To where she saw the volume of her book.
As she advanced she heard a rustling sound,
At first she thought “it is the midnight wind
“Driving against the dripping window-ledge
“Some spray of ivy,” then, her heart stood still,
And all her life's warm blood seem'd turn'd to ice
As she beheld, not far from where she stood,
The stooping figure of a man, who knelt
Carefully searching thro' the title-deeds
And papers which an iron case contain'd
Mark'd with the much lov'd name.
At first she thought “it is the midnight wind
“Driving against the dripping window-ledge
“Some spray of ivy,” then, her heart stood still,
And all her life's warm blood seem'd turn'd to ice
As she beheld, not far from where she stood,
The stooping figure of a man, who knelt
Carefully searching thro' the title-deeds
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Mark'd with the much lov'd name.
“A thief!” she thought,
And stood amazed and petrified with fear—
Tho' speechless, from her terror-stricken lips
Escaped a gasp of horror—then the man
Rose to his feet, and look'd her in the face—. . . .
She utter'd one low incoherent cry
And fainting, fell in Geoffrey Denzil's arms.
When she recover'd consciousness, her head
And stood amazed and petrified with fear—
Tho' speechless, from her terror-stricken lips
Escaped a gasp of horror—then the man
Rose to his feet, and look'd her in the face—. . . .
She utter'd one low incoherent cry
And fainting, fell in Geoffrey Denzil's arms.
Was resting on his breast—against her own
His cheek was press'd, and on her mouth she felt
The ardent lips of her too well-belov'd
Kissing her back to life, and heard his words
Thrill thro' her being, as he murmur'd thus—
“My love, my life! my love whom I have lov'd
So long, so tenderly, ah, look at me!
Speak to me! say again those blissful words
You said when you believ'd I heard them not!”
(So, he had heard!) “Ah, darling, ere I go
“Leaving behind me all I love so well,
“Oh, let me know that she who is to me
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“Has been to me but once my very own!
“Surely the marriage vows we may not break
“Are such as our's had been if God had will'd
“That we had met before, and now could live
“Join'd heart and soul and body, till we died—
“God knows that I have wrestled with my love
“As Jacob with the angel, or as man
“May wrestle with a fiend sent here to tempt
“His soul astray, I tore myself from home
“And only came to it again by stealth
“As would a thief, so that I might not meet
“So sweet a snare as lurks in these dear eyes—
“But now some stronger, some more subtle pow'r
“Than I possess, has will'd that we should meet
“Here in the dead of night, where none can see,
“In this deserted room, now face to face
“I find my love alone—I hold her fast—
“Ah, can I be of earth—of flesh and blood—
“Can I be mortal man, and let her go?”
“Geoffrey, have mercy!” 'twas an anguish'd cry
As of a terror-stricken hind at bay,
As, all defenceless, lock'd in his embrace
She strove to thrust away his eager lips,
Feeling his hot breath on her trembling cheek
And in amongst her loosely knotted hair,
And the wild beating of his desp'rate heart
Out-throbbing her's.
As of a terror-stricken hind at bay,
As, all defenceless, lock'd in his embrace
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Feeling his hot breath on her trembling cheek
And in amongst her loosely knotted hair,
And the wild beating of his desp'rate heart
Out-throbbing her's.
Alas, her strength was gone!
As a long pent-up river breaks its banks
And rushes madly onward to the sea,
So did the heart of Constance overleap
Its breastwork of resolves, uprais'd with tears
And many pray'rs, and heedless as the stream
Rush'd on to meet the ocean of his love,
To mingle with it, sinking soul and sense
In those enchanted waters.
As a long pent-up river breaks its banks
And rushes madly onward to the sea,
So did the heart of Constance overleap
Its breastwork of resolves, uprais'd with tears
And many pray'rs, and heedless as the stream
Rush'd on to meet the ocean of his love,
To mingle with it, sinking soul and sense
In those enchanted waters.
By and bye
A noise as of a gently closing door
Made Geoffrey start; Constance, as one entranced,
Lay passive in the prison of his arms,
Feeling some new delicious languor steal
Over her senses, blinding, deafening,
A “death in life.”
A noise as of a gently closing door
Made Geoffrey start; Constance, as one entranced,
Lay passive in the prison of his arms,
Feeling some new delicious languor steal
Over her senses, blinding, deafening,
A “death in life.”
“Some one is passing near,”
He whisper'd, “Darling, for the love of heav'n
See that you gain your chamber unobserv'd—
I will not stay to work you harm, by morn
I shall be miles away.” She held his hand
As tho' to let him guide her to the door,
Then, turning, said as in a waking dream,
Looking as pale and haggard as a ghost,
“Remember me sometimes.”
He whisper'd, “Darling, for the love of heav'n
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I will not stay to work you harm, by morn
I shall be miles away.” She held his hand
As tho' to let him guide her to the door,
Then, turning, said as in a waking dream,
Looking as pale and haggard as a ghost,
“Remember me sometimes.”
“My love, my life,
“My only darling,” Geoffrey cried, and press'd
Once more his hungry loving lips to hers;
“I never can forget you whilst I live—
“Good night—good-bye.”
“My only darling,” Geoffrey cried, and press'd
Once more his hungry loving lips to hers;
“I never can forget you whilst I live—
“Good night—good-bye.”
As a somnambulist
Treads without seeing, so did Constance walk
Towards her lonely chamber; in the hearth
A few expiring embers now and then
Crack'd forth a sign of life. The candles still
Were flick'ring, but a regiment of dwarfs
Compared to what they had been when she left—
This told her first she had been long away,
For in her fever'd brain the flight of Time
She could not calculate;—so mad, so swift
Were those enchanted moments; yet a life,
Nay more, it seem'd a whole eternity
Of wild emotion, passion, ecstacy,
Had pass'd since those four tapers first were lit!
She saw some flow'rs she gather'd yesterday
Treads without seeing, so did Constance walk
Towards her lonely chamber; in the hearth
A few expiring embers now and then
Crack'd forth a sign of life. The candles still
Were flick'ring, but a regiment of dwarfs
Compared to what they had been when she left—
This told her first she had been long away,
For in her fever'd brain the flight of Time
She could not calculate;—so mad, so swift
Were those enchanted moments; yet a life,
Nay more, it seem'd a whole eternity
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Had pass'd since those four tapers first were lit!
Unfaded, tho' it seemed so long ago,
She went towards her glass half absently,
And gazed and started, for her face looked changed—
The air of child-like innocence was gone—
She groan'd aloud, and falling on her knees
She cover'd with her white and trembling hands
What seem'd the fair accomplice of her guilt.
How long she thus remain'd she did not know,
But when she saw the first faint struggling ray
Of morning, dazed, and shivering with cold
She rose from off her knees, look'd out, and saw
A wintry sun rise on her new-born life,
(For so it seem'd). Her flimsy dressing-gown
Was blown aside, and the chill morning air
Breathed on her heart, but still she stood, and look'd
As might a statue. All at once she heard
A sound as of a passing horse's hoofs—
The laurels hid the rider, but she knew
That it was Geoffrey, faithful to his word,
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Till then she had not analyzed her thoughts,
They all had been so wild with self-reproach,
But now an uncontrollable desire
To follow him who “lov'd and rode away”
Made her outstretch her empty aching arms
Towards the spot wherefrom the dying sound
Was now but faintly echo'd; then to heav'n
She raised them pleadingly, with clasping hands,
And in her desolation cried aloud
“God bless my darling wheresoe'er he goes!”
| Denzil place | |