University of Virginia Library

Yes, thou art there,
Hated one, loathëd one! 'Twas a brave blow,
Crushing the sneer on thy lips, and thy brow
With its bland mockery! Friend, thou art now
Lying—well know I the spot—the soft light
Basks on the quiet wave, sunny and bright,
But deep down below,—full ten fathoms and more,
Is a grim jagged rock, and its shadow falls o'er
A pool, black and slimy, the horrible lair
Of monsters so loathly, no mortal could bear
To behold them, unmaddened—and friend, thou art there!
Thou art there, with no light save the light of thy smile—
Save the light of the sneer on thy white face the while,
Which death hath given back to thee.

Fast to the shore,
When that brave blow was struck, I departed—my oar
Clove the calm waters, that sparkled with glee,
But were sullen and dull when I passed there with thee;
And the moon, through the silver clouds, peered from her throne,
And smiled to behold me returning—alone.

I walked in the world with a bold, upright brow;
I was free. Who should daunt me? No creature save thou!
So I rode on the sward, and I danced in the hall—
I wooed man's belovëd, whom—God's love befall!
And the crafty ones greeted me smoothly the while,
And their stately fair daughters spake soft with a smile:
I was free—through the street, the piazza, the square,
I passed, and I repassed, and—thou wert not there!

But friend, shall I whisper a truth in thine ear!
Aha! there's no change in that icy cold sneer—
Still writhing and curling! Sweet friend, I can guess,
There'll be joy in its bitterness, when I confess
That not finding thee in street, piazza, or square,
My wierd thought crossed the water to visit thee, where
Deep down in the darkness, ten fathoms and more,
The grim jagged rock, in its horrow, leans o'er
The pool, black and slimy—each hour of the day,
And the dream-haunted night, that wierd thought went its way
On its terrible errand unresting, full fain
By the light of its dread, to behold thee again;
And it saw thee! Saw! good Saints! for ever and aye
It seeth thee, just as thou wert that bright day,
When the doom overtook thee—the same glassy eye
That glared on me with a mute curse for reply;
And the thin lips that strove all their venom to pour,
And grinned, when Fate sealed them, and mocked me the more;
And all the fierce washing of seas in their flow
Hath failed to erase the blood stains from thy brow!

But to-day, I remember me, friend, I must stand
At the altar, troth-plighted, to win the white hand
Of the bride I have chosen—to clasp it in mine—
In mine . . in this hand!—how her beauty would pine,
And her joys drop away from her, scathed by despair,
Could she read the red history God seeth there!
What shrieks through the gray minster aisles would be ringing,
To stop the priest's prayer, and the choristers' singing!

Hark, her voice! She doth seek me—'twas strange, but last night
I dreamed that I roamed with her 'neath the moon's light
On the sands of the beach—and anon, that my oar
Was cleaving the water, far out from the shore.
On, on! the wind howled—though no cloud could be seen
In the sky, and the sweet stars were shining serene.
On, on! the wind ceased—not a sound stirred the air,
And my heart died within me—I felt we were ..there!
And there, fate-encompassed, methought I drew near
To my bride, and with shuddering lips, in her ear
Breathed the truth in its blackness—when sudden, a cry
Of horror and agony went up on high
To the gate of God's heaven!—a plash in the sea—
A young ghostly face, that glared upward at me,
Who sat, palsy-stricken—a low bubbling groan,
And thou,—ay, thou sawest me, left there .. alone.
For I looked o'er the boat-side, and clear to my sight
Grew the water-depths—gleams of a strange lurid light
Came and went, and I saw the sea-sprites holding out
Their long arms to clasp me, a wild fiendish rout;
But down deeper, deeper, the huge rock uprose,
And just then, those strange flashes sufficed to disclose
In the gloom of its shadow, all ghastly and grim,
The pool, the black pool—I looked over its brim,
And lo! for a moment revealed to my view,
I saw two—I saw two!
And the death from thy rigid fixed features had fled,
And the eyes that met mine burned with fierce joy instead,
And thine arm—how my soul in its torment made moan!—
Thine arm, round my lost one, in triumph was thrown!

This white plume—I'll wear it to-day—'twill proclaim
How clear my soul's record, how spotless my fame;
And these flowers, they will whisper—true prophets are flowers—
Of the sunshine and happiness that must be ours.
And the Curse! O false mocker, ere long thou shalt see
How I'll bury it deep in that black pool with thee!