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77
LADY ALICE'S SHRIFT.
“I am not prone to weeping,
as our sex Commonly are—
—But I have that grief lodged here which burns
Worse than tears drown.”
Shakespeare.
as our sex Commonly are—
—But I have that grief lodged here which burns
Worse than tears drown.”
Shakespeare.
[PART I.]
Come to me, little Sister, thine arms around me twine,
And press upon my fever'd cheek that smooth bright cheek of thine;
And fold my burning hands in thine that are so cool and soft,
And kiss me, little sister, kiss me tenderly and oft:
And press upon my fever'd cheek that smooth bright cheek of thine;
And fold my burning hands in thine that are so cool and soft,
And kiss me, little sister, kiss me tenderly and oft:
Thy kisses are so close and kind, they seem to dull the pain
They know not of—upon my heart they fall like summer rain;
They fall where all is parched and dry—oh! soft and kind are they,
But they cannot draw the arrow forth, or charm its hurt away!
They know not of—upon my heart they fall like summer rain;
They fall where all is parched and dry—oh! soft and kind are they,
But they cannot draw the arrow forth, or charm its hurt away!
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I watched thee in thy sleep last night, when thou didst rise and say,
“What of the Revel, Sister? did ye dance until the day?”
And clasped thine arms about my neck half consciously, and then,
E'en with the smile upon thy face, sank back in sleep again;
“What of the Revel, Sister? did ye dance until the day?”
And clasped thine arms about my neck half consciously, and then,
E'en with the smile upon thy face, sank back in sleep again;
And stirred no more till thou didst wake all rosy with the morn;
The Morn! I watched it slowly glide and glimmer into dawn,
With set and sleepless eyes; yet, oh! more happy not to know
The sharp return to sense of ill—the wakening to woe!
The Morn! I watched it slowly glide and glimmer into dawn,
With set and sleepless eyes; yet, oh! more happy not to know
The sharp return to sense of ill—the wakening to woe!
The day is past, I know not how, and it is night again;
I did not think to speak, nor cast the shadow of my pain
On that young heart of thine, but love for me hath made it wise,
And there is soothing in thy voice, and comfort in thine eyes;
I did not think to speak, nor cast the shadow of my pain
On that young heart of thine, but love for me hath made it wise,
And there is soothing in thy voice, and comfort in thine eyes;
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And the darkness and the silence for my spirit are too strong;
My heart, it is a Fear to me, a place where spectres throng,
And whisper it—and doleful things have made their dwelling there,
I dare not sit alone with them, to commune with Despair;
My heart, it is a Fear to me, a place where spectres throng,
And whisper it—and doleful things have made their dwelling there,
I dare not sit alone with them, to commune with Despair;
And yet it is a little while, a little while—a day,
Since it fluttered light within my breast, and trifles made it gay.
I see the mirror where I stood last night, and lingered there,
Well pleased to hear thee jest and say, I never looked so fair;
Since it fluttered light within my breast, and trifles made it gay.
I see the mirror where I stood last night, and lingered there,
Well pleased to hear thee jest and say, I never looked so fair;
Oh! what a world of hopes and fears lay hid beneath the smile,
I heard thee with and spoke not—thought was all so sweet the while:
There is no vanity in Love,—yet fain it would be fair,
It would be all things for the loved, and I knew He would be there!
I heard thee with and spoke not—thought was all so sweet the while:
There is no vanity in Love,—yet fain it would be fair,
It would be all things for the loved, and I knew He would be there!
80
He had been absent, silent long, and absence is unkind,
And on the mist that silence draws about the heart and mind
Cold shadows flit, and formless doubts loom dim, but these I knew
Would scatter at his greeting smile, as when the sun breaks through;
And on the mist that silence draws about the heart and mind
Cold shadows flit, and formless doubts loom dim, but these I knew
Would scatter at his greeting smile, as when the sun breaks through;
Thou know'st that picture in the Hall, the lady like a Bride,
So bright and queenly, with her lip of sweetness and of pride;
There is a legend writ beneath—a bleeding heart in twain,—
Yet on her brow a look that tells the story far more plain,
So bright and queenly, with her lip of sweetness and of pride;
There is a legend writ beneath—a bleeding heart in twain,—
Yet on her brow a look that tells the story far more plain,
Of how, within these halls she trod a measure out, nor stayed
For deathful tidings crowding fast, of love and trust betrayed,
And friends betraying,—still she moved with steady step and eye,
And chid the music for its pause “sound, like my heart, sound high.”
For deathful tidings crowding fast, of love and trust betrayed,
And friends betraying,—still she moved with steady step and eye,
And chid the music for its pause “sound, like my heart, sound high.”
81
She was a Daughter of our House, her eyes were on my soul
Last night, they followed me, their light was as a fiery scroll,
I read in them “Dance! dance thy youth, thy bloom, thy life away,
Thou never canst be happy more, it is well thou shouldst be gay.”
Last night, they followed me, their light was as a fiery scroll,
I read in them “Dance! dance thy youth, thy bloom, thy life away,
Thou never canst be happy more, it is well thou shouldst be gay.”
Dance, till the flowers fall from thy brow and wither on thy breast;
“Dance, wherefore shouldst Thou stay or pause, that never more mayst rest?
Our lot is one.—Dance on, dance on, thou dost but end the show
And close the measure that I trod two hundred years ago.”
“Dance, wherefore shouldst Thou stay or pause, that never more mayst rest?
Our lot is one.—Dance on, dance on, thou dost but end the show
And close the measure that I trod two hundred years ago.”
Not so; she died,—her spirit passed in that proud smile, and I—
Oh! Sister, there is that in me that cannot rest or die;
The grave is full of quietness—forgetfulness is deep,
And Death is far away from me, as far away as Sleep!
Oh! Sister, there is that in me that cannot rest or die;
The grave is full of quietness—forgetfulness is deep,
And Death is far away from me, as far away as Sleep!
82
I must move on, as then I moved, when on my ear fell words
Light spoken by a stranger tongue, yet were they very swords;
I turned and saw him in the throng, and One was by his side,
(It needed not those words to tell) his fair affianced Bride.
Light spoken by a stranger tongue, yet were they very swords;
I turned and saw him in the throng, and One was by his side,
(It needed not those words to tell) his fair affianced Bride.
Yet I danced on as if I trod on air, my cheek was bright,
And ready smiles came to my lip, and fancies gay and light;
Oh! Pride has martyrdoms whereon no pitying eye looks down,
The thorn without the fadeless Rose, the cross without the Crown!
And ready smiles came to my lip, and fancies gay and light;
Oh! Pride has martyrdoms whereon no pitying eye looks down,
The thorn without the fadeless Rose, the cross without the Crown!
We met; her eyes were raised to mine, I heard her whisper then
“Who is that lovely lady?” what answer came again
I know not: she is young like Thee, and innocent and gay,—
Yet I am young; at least it seems I was so yesterday:
“Who is that lovely lady?” what answer came again
I know not: she is young like Thee, and innocent and gay,—
Yet I am young; at least it seems I was so yesterday:
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And I am fair; at least I am the same; there is no trace
Of change in aught that once he thought so lovely in my face;
There is no change in aught within that made me dear before;
The same? Yes! I am still the same, and therefore prized no more.
Of change in aught that once he thought so lovely in my face;
There is no change in aught within that made me dear before;
The same? Yes! I am still the same, and therefore prized no more.
Yet I was prized; I was beloved; I was not all deceived,
And something was in very deed of all that I believed;
There was exchange that hath gone on since times that were of old,
When the trader gives his glittering beads for the simple Indian's gold!
And something was in very deed of all that I believed;
There was exchange that hath gone on since times that were of old,
When the trader gives his glittering beads for the simple Indian's gold!
And mine was given; it comes not back; though trampled in the dust,
It bears the image on it stamped in days of hope and trust;
The fond, false faith so quickly learnt, the heart unlearneth slow,—
For the soul hath loved Idols, and after them will go,
It bears the image on it stamped in days of hope and trust;
The fond, false faith so quickly learnt, the heart unlearneth slow,—
For the soul hath loved Idols, and after them will go,
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Yea! though they turn to its decay! through all the shower of pain
That falls like fire upon my heart, I seem to hear again
Words whispered softly,—only words,—vain echoes from a day,
That never can return again, yet will not pass away.
That falls like fire upon my heart, I seem to hear again
Words whispered softly,—only words,—vain echoes from a day,
That never can return again, yet will not pass away.
All things have end, the night wore on, I wished not for its close
Oh! for the wretched there is nought so dreadful as repose;
The dull slow torture of the mind, the fever-pangs that fill
The heavy blank that is not rest: I would be dancing still!
Oh! for the wretched there is nought so dreadful as repose;
The dull slow torture of the mind, the fever-pangs that fill
The heavy blank that is not rest: I would be dancing still!
I was like some poor houseless One, that through a splendid town
With sad and undelighted eye still wanders up and down,
With listless step that nothing seeks, nor cares where it may roam,
Yet must move ever on, because he knows he has no Home!
With sad and undelighted eye still wanders up and down,
With listless step that nothing seeks, nor cares where it may roam,
Yet must move ever on, because he knows he has no Home!
85
There was a crowd about the door; I saw a child that took
His mother by the gown, a child with wan and wasted look:
“That is an angel, (low he spoke) you may know her by her hair,
Ask her when she goes back to Heaven to take us with her there.”
His mother by the gown, a child with wan and wasted look:
“That is an angel, (low he spoke) you may know her by her hair,
Ask her when she goes back to Heaven to take us with her there.”
The mother shook her head, and smiled a care-worn smile, and then
Looked from me to her sickly child, and back to me again,
With eyes that wandered from my face to scan my robe's rich fold,
And rested longest on the furs that wrapt me from the cold,
Looked from me to her sickly child, and back to me again,
With eyes that wandered from my face to scan my robe's rich fold,
And rested longest on the furs that wrapt me from the cold,
With wistful gaze that measured then by silken robe and gem
How far was I from want and woe, from all that weighed on them:
Poor Child! Poor Mother! then I thought, if envy be your sin,
Soon would your spirits be assoiled, could ye but look within!
How far was I from want and woe, from all that weighed on them:
Poor Child! Poor Mother! then I thought, if envy be your sin,
Soon would your spirits be assoiled, could ye but look within!
86
II. PART II.
“Only the firmest and most constant hearts
God sets to act the stoutest, hardest parts.”
Old Play.
God sets to act the stoutest, hardest parts.”
Old Play.
Softly she turned to her sister fair,
Fondly she kissed her on brow and cheek,
Silent, as on her spirit there
Struggled a thought that she could not speak;
Only she looked on a Rose, and said
“Soon was the flower of its bloom bereft,
Yet cast it not, fading, away for dead,
Still in its leaves may be sweetness left!”
Fondly she kissed her on brow and cheek,
Silent, as on her spirit there
Struggled a thought that she could not speak;
Only she looked on a Rose, and said
“Soon was the flower of its bloom bereft,
Yet cast it not, fading, away for dead,
Still in its leaves may be sweetness left!”
Softly she spake with herself alone,
“Courage, my heart, and fail not yet,
Strive! for not yet is the Day thine own,
Thou hast forgiven, thou must forget!
Ere thou hadst found thee a star to guide,
Dark were the seas that were thine to cross,
Strongly against thee set in the tide:
Now thou art safe, yet hast suffered loss!
“Courage, my heart, and fail not yet,
Strive! for not yet is the Day thine own,
Thou hast forgiven, thou must forget!
Ere thou hadst found thee a star to guide,
Dark were the seas that were thine to cross,
Strongly against thee set in the tide:
Now thou art safe, yet hast suffered loss!
87
“Sore hath the battle against thee gone,
Keen were the arrows within thee set
Ere thou hadst girded thine armour on,
And oft will the archers vex thee yet;
Ere thou hadst found thee a shelter, stern
Gathered the storm o'er thy pathway; long
After the rain will the clouds return,
And thou must onwards, so yet be strong.”
Keen were the arrows within thee set
Ere thou hadst girded thine armour on,
And oft will the archers vex thee yet;
Ere thou hadst found thee a shelter, stern
Gathered the storm o'er thy pathway; long
After the rain will the clouds return,
And thou must onwards, so yet be strong.”
Softly she prayed with herself alone,
“Father! forgive me, that with my lot
Wrestling in darkness, I strove with Thee,
Blindly and vainly, and knew it not!
Yet have my words against Thee been strong;
Now will I humble my soul to dust,
Lord! unto Thee have I done this wrong,
Not that I grieved o'er a broken trust—
“Father! forgive me, that with my lot
Wrestling in darkness, I strove with Thee,
Blindly and vainly, and knew it not!
Yet have my words against Thee been strong;
Now will I humble my soul to dust,
Lord! unto Thee have I done this wrong,
Not that I grieved o'er a broken trust—
“Had I not grieved, I had never loved;
(Sore may we weep and yet not repine)
But that I looked upon woe unmoved,
Saying ‘there never was grief like mine:’
But that I turned with a mind estranged
From all that thou gavest me yet to hold,
When once I had seen it grow dim and changed,
The Love that I stored in my heart for gold:
(Sore may we weep and yet not repine)
But that I looked upon woe unmoved,
Saying ‘there never was grief like mine:’
But that I turned with a mind estranged
From all that thou gavest me yet to hold,
When once I had seen it grow dim and changed,
The Love that I stored in my heart for gold:
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“Yet Thou wilt pardon; with Thee above
Still is there mercy, that fails below;
Thou that didst give to the heart its Love,
Thou that dost send to the heart its Woe,
Knowest alone what it hath to bear,
Wilful and weak,—and Thou waitest long
Till it return from its wild despair,
And Thou art patient, for Thou art strong.”
Still is there mercy, that fails below;
Thou that didst give to the heart its Love,
Thou that dost send to the heart its Woe,
Knowest alone what it hath to bear,
Wilful and weak,—and Thou waitest long
Till it return from its wild despair,
And Thou art patient, for Thou art strong.”
Not like the Dweller that day and night
Wounding himself among tombs, made moan
Over the grave of a lost delight,
Yet had her spirit a chamber lone;
Where, like the Ruler of old, that kept
Till he might reach it, a steadfast mien,
Oft she withdrew for a while, and wept;
Leaving it still with a brow serene.
Wounding himself among tombs, made moan
Over the grave of a lost delight,
Yet had her spirit a chamber lone;
Where, like the Ruler of old, that kept
Till he might reach it, a steadfast mien,
Oft she withdrew for a while, and wept;
Leaving it still with a brow serene.
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