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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/13052-0.txt b/13052-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5c633db --- /dev/null +++ b/13052-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3567 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13052 *** + +THE MISTRESS OF THE MANSE + +BY + +J. G. HOLLAND + + + + + +NEW YORK + +SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO + +1874 + + + + +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by + +SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., + +In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. + + + + + + +JOHN V. TROW & SON, + +PRINTERS AND BOOKBINDERS, + +205-213 East 12th St., + +NEW YORK. + + + + +CONTENTS. + +PRELUDE +LOVE'S EXPERIMENTS +LOVE'S PHILOSOPHIES +LOVE'S CONSUMMATIONS + + + + +LOVE'S EXPERIMENTS. + + + + + I. + + A fluttering bevy left the gate + With hurried steps, and sped away; + And then a coach with drooping freight, + Wrapped in its film of dusty gray, + Stopped; and the pastor and his mate + + Stepped forth, and passed the waiting door, + And closed it on the gazing street. + "Oh Philip!" She could say no more. + "Oh Mildred! You're at home, my sweet,-- + The old life closed: the new before!" + + "Dinah, the mistress!" And the maid, + Grown motherly with household care + And loving service, and arrayed + In homely neatness, took the pair + Of small gloved hands held out, and paid + + Her low obeisance; then--"this way!" + And when she brought her forth at last, + To him who grudged the long delay, + He found the soil of travel cast, + And Mildred fresh and fair as May. + + + + II + + "This is our little Manse," he said. + "Now look with both your curious eyes + Around, above and overhead, + And seeing all things, realize + That they are ours, and we are wed! + + "Walk through these freshly garnished rooms-- + These halls of oak and tinted pearl-- + And mark the cups of clover-blooms, + Cut fresh, to greet the stranger-girl, + By those whose kindliness illumes + + The house beyond the grace of flowers! + They greet you, mantled by my name, + And rain their tenderness in showers,-- + Responding to the double claim + Of love no longer mine, but ours. + + "This is our parlor, plain and sweet: + Your hands shall make it half divine. + That wide, old-fashioned window-seat + Beneath your touch shall grow a shrine; + And every nooklet and retreat, + + And every barren ledge and shelf, + Shall wear a charm beyond the boon + Of treasure-bearing drift, or delf, + Or dreams that flutter from the moon; + For it shall blossom with yourself. + + "This is my study: here, alone, + Prayerful to Him whom I adore, + And gathering speech to make him known, + Your far, quick footsteps on the floor, + Your breezy robe, your cheerful tone, + + As through our pretty home you speed + The busy ministries of life, + Will stir me swifter than my creed, + And be more musical, dear wife, + Than sweep of harp, or pipe of reed. + + "Here is our fairy banquet hall! + See how it opens to the East, + And looks through elms! The board is small, + But what it bears shall be a feast + At morn, and noon, and evenfall. + + "There will you sit in girlish grace, + And catch, the sunrise in your hair; + And looking at you, from my place, + I shall behold more sweet and fair + The morning in your smiling face. + + "And guests shall come, and guests shall go, + And break with us our daily bread; + And sometime--sometime--do you know? + I hope that--dearest, lift your head; + And let me speak it, soft and low! + + "The grass is sweeter than the ground: + Can love be better than its flowers? + Oh sometime--sometime--in the round + Of coming years, this board of ours + I hope may blossom and abound + + With shining curls, and laughing eyes, + And pleasant jests and merry words, + And questions full of life's surprise, + And light and music, when the birds + Have left us to our gloomy skies. + + "Now mount with me the old oak stair! + This is your chamber--pink and blue! + They asked the color of your hair, + And draped and fitted all for you, + My fine brunette, with tasteful care. + + "The linen is as white as snow; + The flowers are set on every sconce; + And e'en the cushioned pin-heads show + Your formal "welcome," for the nonce, + To the sweet home their hands bestow. + + "Declining to the river's marge, + See, from this window, how the turf + Runs with a thousand flowers in charge + To meet the silver feet of surf + That fly from every passing barge! + + "Along that reach of liquid light + Flies Commerce with her countless keels; + There the chained Titan in his might + Turns slowly round the groaning wheels + That drag her burdens, day and night. + + "And now the red sun flings his kiss + Across its waves from finger-tips + That pause, and grudgingly dismiss + The one he loves to closer lips, + And Moonlight's quiet hour of bliss. + + "And here comes Dinah with the steam + Of evening cups and evening food, + And coal-red berries quenched with cream, + And ministry of homely good + That proves, my dear, we do not dream." + + + + III. + + He heard the long-drawn organ-peal + Within his chapel call to prayer; + And, answering with ready zeal, + He breathed o'er Mildred's weary chair + These words, and sealed them with a seal: + + "Only an hour: but comfort take;-- + This home and I are wholly yours; + And many bosoms fondly ache + To tell you, that while life endures, + You shall be cherished for my sake. + + "So throw your heart's door open wide, + And take in mine as well as me; + Let no poor creature be denied + The grace of tender courtesy + And kindness from the pastor's bride." + + + + + IV. + + The moon came up the summer sky: + "Oh happy moon!" the lady said; + "Men love thee for thyself, but I + Am loved because my life is wed + To one whose message, pure and high, + + Has spread the world's evangel far, + And thrown such radiance through the dark + That men behold him as a star, + And in his gracious coming mark + How beautiful his footsteps are. + + "Oh Moon! dost thou take all thy light + From the great sun so lately gone? + Are there not shapes upon thy white, + That mould and make his sheen thy own, + And charms that soften to the sight + + The ardor of his blinding blaze? + Who loves thee that thou art the sun's? + Who does not give thee sweetest praise + Among the troop of shining ones + That sweep along the heavenly ways? + + "Yet still within the holy place + The altar sanctifies the gift! + Poor, precious gift, that begs for grace! + Oh towering altar! that doth lift + The gift so high, that, in its face, + + It bears no beauty to the thought + Of those who round the altar stand! + Poor, precious gift, that goes for naught + From willing heart and ready hand, + And wins no favor unbesought! + + "The stars are whiter for the blue; + The sky is deeper for the stars; + They give and take in commerce true, + And lend their beauty to the cars + Of downy dusk, that all night through, + + Roll o'er the void on silver wheels; + Yet neither starry sky nor cloud + Is loved the less that it reveals + A beauty all its own, endowed + By all the wealth its beauty steals. + + "Am I a dew-drop in a rose, + With no significance apart? + Must I but sparkle in repose + Close to its folded, fragrant, heart, + Its peerless beauty to disclose? + + "Would I not toil to win his bread, + And give him all I have to give? + Would I not die in his sweet stead, + And die in joy? But I must live; + And, living, I must still be fed + + On love that comes in love's own right. + They must not pet, or pamper me-- + Those who rejoice beneath his light-- + Or pity him, that I can be + So precious in his princely sight." + + With swifter wings, through heart and brain, + The little hour unheeded flew; + And when, behind the blazoned stain + Of saintly vestures, red and blue, + The lights on rose and window-pane + + Within the chapel slowly died, + And figures muffled by the moon + Went shuffling home on either side-- + One seeking her--she said: How soon! + And then the pastor kissed his bride. + + + + V. + + The bright night brightened into dawn; + The shadows down the mountain passed; + And tree and shrub and sloping lawn, + With bending, beaded beauty glassed + In myriad suns the sun that shone! + + The robin fed her nested young; + The swallows bickered 'neath the eaves; + The hang-bird in her hammock swung, + And, tilting high among the leaves, + Her red mate sang alone, or flung + + The dew-drops on her lifted head; + While on the grasses, white and far, + The tents of fairy hosts were spread + That, scared before the morning star, + Had left their reeking camp, and fled. + + The pigeon preened his opal breast; + And o'er the meads the bobolink, + With vexed perplexity confessed + His tinkling gutturals in a kink, + Or giggled round his secret nest. + + With dizzy wings and dainty craft, + In green and gold, the humming-bird + Dashed here and there, and touched and quaffed + The honey-dew, then flashed and whirred, + And vanished like the feathered shaft + + That glitters from a random bow. + The flies were buzzing in the sun, + The bees were busy in the snow + Of lilies, and the spider spun, + And waited for his prey below. + + With sail aloft and sail adown, + And motion neither slow nor swift, + With dark-brown hull and shadow brown, + Half-way between two skies adrift, + The barque went dreaming toward the town. + + 'Twas Sunday in the silent street, + And Sunday in the silent sky. + The peace of God came down to meet + The throng that laid their labor by, + And rested, weary hands and feet. + + Ah, sweet the scene which caught the glance + Of eyes that with the morning woke, + And, from their window in the manse, + Looked up through sprays of elm and oak + Into the sky's serene expanse, + + And off upon the distant wood, + And down into the garden's close, + And over, where his chapel stood + In ivy, reaching to its rose, + Waiting the Sunday multitude! + + + + VI. + + A red rose in her raven hair + Whose curls forbade the plait and braid, + The bride slid down the oaken stair, + And mantled like a bashful maid, + As, seated in the waiting chair, + + Behind the fragrant urn, she poured + The nectar of the morn's repast; + But fairer lady, fonder lord, + In happier hall ne'er broke their fast + With sweeter bread, at prouder board. + + And then they rose with common will, + And sought the parlor, cool and dim. + "Sing, love!" he said. "The birds grow still, + And wait with me to hear your hymn." + She swept a low, preluding trill-- + + A spray of sound--across the keys + That felt her fingers for the first; + And then, from simplest cadences, + A reverent melody she nursed, + And gave it voice in words like these: + + "From full forgetfulness of pain, + From joy to opening joy again, + With bird and flower, and hill and tree, + We lift our eyes and hands, to thee, + To greet thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth + + "That thou dost bathe our souls anew + With balm and boon of heavenly dew, + And smilest in our upward eyes + From the far blue of smiling skies, + We bless thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth! + + "For human love and love divine, + For love of ours and love of thine, + For heaven on earth and heaven above-- + To thee and us twin homes of love-- + We thank thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth! + + "Oh dove-like wings, so wide unfurled + In brooding calm above the world! + Waft us your holy peace, and raise + The incense of our morning praise + Up to our Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth!" + + VII. + + Full fleetly sped the morning hours; + Then, wide upon the country round + A tumult of melodious powers + In tumult of melodious sound + Burst forth from all the village towers. + + With blow on blow, and tone on tone, + And echoes answering everywhere-- + Like bugles from the mountains blown-- + Each sought to whelm the burdened air, + And make the silence all its own. + + In broad, sonorous, silver swells + The air was billowed like the sea; + And listening ears were listening shells + That caught the Sabbath minstrelsy, + And sang it with the singing bells. + + The billows heaved, the billows broke, + The first wild burst went down amain; + The music fell to slower stroke, + And in a rhythmic, bold refrain + The great bells to each other spoke. + + Oh bravely bronze gave forth his word, + And sharply silver made reply, + And every tower and turret stirred + With sounding breath and converse high, + Or paused with waiting ear, and heard. + + And long they talked, as friend to friend; + Then faltered to their closing toll, + Whose long, monotonous repetend, + From every music-burdened bowl + Poured the last drop, and brought the end! + + + + VIII. + + The chapel's chime fell slow and soft, + And throngs slow-marching to its knoll + From village home and distant croft, + With careful feet and reverent soul + Pressed toward the open door, but oft + + Turned curious and expectant eyes + Upon the Manse that stood apart. + There in her quiet, bridal guise + Fair Mildred sat with shrinking heart; + While Philip, bold and over wise, + + And knowing naught of woman's ways, + Smiled at her fears, and could not guess + How one so armored in his praise, + And strong in native loveliness, + Could dread to meet his people's gaze. + + He could not know her fine alarm + When at his manly side she stood, + And, leaning faintly on his arm-- + A dainty slip of womanhood-- + Walked forth where every girlish charm + + Was scanned with prying gaze and glance, + Among the slowly moving crowd + That, greedy of the precious chance, + Read furtively, but half aloud, + The pages of their new romance. + + "A child!" And Mildred caught the word. + "A plaything!" And, another voice: + "Fine feathers, and a Southern bird!" + And still one more; "A parson's choice!" + And trembling Mildred overheard. + + These from the careless or the dull-- + Gossips at best; at wisest, dolts; + And though her quickened ear might cull + From out their whispered thunderbolts + A "lovely!" and a "beautiful!" + + And though sweet mother-faces smiled, + And bows were given with friendly grace, + And many a pleasant little child + Sought sympathy within her face, + Her aching heart was not beguiled. + + She did not see--she only felt-- + As up the staring aisle she walked-- + The critic glances, coldly dealt, + By those who looked, and bent, and talked; + And, even, when at last she knelt + + Alone within the pastor's pew, + And prayed for self-forgetfulness + With deep humility, she knew + She gave her figure and her dress + To careful eyes with closer view. + + + + IX. + + At length she raised her head, and tossed + A burden from her heart, and brain. + She would have love at any cost + Of weary toil and patient pain, + And rightful ease and pleasure lost! + + They could not love her for his sake; + They would not, and her heart forgave. + Why should a woman stoop to take + The poor endowment of a slave, + And like a menial choose to make + + Her master's mantle half her own? + They loved her least who loved him most: + They envied her her little throne! + He who was cherished by a host + Was hers by gift, and hers alone, + + And she would prove her woman's right + To hold the throne to which the king + Had called her, clothing her with white; + And never would she show her ring + To win a loving proselyte! + + These were the thoughts and this the strife + That through her kindling spirit swept, + And wrought her purposes of life; + And powers that waked and powers that slept + Within the sweet and girlish wife. + + Sprang into energy intense, + At touch of an inspiring chrism + That fell on her, she knew not whence, + And lifted her to heroism + Which wrapped her wholly, soul and sense. + + + + X. + + Meanwhile, through all the vaulted space + The organ sent its angels out; + And up and down the holy place + They fanned the cheeks of care and doubt, + And touched each worn and weary face + + With beauty as their wings went by: + Then sailed afar with peaceful sweep, + And, calling heavenward every eye, + Evanished into silence deep-- + The earth forgotten in the sky! + + Then by the sunlight warmly kissed, + Far up, in rainbow glory set, + Rayed round with gold and amethyst, + She saw upon the great rosette + The Saviour's visage, pale and trist. + + "Oh Crown of Thorns!" she softly breathed; + "Oh precious crown of love divine! + Oh brow with trickling life enwreathed! + Oh piercing thorns and crimson sign! + I hold you mine in love bequeathed. + + "But not for sake of these or thee! + I must win love as thou hast won. + The thorns are mine, and all must see, + In sacrifice, and service done, + The loving Lord they love in me." + + + + XI. + + Then, through a large and golden hour + She listened to the golden speech + Of one who held the priceless dower + Of love and eloquence, that reach + And move the hearts of men with power. + + Ah poor the music of the choir + That voiced the Psalter after him! + And strong the prayer that, touched with fire, + Flamed upward, past the seraphim, + And wrapped the throne of his desire! + + She watched and heard as in a dream, + When, in the old, familiar ground + Of sacred truth, he found his theme, + And led it forth, until it wound + Through meadows broad--a swollen stream + + That flashed and eddied in the light, + And fed the grasses at its edge, + Or thundered in its onward might + O'er interposing weir and ledge, + And left them hidden in the white; + + While on it pressed, and, to the eye, + Grew broader, till its breadth became + A solemn river, sweeping by, + That, quick with ships and red with flame, + Reached far away and kissed the sky! + + Strong men were moved as trees are bowed + Before a swift and sounding wind; + And sighs were long and sobs were loud, + Of those who loved and those who sinned, + Among the deeply listening crowd. + + + + XII. + + And Mildred, in the whelming tide + Of thought and feeling, quite forgot + That he who thus had magnified + His office, held a common lot + With her, and owned her as his bride. + + But when, at length, the thought returned + That she was his in plighted truth, + And she with humbled soul discerned + That, though her youth was given to youth, + And love by love was fairly earned, + + She could not match him wing-and-wing + Through all his broad and lofty range, + And feared what passing years might bring + No change for good, but only change + That would degrade her to a thing + + Of homely use and household care, + And love by duty basely kept-- + She bowed her head upon the bare + Cold rail that hid her face, and wept, + And poured her passion in a prayer. + + + + XIII. + + "Oh Father, Father!" thus she prayed: + "Thou know'st the priceless boon I seek! + Before my life, abashed, dismayed, + I stand, with hopeless hands and weak, + Of him and of myself afraid! + + "Teach me and lead me where to find, + Beyond the touch of hand and lip, + That vital charm of heart, and mind + Which, in a true companionship, + My feebler life to his shall bind! + + "His ladder leans upon the sun: + I cannot climb it: give me wings! + Grant that my deeds, divinely done, + May be appraised divinest things, + Though they be little every one. + + "His stride is strong; his steps are high + May not my deeds be little stairs + That, counted swift, shall keep me nigh, + Till at the summit, unawares, + We stand with equal foot and eye? + + "If further down toward Nature's heart + His root is struck, commanding springs + In whose deep life I have no part, + Send me, on recompensing wings, + The rain that gathers where thou art! + + "Oh give me vision to divine + What he with delving hand explores! + Feed me with flame that shall refine + To finest gold the rugged ores + His strong hands gather from the mine! + + "O dearest Father! May no sloth, + Or weakness of my weaker soul, + Delay him in his kingly growth, + Or hold him meanly from the goal + That shines with guerdon for us both!" + + + + XIV. + + Then all arose as if a spell + Had been dissolved for their release, + The while the benediction fell + Which breathed the gentle Master's peace + On all the souls that loved him well. + + And Philip, coming from his place, + Like Moses from the mountain pyre, + Bore on his brow the shining grace + Of one who, in the cloud and fire, + Had met his Maker, face to face. + + And men and women, young and old, + Pressed up to meet him as he came, + And children, by their love made bold, + Grasped both his hands and spoke his name, + And in their simple language told + + Their joy to see his face once more; + While half in pleasure, half in pain, + His bride stood waiting at her door + The passage of the friendly train + That slowly swept the crowded floor. + + Half-bows were tendered and returned; + And welcomes fell from lips and eyes; + But in her heart she meekly spurned + The love that came in love's disguise + Of sympathy--the love unearned. + + + + XV. + + Then out beneath the noon-day sun + Of the old Temple, cool and dim, + She walked beside her chosen one, + And lost her loneliness in him; + But hardly was her walk begun + + When, straight before her in the street, + With tender shock her eye descried + A little child, with naked feet + And scanty dress, that, hollow-eyed, + Looked up and begged for bread to eat. + + Nor pride of place nor dainty spleen + Felt with her heart the sickening shock. + She took the hand so soiled and lean; + And silken robe and ragged frock + Moved side by side across the green. + + She looked for love, and, low and wild, + She found it--looking, too, for love! + So in each other's eyes they smiled, + As, dark brown hand in snowy glove, + The bride led home the hungry child. + + And men and women in amaze + Paused in their homeward steps to see + The bride retreating from their gaze, + Clasped hand in hand with misery; + Then brushed their eyes, and went their ways. + + + + When the long parley found a close, + And, clean and kempt, the little oaf-- + Disburdened of her wants and woes, + And burdened with her wheaten loaf-- + Went forth to minister to those + + Who sent her on her bitter quest, + The bride stood smiling at her door, + And in her happiness confessed + That she had found a friend; nay, more-- + Had entertained a heavenly guest. + + And as she watched her down the street, + With brow grown bright with sunny thought, + And heart o'erfilled with something sweet, + She knew the vagrant child had brought + The blessing of the Paraclete. + + She turned from out the blazing noon, + And sought her chamber's quiet shade, + Like one who had received a boon + She might not show, but which essayed + Expression in a happy croon. + + And then, outleaping from the mesh + Of Memory's net, like bird or bee, + There thrilled her spirit and her flesh + This old half-song, half-rhapsody, + That sang, or said itself, afresh: + + + "Poor little wafer of silver! + More precious to me than its cost! + It was worn of both image and legend, + But priceless because it was lost. + My chamber I carefully swept; + I hunted, and wondered, and wept; + And I found it at last with a cry: + "Oh dear little jewel!" said I; + And I washed it with tears all the day; + Then I kissed it, and put it away. + + "Poor little lamb of the sheepfold! + Unlovely and feeble it grew; + But it wandered away to the mountains, + And was fairer the further it flew. + I followed with hurrying feet + At the call of its pitiful bleat, + And precious, with wonderful charms, + I caught it at last in my arms, + And bore it far back to its keep, + And kissed it and put it to sleep. + + "Poor little vagrant from Heaven! + It wandered away from the fold, + And its weakness and danger endowed it + With value more precious than gold. + Oh happy the day when it came, + And my heart learned its beautiful name! + Oh happy the hour when I fed + This waif of the angels with bread! + And the lamb that the Shepherd had missed + Was sheltered and nourished and kissed!" + + + + XVII. + + To Philip, Mildred was a child, + Or a fair angel, to be kept + From all things earthly undenied, + One who upon his bosom slept, + And only waked to be beguiled + + From loneliness and homely care + By love's unfailing ministry; + No toil of his was she to share, + No burden hers, that should not be + Left for his stronger hands to bear. + + His love enwrapped her as a robe, + Which seemed, by its supernal charm, + To shield from every poisoned probe + Of earthly pain and earthly harm + This one choice creature of the globe. + + The love he bore her lifted him + Into a bright, sweet atmosphere + That filled with beauty to the brim + The world beneath him, far and near, + And stained the clouds that draped its rim. + + Toil was not toil, except in name; + Care was not care, but only means + To feed with holy oil the flame + That warmed her soul, and lit the scenes + Through which her figure went and came. + + Her smile of welcome was his meed; + Her presence was his great reward; + He questioned sadly if, indeed, + He loved more loyally his Lord, + Or if his Lord felt greater need. + + And Mildred, vexed, misunderstood, + Knew all his love, but might not tell + How in his thought, so large and good, + And in his heart, there did not dwell + The measure of her womanhood. + + She knew the girlish charm would fade; + She knew the rapture would abate; + That years would follow when the maid, + Merged in the matron, and sedate + With change, and sitting in the shade + + Of a great nature, would become + As poor and pitiful a thing + As an old idol, and as dumb,-- + A clog upon an upward wing,-- + A value stricken from the sum + + Which a true woman's hand would raise + To mighty numbers, and endow + With kingly power and crowning praise. + She must be mate of his; but how? + And, dreaming of a thousand ways + + Her hands would work, her feet would tread, + She thought to match him as a man! + His books should be her daily bread; + She would run swiftly where he ran, + And follow closely where he led. + + + + XVIII. + + Since time began, the perfect day + Has robbed the morrow of its wealth, + And squandered, in its lavish sway, + The balm and beauty of the stealth, + And left its golden throne in gray. + + So when the Sunday light declined, + A cold wind sprang and shut the flowers + Then vagrant voices, undefined, + Grew louder through the evening hours, + Till the old chimney howled and whined + + As if it were a frightened beast, + That witnessed from its dizzy post + The loathsome forms and grewsome feast + And hideous mirth of ghoul and ghost, + As on they crowded from the East. + + The willow, gathered into sheaves + Of scorpions by spectral arms, + Swung to and fro, and whipped the eaves, + And filled the house with weird alarms + That hissed from all its tortured leaves. + + And in the midnight came the rain;-- + In spiteful needles at the first; + But soon on roof and window-pane + The slowly gathered fury burst + In floods that came, and came again, + + And poured their roaring burden out. + They swept along the sounding street, + Then paused, and then with shriek and shout + Hurtled as if a myriad feet + Had joined the dread and deafening rout. + + But ere the welcome morning broke, + The loud wind fell, though gray and chill + The drizzling rain and drifting smoke + Drove slowly toward the westward hill, + Half hidden in its phantom cloak. + + And through the mist a clumsy smack, + Deep loaded with her clumsy freight, + With shifting boom and frequent tack, + Like a huge ghost that wandered late, + Reeled by upon her devious track. + + + + XIX. + + So Mildred, with prophetic ken, + Saw in the long and rainy day + The dreaded host of friendly men + And friendly women, kept away, + And time for love, and book, and pen. + + But while she looked, with dreaming eyes + And heart content, upon the scene, + She saw a stalwart man arise + Where the wild water lashed the green, + And pause a breath, to signalize + + Some one beyond her stinted view; + Then turn with hurried feet, and straight + The deep, rain-burdened grasses through, + And through the manse's open gate, + Pass to her door. At once she knew + + That some faint soul, in sad extreme, + Had sent for succor to the manse, + And knew its master would redeem + To sacred use the circumstance + That made such havoc of her dream. + + + + XX. + + She saw the quiet men depart, + She saw them leave the river-side, + She saw them brave with sturdy art + The surges of the angry tide, + And disappear; the while her heart + + Sank down in dismal loneliness. + Then came her vexing thoughts again; + And quick, as if she broke duress + Of heavy weariness or pain, + She sought the study's dim recess, + + Where rank on rank, against the wall, + The mighty men of every land + Stood mutely waiting for the call + Of him who, with his single hand, + Had bravely met and mastered all. + + The gray old monarchs of the pen + Looked down with calm, benignant gaze, + And Augustine and Origen + And Ansel justified the ways-- + The wondrous ways--of God with men. + + Among the tall hierophants + Angelical Aquinas stood; + While Witsius held the "Covenants," + And Irenaeus, wise and good, + Couched low his silver-bearded lance + + For strife with heresy and schism, + And Turretin with lordly nod + Gave system to the dogmatism + That analyzed the thought of God + As light is painted by a prism. + + Great Luther, with his great disputes, + And Calvin, with his finished scheme, + And Charnock, with his "Attributes," + And Taylor with his poet's dream + Of theologic flowers and flutes, + + And Thomas Fuller, old and quaint, + And Cudworth, dry with dust of gold, + And South, the sharp and witty saint, + With Howe and Owen--broad and bold-- + And Leighton still without the taint + + Of earth upon his robe of white, + Stood side by side with Hobbes and Locke, + And, braced by many an acolyte, + With Edwards standing on his rock, + And all New England's men of might, + + Whose gifts and offices divine + Had crowned her with a kingly crown, + And solemn doctors from the Rhine, + With Fichte, Kant, and Hegel, down + Through all the long and stately line! + + As Mildred saw the awful host, + She felt within no motive stir + To realize her girlish boast, + And knew they held no more for her + Than if each volume were a ghost. + + + + XXI. + + She sat in Philip's vacant chair, + And pondered long her doubtful way; + And, in her impotent despair, + Lifted her longing eyes to pray, + When on a shelf, far up, and bare, + + She saw an ancient volume lie; + And straight her rising thought was checked. + What were its dubious treasures? Why + Had it been banished from respect, + And from its owner's hand and eye? + + The more she gazed, the stronger grew + The wish to hold it in her hand. + Strange fancies round the volume flew, + And changed the dust their pinions fanned + To atmospheres of red and blue, + + That blent in purple aureole,-- + As if a lymph of sweetest life + Stood warm within a golden bowl, + Crowned with its odor-cloud, and rife + With strength and solace for her soul! + + And there it lay beyond her arm, + And wrought its fine and wondrous spell, + With all its hoard of good or harm, + Till curious Mildred, struggling well, + Surrendered to the mighty charm. + + The steps were scaled for boon or bale, + The book was lifted from its place, + And, bowing to the fragrant grail, + She drank with pleased and eager face + This draught from off an Eastern tale: + + + Selim, the haughty Jehangir, the Conqueror of the Earth, + With royal pomps and pageantries and rites of festal mirth + Was set to celebrate the day--the white day--of his birth. + + His red pavilions, stretching wide, crowned all with globes of gold, + And tipped with pinnacles of fire and streamers manifold, + Flamed with such splendor that the sun at noon looked pale and cold! + + And right and left, along, the plain, far as the eye could gaze, + His nobles and retainers who were tented in the blaze, + Kept revel high in honor of that day of all the days. + + The earth was spread, the walls were hung, with silken fabrics fine, + And arabesque and lotus-flower bore each the broidered sign + Of jewels plucked from land and sea, and red gold from the mine. + + Upon his throne he sat alone, half buried in the gems + That strewed his tapestries like stars, and tipped their tawny hems, + And glittered with the glory of a hundred diadems. + + He saw from his pavilion door the nodding heron plumes + His nobles wore upon their brows, while, from the rosy glooms + Which hid his harem, came low songs, on wings of rare perfumes! + + The elephants, a thousand strong, had passed his dreaming eye, + Caparisoned with golden plates on head and breast and thigh, + And a hundred flashing troops of horse unmarked had thundered by. + + He sat upon old Akbar's throne, the heir of power and fame, + But all his glory was as dust, and dust his wondrous name-- + Swept into air, and scattered far, by one consuming flame! + + For on that day of all the days, and in that festal hour, + He sickened with his glory and grew weary of his power, + And pined to bind upon his breast his harem's choicest flower, + + "Oh Nourmahal! oh Nourmahal! why sit I here," he cried,-- + "The victim of these gaudy shows, and of my haughty pride, + When thou art dearer to my soul than all the world beside! + + "Thy eyes are brighter than the gems piled round gilded seat; + Thy cheeks are softer than the silks that shimmer at my feet, + And purer heart than thine in woman's breast hath never beat! + + "My first love--and my only love--Oh babe of Candahar! + Torn from my boyish arms at first, and, like a silver star + Shining within another heaven, and worshipped from afar, + + "Thou art my own at last, my own! I pine to see thy face; + Come to me, Nourmahal! Oh come, and hallow with thy grace + The glories that without thy love are meaningless and base!" + + He spoke a word, and, quick as light, before him lying prone + A dark-eyed page, with gilded vest and crimson-belted zone, + Looked up with waiting ear to mark the message from the throne. + + "Go summon Nourmahal, my queen; and when her radiance comes, + Bear my command of silence to the vinas and the drums, + And for your guerdon take your choice of all these gilded crumbs." + + He tossed a handful of the gems down where his minion lay, + Who snatched a jewel from the drift, and swiftly sped away + With his command to Nourmahal, who waited to obey. + + But needlessly the mandate fell of silence on the crowd, + For when the Empress swept the path, ten thousand heads were bowed, + And drum and vina ceased their din, and no one spoke aloud. + + As comes the moon from out the sea with her attendant breeze, + As sweeps the morning up the hills and blossoms in the trees, + So Nourmahal to Selim came: then fell upon her knees! + + The envious jewels looked at her with chill, barbaric stare, + The cloth-of-gold she knelt upon grew lusterless and bare, + And all the place was cooler in the darkness of her hair. + + And while she knelt in queenly pride and beauty strange and wild, + And held her breast with both her palms and looked on him and smiled, + She seemed no more of common earth, but Casyapa's child. + + He bent to her as thus she smiled; he kissed her lifted cheek; + "Oh Nourmahal," he murmured low, "more dear than I can speak, + I'm weary of my lonely life: give me the rest I seek." + + She rose and paced the silken floor, as if in mad caprice, + Then paused, and from the Empress changed to improvisatrice, + And wove this song--a golden chain--that led him into peace: + + + Lovely children of the light, + Draped in radiant locks and pinions,-- + Red and purple, blue and white-- + In their beautiful dominions, + On the earth and in the spheres, + Dwell the little glendoveers. + + And the red can know no change, + And the blue are blue forever, + And the yellow wings may range + Toward the white or purple never. + But they mingle free from strife, + For their color is their life. + + When their color dies, they die,-- + Blent with earth or ether slowly-- + Leaving where their spirits lie, + Not a stain, so pure and holy + Is the essence and the thought + Which their fading brings to naught! + + Each contented with the hue + Which indues his wings of beauty, + Red or yellow, white or blue, + Sings the measure of his duty + Through the summer clouds in peace, + And delights that never cease. + + Not with envy love they more + Locks and pinions purple-tinted, + Nor with jealousy adore + Those whose pleasures are unstinted, + And whose purple hair and wings + Give them place with queens and kings. + + When a purple glendoveer + Flits along the mute expanses, + They surround him, far and near, + With their glancing wings and dances, + And do honor to the hue + Loved by all and worn by few. + + In the days long gone, alas! + Two upon a cloud, low-seated, + Saw their pinions in the glass + Of a silver lake repeated. + One was blue and one was red, + And the lovely pair were wed. + + "Purple wings are very fine," + Spoke the voice of Ruby, gently: + "Ay" said Sapphire, "they're divine!"-- + Looking at his blue intently. + "But we're blest," said Ruby, then, + "And we'll not complain like men." + + Sapphire stretched his loving arms, + And she nestled on his bosom, + While his heart inhaled her charms + As the sense inhales a blossom;-- + Drank her wholly, tint and tone, + Blent her being with his own. + + Rapture passed, they raised their eyes, + But were startled into clamor + Of a marvellous surprise! + Was it color! was it glamour! + Purple-tinted, sweet and warm, + Was each wing and folded form! + + Who had wrought it--how it came-- + These were what the twain disputed. + How were mingled smoke and flame + Into royal hue transmuted? + Each was right, the other wrong: + But their quarrel was not long, + + For the moment that their speech + Differed o'er their little story, + Swiftly faded off from each + Every trace of purple glory, + Blue was bluer than before, + And the red was red once more. + + Then they knew that both were wrong, + And in sympathy of sorrow + Learned that each was only strong + In the power to lend and borrow,-- + That the purple never grew + But by grace of red to blue. + + So, embracing in content, + Hearts and wings again united, + Red and blue in purple blent, + And their holy troth replighted, + Both, as happy as the day, + Kissed, and rose, and flew away! + + And for twice a thousand years, + Floating through the radiant ether, + Lived the happy glendoveers, + Of the other, jealous neither,-- + Sapphire naught without the red, + Ruby still by blue bested. + + But when weary of their life, + They came down to earth at even-- + Purple husband, purple wife-- + From the upper deeps of heaven, + And reclined upon the grass, + That their little lives might pass. + + Wing to wing and arms enwreathed, + Sank they from their life's long dreaming;-- + Into earth their souls they breathed; + But when morning's light was streaming, + All their joys and sweet regrets + Bloomed in banks of violets! + + + As from its dimpled fountain, at its own capricious will, + Each step a note of music, and each fall and flash a thrill, + The rill goes singing to the meadow levels and is still, + + So fell from Nourmahal her song upon the captive sense; + It dashed in spray against the throne, it tinkled through the tents, + And died at last among the flowery banks of recompense; + + For when great Selim marked her fire, and read her riddle well, + And watched her from the flushing to the fading of the spell, + He sprang forgetful, from his seat, and caught her as she fell. + + He raised her in his tender arms; he bore her to his throne: + "No more, oh! Nourmahal, my wife, no more I sit alone; + And the future for the dreary past shall royally atone!" + + He called to him the princes and the nobles of the land, + Then took the signet-ring from his, and placed it on her hand, + And bade them honor as his own, fair Nourmahal's command. + + And on the minted silver that his largess scattered wide, + And on the gold of commerce, till the mighty Selim died, + Her name and his in shining boss stood equal, side by side. + + + + XXII. + + The opening of the wondrous tome + Was like the opening of a door + Into a vast and pictured dome, + Crowded, from vaulted roof to floor, + With secrets of her life and home. + + To be like Philip was to be + Another Philip--only less! + To win his wit in full degree + Would bear to him but nothingness, + From one no wiser grown than he! + + If blue and red in Hindostan + Were blue and red at home, she knew + That she--a woman, he--a man, + Could never wear the royal hue + Till blue and red together ran + + In complement of each to each; + She might not tint his life at all + By learning wisdom he could teach; + So what she gave, though poor and small, + Should be of that beyond his reach. + + Where Philip fed, she would not feed; + Where Philip walked, she would not go; + The books he read she would not read, + But live her separate life, and, so, + Have sole supplies to meet his need. + + He held his mission and his range; + His way and work were all his own; + And she would give him in exchange + What she could win and she alone, + Of life and learning, fresh and strange. + + + + XXIII. + + While thus she sat in musing mood, + Determining her life's emprise, + The sunlight flushed the distant wood, + Then, coming closer, filled her eyes, + And glorified her solitude. + + The clouds were shivered by the lance + Sped downward by the morning sun, + And from her heart, in swift advance, + The shadows vanished, one by one, + Till more than sunlight filled the manse. + + She closed the volume with a gust + That sprent the light with powdered gold; + Then placed it high to hide and rust + Where, curious and over-bold + She found it, lying in its dust. + + Her soul was light, her path was plain; + One shadow only drooped above,-- + The shadow of a heart and brain + So charged with overwhelming love + That it oppressed and gave her pain. + + The modest comb that kept her hair; + To Philip was a golden crown; + And every ringlet was a snare, + And every hat, and every gown + And slipper, something more than fair. + + His love had glorified her grace, + And she was his, and not her own,-- + So wholly his she had no place + Beside him on his lonely throne, + Or share in love's divine embrace. + + And knowing that the coming days + Would strip her features of their mask, + That duty then would speak her praise, + And love become a loyal task, + Save he should find beneath the glaze + + His fiery love of her had spread, + Diviner things he had not seen, + She feared her woman's heart and head + Were armed with charms and powers too mean + To win the boon she coveted. + + But still she saw and held her plan, + And fear made way for springing hope. + If she was man's, then hers was man: + Both held their own in even scope; + And then and there her life began. + + + + + LOVE'S PHILOSOPHIES. + + I. + + A wife is like an unknown sea;-- + Least known to him who thinks he knows + Where all the shores of promise be, + Where lie the islands of repose, + And where the rocks that he must flee. + + Capricious winds, uncertain tides, + Drive the young sailor on and on, + Till all his charts and all his guides + Prove false, and vain conceit is gone, + And only docile love abides. + + Where lay the shallows of the maid, + No plummet line the wife may sound; + Where round the sunny islands played + The pulses of the great profound, + Lies low the treacherous everglade. + + And sailing, he becomes, perforce, + Discoverer of a lovely world; + And finds, whate'er may be his course, + Green lands within white seas impearled, + And streams of unsuspected source + + Which feed with gold delicious fruits, + Kept by unguessed Hesperides, + Or cool the lips of gentle brutes + That breed and browse among the trees + Whose wind-tossed limbs and leaves are lutes, + + The maiden free, the maiden wed, + Can never, never be the same. + A new life springs from out the dead, + And, with the speaking of a name, + A breath upon the marriage-bed, + + She finds herself a something new-- + (Which he learns later, but no less); + And good and evil, false and true, + May change their features--who can guess?-- + Seen close, or from another view. + + For maiden life, with all its fire, + Is hid within a grated cell, + Where every fancy and desire + And graceless passion, guarded well, + Sits dumb behind the woven wire. + + Marriage is freedom: only when + The husband turns the prison-key + Knows she herself; nor even then + Knows she more wisely well than he, + Who finds himself least wise of men. + + New duties bring new powers to birth, + And new relations, new surprise + Of depths of weakness or of worth, + Until he doubt if her disguise + Mask more of heaven, or more of earth. + + Tears spring beneath a careless touch; + Endurance hardens with a word; + She holds a trifle with a clutch + So strangely, childishly absurd, + That he who loves and pardons much + + Doubts if her wayward wit be sane, + When straight beyond his manly power + She stiffens to the awful strain + Of some supreme or crucial hour, + And stands unblanched in fiercest pain! + + A jealous thought, a petty pique, + Enwraps in gloom, or bursts in storm; + She questions all that love may speak, + And weighs its tone, and marks its form, + Or yields her frailty to a freak + + That vexes him or breeds disgust; + Then rises in heroic flame, + And treads a danger into dust, + Or puts his doubting soul to shame + With love unfeigned and perfect trust. + + Still seas unknown the husband sails; + Life-long the lovely marvel lasts; + In golden calms or driving gales, + With silent prow, or reeling masts, + Each hour a fresh surprise unveils. + + The brooding, threatening bank of mist + Grows into groups of virid isles, + By sea embraced and sunlight kissed, + Or breaks into resplendent smiles + Of cinnabar and amethyst! + + No day so bright but scuds may fall, + No day so still but winds may blow; + No morn so dismal with the pall + Of wintry storm, but stars may glow + When evening gathers, over all! + + And so thought Philip, when, in haste + Returning from his lengthened stay-- + The river and the lawn retraced-- + He found his Mildred blithe and gay, + And all his anxious care a waste. + + To be half vexed that she could thrive + Without him through a morning's span, + Upon the honey in her hive, + Was but to prove himself a man, + And show that he was quite alive! + + + + II. + + A sympathetic word or kiss, + (Mildred had insight to discern,) + Though grateful quite, is quite amiss, + In leading to the life etern + The soul that has no bread in this. + + The present want must aye be fed, + And first relieved the present care: + "Give us this day our daily bread" + Must be recited in our prayer + Before "forgive us" may be said. + + And he who lifts a soul from vice, + And leads the way to better lands; + Must part his raiment, share his slice, + And oft with weary, bleeding hands, + Pave the long path with sacrifice. + + So on a pleasant summer morn, + Wrapped in her motive, sweet and safe, + She sought the homes of sin and scorn, + And found her little Sunday waif + Ragged, and hungry, and forlorn. + + She called her quickly to her knee; + And with her came a motley troop + Of children, poor and foul as she, + Who gathered in a curious group, + And ceased their play, to hear and see. + + Tanned brown by all the summer suns, + With brutish brows and vacant eyes, + They drank her speech and ate her buns, + While she behind their sad disguise + Beheld her dear Lord's "little ones." + + She stood like Ruth amid the wheat, + With ready hand and sickle keen, + And looked on all with aspect sweet; + For where she only thought to glean, + She found a harvest round her feet. + + Ah! little need the tale to write + Of garments begged from door to door, + Of needles plying in the night, + And money gathered from the store + Alike of screw and Sybarite, + + With which to clothe the little flock. + She went like one sent forth of God + To loose the bolts of heart and lock, + And with the smiting of her rod + To call a flood from every rock. + + And little need the tale to tell + How, when the Sunday came again, + A wondrous change the group befell, + And how from every noisome den, + Responding to the chapel bell, + + They issued forth with shout and call, + And Mildred walking at their head, + Who, with her silken parasol, + Bannered the army that she led, + And with low words commanded all. + + The little army walked through smiles + That hung like lamps above their march, + And lit their swart and straggling files, + While bending elm and plumy larch + Shaped into broad cathedral aisles + + The paths that led with devious trend + To where the ivied chapel stood, + There their long passage found its end, + And there they gathered in a brood + Of gentle clamor round their friend. + + A score pressed in on either side + To share the burden of her care, + And hearts and house gave entrance wide + To those to whom the words of prayer + Were stranger than the curse of pride. + + And Mildred who, without a thought + Of glory in her week's long task, + This marvel of the week had wrought, + Had earned the boon she would not ask, + And won more love than she had sought. + + + + III. + + As two who walk through forest aisles, + Lit all the way by forest flowers, + Divide at morn through twin defiles + To meet again in distant hours, + With plunder plucked from all the miles, + + So Philip and his Mildred went + Into their walks of daily life,-- + Parting at morn with sweet consent, + And--tireless husband, busy wife-- + Together when the day was spent, + + Bringing the treasures they had won + From sundered tracks of enterprise, + To learn from each what each had done, + And prove each other grown more wise + Than when the morning was begun. + + He strengthened her with manly thought + And learning, gathered from the great; + And she, whose quicker eye had caught + The treasures of the broad estate + Of common life and learning, brought + + Her gleanings from the level field, + And gave them gladly to his hands, + Who had not dreamed that they could yield + Such sheaves, or hold within their bands + Such wealth of lovely flowers concealed. + + His grave discourse, his judgment sure, + Gave tone and temper to her soul, + While her swift thoughts and vision pure, + And mirth that would not brook control, + And wit that kept him insecure + + Within his dignified repose, + Refreshed and quickened him like wine. + No tender word or dainty gloze + Could give him pleasure half so fine + As that which tingled to her blows. + + He gave her food for heart and mind, + And raised her toward his higher plane; + She showed him that his eyes were blind; + She proved his lofty wisdom vain, + And held him humbly with his kind. + + + + IV. + + Oh blessed sleep! in which exempt + From our tired selves long hours we lie, + Our vapid worthlessness undreamt, + And our poor spirits saved thereby + From perishing of self-contempt! + + We weary of our petty aims; + We sicken with our selfish deeds; + We shrink and shrivel, in the flames + That low desire ignites and feeds, + And grudge the debt that duty claims. + + Oh sweet forgetfulness of sleep! + Oh bliss, to drop the pride of dress, + And all the shams o'er which we weep, + And, toward our native nothingness, + To drop ten thousand fathoms deep! + + At morning only--strong, erect-- + We face our mirrors not ashamed; + For then alone we meet unflecked + The image we at evening blamed, + And find refreshed our self-respect. + + Ah! little wonderment that those, + Who see us most and love us best, + Find that a true affection grows + The more when, in its parted nest, + It spends long hours in lone repose! + + Our fruit grows dead in pulp and rind + When seen and handled overmuch; + The roses fade, our fingers bind; + And with familiar kiss and touch + The graces wither from our kind. + + Man lives on love, at love's expense, + And woman, so her love be sweet; + Best honey palls upon the sense + When it is tempted to repeat + Too oft its fine experience. + + And Mildred, with instinctive skill, + And loving neither most nor least, + Stood out from Philip's grasping will, + And gave, where he desired a feast, + The taste that left him hungry still. + + She hid her heart behind a mask, + And held him to his manly course; + One hour in love she bade him bask, + And then she drove, with playful force, + The laggard to his daily task. + + They went their way and kept their care, + And met again their toil complete, + Like angels on a heavenly stair, + Or pilgrims in a golden street, + Grown stronger one, and one more fair! + + + + V. + + As one worn down by petty pains, + With fevered head and restless limb, + Flies from the toil that stings and stains, + And all the cares that wearied him, + And same far, silent summit gains; + + And in its strong, sweet atmosphere, + Or in the blue, or in the green, + Finds his discomforts disappear, + And loses in the pure serene + The garnered humors of a year; + + And sees not how and knows not when + The old vexations leave their seat, + So Philip, happiest of men, + Saw all his petty cares retreat, + And vanish, not to come again. + + Where he had thought to shield and serve, + Himself had ministry instead, + He heard no vexing call to swerve + From larger toil, for labors sped + By smaller hand and finer nerve. + + In deft and deferential ways + She took the house by silent siege; + And Dinah, warmest in her praise, + Grew, unaware, her loyal liege, + And served her truly all her days. + + And many a sad and stricken maid, + And many a lorn and widowed life + That came for counsel or for aid + To Philip, met the pastor's wife, + And on her heart their burden laid. + + + + VI. + + He gave her what she took--her will; + And made it space for life full-orbed. + He learned at last that every rill + Loses its freshness, when absorbed + By the great stream that turns the mill. + + With hand ungrasping for her dower, + He found its royal income his; + And every swiftly kindling power-- + Self-moved in its activities-- + Becoming brighter every hour. + + The air is sweet which we inspire + When it is free to come and go; + And sound of brook and scent of briar + Rise freshest where the breezes blow, + That feed our breath and fan our fire. + + That love is weak which is too strong; + A man may be a woman's grave; + The right of love swells oft to wrong, + And silken bonds may bind a slave + As truly as a leathern thong. + + We may not dine upon the bird + That fills our home with minstrelsy; + The living vine may never gird + Too firm and close the living tree, + Without sad sacrifice incurred. + + The crystal goblet that we drain + Will be forever after dry; + But he who sips, and sips again, + And leaves it to the open sky, + Will find it filled with dew and rain. + + The lilies burst, the roses blow + Into divinest balm and bloom, + When free above and free below; + And life and love must have large room, + That life and love may largest grow. + + So Philip learned (what Mildred saw), + That love was like a well profound, + From which two souls had right to draw, + And in whose waters would be drowned + The one who took the other's law. + + + + VII. + + Ambition was an alien word, + Which Mildred faintly understood; + Its poisoned breathing had not blurred + The whiteness of her womanhood, + Nor had its blatant trumpet stirred + + To quicker pulse her heart content. + In social tasks and home employ, + She did not question what it meant; + But bore her woman's lot with joy + And sweetness, wheresoe'er she went. + + If ever with unconscious thrill + It touched her, in some vagrant dream, + She only wished that God would fill + With larger tide the goodly stream + That flowed beside her, strong and still. + + She knew that love was more than fame, + And happy conscience more than love;-- + Far off and wild, the wings of flame! + Close by, the pinions of the dove + That hovered white above her name! + + She honored Philip as a man, + And joyed in his supreme estate; + But never dreamed that under ban + She lives who never can be great, + Or chieftain of a crowd or clan. + + The public eye was like a knife + That pierced and plagued her shrinking heart. + To be a woman, and a wife, + With privilege to dwell apart, + And hold unseen her modest life-- + + Alike from praise and blame aloof, + And free to live and move in peace + Beneath love's consecrated roof-- + Was boon so great she could not cease + Her thanks for the divine behoof. + + Black turns to brown and blue to blight + Beneath the blemish of the sun; + And e'en the spotless robe of white, + Worn overlong, grows dim and dun + Through the strange alchemy of light. + + Nor wives nor maidens, weak or brave, + Can stand and face the public stare, + And win the plaudits that they crave, + And stem the hisses that they dare, + And modest truth and beauty save. + + No woman, in her soul, is she + Who longs to poise above the roar + Of motley multitudes, and be + The idol at whose feet they pour + The wine of their idolatry. + + Coarse labor makes its doer coarse; + Great burdens harden softest hands; + A gentle voice grows harsh and hoarse + That warns and threatens and commands + Beyond the measure of its force. + + Oh sweet, beyond all speech, to feel + Within no answer to the drum, + Or echo to the bugle-peal, + That calls to duties which benumb + In service of the commonweal! + + Oh sweet to feel, beyond all speech, + That most and best of human kind + Have leave to live beyond the reach + Of toil that tarnishes, and find + No tongue but Envy's to impeach! + + Oh sweet, that most unnoticed deeds + Give play to fine, heroic blood!-- + That hid from light, and shut from weeds, + The rose is fairer in its bud + Than in the blossom that succeeds! + + He is the helpless slave who must; + And she enfranchised who may sit + Unblamed above the din and dust, + Where stronger hands and coarser wit + Strive equally for crown and crust. + + So ran her thought, and broader yet, + Who scanned her own by Philip's pace; + And never did the wife forget + Her grateful tribute for the grace + That charged her with so sweet a debt. + + So ran her thought; and in her breast + Her wifely pride to pity grew, + That Philip, by his Lord's behest-- + To duty and to nature true-- + Must do his bravest and his best. + + Through winter's cold and summer's heat, + Where all might praise and all might blame, + And thus be topic of the street, + And see his fair and honest name + A football, kicked by careless feet. + + She loved her creed, and doubting not + She read it well from Nature's scroll, + She found no line or word to blot; + But, from her woman's modest soul, + Thanked her Creator for her lot. + + + + VIII. + + He who, upon an Alpine peak, + Stands, when the sunrise lifts the East, + And gilds the crown and lights the cheek + Of largest monarch down to least, + Of all the summits cold and bleak, + + Finds sadly that it brings no boon + For all his long and toilsome leagues, + And chill at once and weary soon, + Rests from his fevers and fatigues, + And waits the recompense of noon, + + For then the valleys, near and far, + The hillsides, fretted by the vine, + The glacier-drift and torrent-scar + Whose restless waters shoot and shine, + And many a tarn, that like a star + + Trembles and flames with stress of light, + And many a hamlet and chalet + That dots with brown, or paints with white, + The landscape quivering in the day, + With beauty all his toil requite. + + Mountains, from mountain altitudes + Are only hills, as bleak and bare; + And he whose daring step intrudes + Upon their grandeur, and the rare + Cold light or gloom that o'er them broods, + + Finds that with even brow to stand + Among the heights that bade him climb, + Is loss of all that made them grand, + While all of lovely and sublime + Looks up to him from lake and land. + + Great men are few, and stand apart; + And seem divinest when remote. + From brain to brain, and heart to heart, + No thoughts of genial commerce float; + Each holds his own exclusive mart. + + And when we meet them, face to face, + And hand to hand their greatness greet, + Our steps we willingly retrace, + And gather humbly at their feet, + With those who live upon their grace. + + And man and woman--mount and vale-- + Have charms, each from the other seen,-- + The robe of rose, the coat of mail: + The springing turf, the black ravine: + The tossing pines, the waving swale: + + Which please the sight with constant joy. + Thus living, each has power to call + The other's thoughts with sweet decoy, + And one can rise and one can fall + But to distemper or destroy. + + The dewy meadow breeds the cloud + That rises on ethereal wings, + And wraps the mountain in a shroud + From which the living lightning springs + And torrents pour, that, lithe and loud, + + Leap down in service to the plains, + Or feed the fountains at their source; + And only thus the mountain gains + The vital fulness of the force + That fills the meadow's myriad veins. + + In fair, reciprocal exchange + Of good which each appropriates, + The meadow and the mountain-range + Nourish their beautiful estates; + And lofty wild and lowly grange + + Thrive on the commerce thus ordained; + And not a reek ascends the rock, + And not a drift of dew is rained, + But eyrie-brood and tended flock + By the sweet gift is entertained. + + A meadow may be fair and broad, + And hold a river in its rest; + Or small, arid with the silver gaud + Of a lone lakelet on its breast, + Or but a patch, that, overawed, + + Clings humbly to the mountain's hem: + It matters not: it is the charm + That cheers his life, and holds the stem + Of every flower that tempts his arm, + Or greets his snowy diadem. + + Dolts talk of largest and of least, + And worse than dolts are they who prate + Of Beauty captive to the Beast; + For man in woman finds his mate, + And thrones her equal at his feast. + + She matches meekness with his might, + And patience with his power to act,-- + His judgment with her quicker sight; + And wins by subtlety and tact + The battles he can only fight. + + And she who strives to take the van + In conflict, or the common way, + Does outrage to the heavenly plan, + And outrage to the finer clay + That makes her beautiful to man. + + All this, and more than this, she saw + Who reigned in Philip's house and heart. + Far off, he seemed without a flaw; + Close by, her tasteless counterpart, + And slave to Nature's common law. + + To climb with fierce, familiar stride + His dizzy paths of life and thought, + Would but degrade him from her pride, + And bring the majesty to naught + Which love and distance magnified. + + If she should grow like him, she knew + He would admire and love her less; + The eagle's image might be true, + But eagle of the wilderness + Would find no consort in the view. + + A woman, in her woman's sphere, + A loyal wife and worshipper, + She only thirsted to appear + As fair to him as he to her, + And fairer still, from year to year. + + And he who quickly learned to purge + His fancy of the tender whim + That she was floating at the verge + Of womanhood, half hid to him, + Saw her with gracious mien emerge, + + And stand full-robed upon the shore, + With faculties and charms unguessed; + With wondrous eyes that looked before, + And hands that helped and words that blessed-- + The mistress of an alien lore + + Beyond the wisdom of the schools + And all his manly power to win; + With handicraft of tricks and tools + That conjured marvels with a pin, + And miracles with skeins and spools! + + She seemed to mock his dusty dearth + With flowers that sprang beneath his eyes; + Till all he was, seemed little worth, + And she he deemed so little wise, + Became the wisest of the earth. + + In all the struggles of his soul, + And all the strifes his soul abhorred, + She shone before him like a goal-- + A shady power of fresh reward-- + A shallop riding in the mole, + + That waited with obedient helm + To bear him over sparkling seas, + Into a new and fragrant realm, + Before the vigor of a breeze + That drove, but would not overwhelm. + + IX. + + The river of their life was one; + The shores, down which they passed were two; + One mirrored mountains, huge and dun, + The other crimped the green and blue, + And sparkled in the kindly sun! + + Twin barks, with answering flags, they moved + With even canvas down the stream, + In smooth or ruffled waters grooved, + And found such islands in their dream + As rest and loving speech behooved. + + Ah fair the goodly gardens smiled + On Philip at his rougher strand! + And grandly loomed the summits, isled + In seas of cloud, to her who scanned + From her far shore the lofty wild. + + Two lives, two loves--both self-forgot + In loving homage to their oath; + Two lives, two loves, but living not + By ministry that reached them both + In service of a common lot, + + They sailed the stream, and every mile + Broadened with beauty as they passed; + And fruitful shore and trysting-isle, + And all love's intercourse were glassed + And blessed in Heaven's benignant smile. + + X. + + To symmetry the oak is grown + Which all winds visit on the lea, + While that which lists the monotone + Of the long blast that sweeps the sea, + And answers to its breath alone, + + Turns with aversion from the breeze, + And stretches all its stunted limbs + Landward and heavenward, toward the trees + That listen to a thousand hymns, + And grow to grander destinies. + + Man may not live on whitest loaves, + With all of coarser good dismissed; + He pines and starves who never roves + Beyond the holy eucharist, + To gather of the fields and groves. + + And he who seeks to fill his heart + With solace of a single friend, + Will find refreshment but in part, + Or, sadder still, will find the end + Of all his reach of thought and art. + + They who love best need friendship most; + Hearts only thrive on varied good; + And he who gathers from a host + Of friendly hearts his daily food, + Is the best friend that we can boast. + + She left her husband with his friends; + She called them round him at her board; + And found their culture made amends + For all the time that, from her hoard, + She spared him for these nobler ends. + + He was her lover; that sufficed: + His home was in the Holy Place + With that of the Beloved Christ; + And friendship had no subtle grace + By which his love could be enticed. + + Of all his friends, she was but one: + She held with them a common field. + Exclusive right, with love begun, + Ended with love, and stood repealed, + Leaving his friendship free to run + + Toward man or woman, all unmissed. + She knew she had no right to bind + His friendship to her single wrist, + So long as love was true and kind, + And made her its monopolist, + + No time was grudged with jealous greed + Which either books or friendship claimed. + He was her friend, and she had need + Of all--unhindered and unblamed + That he could win, through word or deed. + + Her friend waxed great as grew the man; + Her temple swelled as rose her priest-- + With power to bless and right to ban-- + And all who served him, most or least,-- + From chorister and sacristan + + To those whose frankincense and myrrh + Perfumed the sacred courts with alms,-- + Were gracious ministers to her, + Who found the largess in her palms, + And him the friendly almoner. + + + + + LOVE'S CONSUMMATIONS. + + The summer passed, the autumn came; + The world swung over toward the night; + The forests robed themselves in flame, + Then faded slowly into white; + And set within a crystal frame + + Of frozen streams, the shaggy boles + Of oak and elm, with leafless crowns, + Were painted stark upon the knolls; + And cots and villages and towns + On virgin canvas glowed like coals + + In tawny-red, or strove in vain + To shame the white in which they stood. + The fairest tint was but a stain + Upon the snow, that quenched the wood, + And paved the street, and draped the plain! + + + + II. + + Oh! Southern cheeks are quick to feel + The magic finger of the frost; + And Mildred heard but one long peal + From the fierce Arctic, which embossed + Her window-panes, and set the seal + + Of cold on all her eye beheld, + When through her veins there swept new fire, + And, in her answering bosom, swelled + New purposes and new desire, + And force to higher deeds impelled. + + Ah! well for her the languor cast + That followed from her Southern clime! + The time would come--was coming fast,-- + Love's consummated, crowning time-- + Of which her heart had antepast! + + A strange new life was in her breast; + Her eyes were full of wondrous dreams; + She sailed all whiles from crest to crest + Of a broad ocean, through whose gleams + She saw an island wrapped in rest! + + And as she drove across the sea, + Toward the fair port that fixed her gaze, + Her life was like a rosary, + Whose slowly counted beads were days + Of prayer for one that was to be! + + + + III. + + Oh roses, roses! Who shall sing + The beauty of the flowers of God! + Or thank the angel from whose wing + The seeds are scattered on the sod + From which such bloom and perfume spring! + + Sure they have heavenly genesis + Which make a heaven of every place; + Which company our bale and bliss, + And never to our sinning race + Speak aught unhallowed, or amiss! + + When love is grieved, their buds atone; + When love is wed, their forms are near; + They blend their breathing with the moan + Of love when dying, and the bier + Is white with them in every zone. + + No spot is mean that they begem; + No nosegay fair that holds them not; + They melt the pride and stir the phlegm + Of lord and churl, in court and cot, + And weave a common diadem + + For human brows where'er they grow. + They write all languages of red, + They speak all dialects of snow, + And all the words of gold are said + With fragrant meanings where they blow! + + Oh sweetest flowers! Oh flowers divine! + In which God comes so closely down, + We gather from his chosen sign + The tints that cluster in his crown-- + The perfume of his breath benign! + + Oh sweetest flowers! Oh flowers that hold + The fragrant life of Paradise + For a brief day, shut told in fold, + That we may drink it in a trice, + And drop the empty pink and gold! + + Oh sweetest flowers, that have a breath + For every passion that we feel! + That tell us what the Master saith + Of blessing, in our woe and weal, + And all events of life and death! + + + + IV. + + The time of roses came again; + And one had bloomed within the manse, + Bloomed in a burst of midnight pain, + And plumed its life in fair expanse, + Beneath love's nursing sun and rain. + + In calyx fair of lilied lawn, + Wrapped in the mosses of the lamb, + Long days it lightened toward the dawn + Of the bright-blushing oriflamme, + That on two happy faces shone. + + Such tendance ne'er had flower before! + Such beauty ne'er had flower returned! + Found on that distant island-shore, + Whose secret she at last had learned, + And made her own for evermore, + + Mildred consigned it to her breast; + And though she knew it took its hue + From her, it seemed the Lord's bequest,-- + Still sparkling with the heavenly dew, + And still with heavenly beauty dressed. + + Oh roses! ye were wondrous fair + That summer by the river side! + For hearts were blooming everywhere, + In sympathy of love and pride, + With that which came to Mildred's care. + + And rose as red as rose could be + Filled Philip's breast with largest bloom, + And cast its fragrance far and free, + And filled his lonely, silent room + With rapture of paternity! + + + + V. + + The evening fell on field and street; + The glow-worm lit his phosphor lamp, + For fairy forms and fairy feet, + That gathered for their nightly tramp + Where grass was green and flowers were sweet. + + In devious circles, round and round, + The night-hawk coursed the twilight sky, + Or shot like lightning the profound, + With breezy thunder in the cry + That marked his furious rebound! + + The zephyrs breathed through elm and ash + From new-mown hay and heliotrope, + And came through Philip's open sash + With sheen of stars that lit the cope, + And twinkling of the fire-fly's flash. + + He thought of Mildred and his boy; + And something moved him more than pride, + And purer than his manly joy; + For while these swelled with turbid tide, + His gratitude had no alloy. + + He heard the baby's weary plaint; + He heard the mother's soothing words; + And sitting in his hushed restraint, + One voice was murmur of the birds, + And one the hymning of a saint! + + And as he sat alone, immersed + In the fond fancies of the time, + Her voice in mellow music burst, + And by a rhythmic stair of rhyme + Led down to sleep the child she nursed. + + + "Rockaby, lullaby, bees in the clover!-- + Crooning so drowsily, crying so low-- + Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover! + Down into wonderland-- + Down to the under-land-- + Go, oh go! + Down into wonderland go! + + "Rockaby, lullaby, rain on the clover! + Tears on the eyelids that waver and weep! + Rockaby, lullaby--bending it over! + Down on the mother-world, + Down on the other world! + Sleep, oh sleep! + Down on the mother-world sleep! + + "Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover! + Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn! + Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover! + Into the stilly world-- + Into the lily world, + Gone! oh gone! + Into the lily-world, gone!" + + + + VI. + + They sprouted like the prophet's gourd; + They grew within a single night; + So swift his busy years were scored + That, ere he knew, his hope was white + With harvest bending round his board! + + And eyes were black, and eyes were blue, + And blood of mother and of sire, + Each to its native humor true, + Blent Northern force with Southern fire + In strength and beauty, strange and new. + + The Gallic brown, the Saxon snow, + The raven locks, the flaxen curls, + Were so commingled in the now + Of the new blood of boys and girls, + That Puritan and Huguenot + + In love's alembic were advanced + To higher types and finer forms; + And ardent humors thrilled and danced + Through veins, that tempered all their storms, + Or held them in restraint entranced. + + Oh! many times, as flew the years, + The dainty cradle-song was sung; + And bore its balm to restless ears, + As one by one the nested young + Slept in their willows and their tears. + + To each within the reedy glade, + Hid from some tyrant's cruel schemes, + It was a princess, or her maid, + Who bore him to the realm of dreams, + And made him seer by accolade + + Of flaming bush and parted deep, + Of gushing rocks and raining corn, + And fire and cloud, and lengthened sweep + Of thousands toward the promised morn, + Across the wilderness of sleep! + + + + VII. + + The years rolled on in grand routine + Of useful toil and chastening care, + Till Philip, grown to heights, serene + Of conscious power, and ripe with prayer, + Took on the strong and stately mien + + Of one on whom had been conferred + The doing of a knightly deed; + And waited till it bade him gird + The harness on him and his steed, + For man and for his Master's word. + + His name was spoken far and near, + And sounded sweet on every tongue; + Men knew him only to revere, + And those who knew him nearest, flung + Their hearts before his grand career, + + And paved his way with loyal trust. + He was their strongest, noblest man,-- + Sworn foe of every selfish lust, + And brave to do as wise to plan, + And swift to judge as pure and just. + + + + VIII. + + Against such foil the mistress stood-- + A pearl upon a cross of gold-- + White with consistent womanhood, + And fixed with unrelaxing hold + Upon the centre of the rood! + + Through all those years of loving thrift, + Nor blame nor discord marred their lot; + Each to the lover-life was gift; + And each was free from blur or blot + That called for silence or for shrift. + + Each bore the burden that it held + With patient hands along the road; + And though, with passing years, it swelled + Until it grew a weary load, + Nor tongue complained, nor heart rebelled. + + At length the time of trial came, + And they were tried as gold is tried. + Their peace of life went up in flame, + And what was good was vilified, + And what was blameless came to blame. + + + + IX. + + The Southern sky was dun with cloud; + And looming lurid o'er its edge + The brows of awful forms were bowed, + That forged in flame the fateful wedge + Which waited in the angry shroud + + The banner of the storm unfurled, + And all the powers of death arrayed + In black battalions, to be hurled + Down through the rack--a blazing blade-- + To cleave the realm, and shake the world! + + The North was full of nameless dread; + Wild portents flamed from out the pole; + Old scars on Freedom's bosom bled, + And sick at heart and vexed of soul + She tossed in fever on her bed! + + Pale Commerce hid her face and whined; + The arms of Toil were paralyzed; + The wise were of divided mind, + And those who counselled and advised + Were sightless leaders of the blind. + + Men lost their faith in good and great; + No captain sprang, or prophet bard, + To win their trust, and save the state + From the wild storm that, like a pard, + On quivering haunches lay in wait! + + The loyal only were not brave; + E'en peace became a cringing dog; + The patriot paltered like a knave, + And partisan anti demagogue + Quarrelled o'er Freedom's waiting grave. + + + + X. + + Amid the turmoil and disgrace, + The voice was clear from first to last, + Of one who, in the desert place + Of barren counsels, held him fast + His shepherd's crook, and made it mace + + To bear before the Great Event + Whose harbinger he chose to be, + And called on all men to repent, + And build a way from sea to sea, + For Freedom's full enfranchisement. + + For Philip, to his conscience leal, + Conceived that God had chosen him + With Treason's sophistries to deal, + And grapple with the Anakim + Whose menace shook the common weal. + + His pulpit smoked beneath his blows; + His voice was heard in hall and street; + A thousand friends became his foes, + And pews were empty or replete, + With passion's ebbs and overflows. + + They trailed his good name in the mire; + They spat their venom in his eyes; + They taunted him with mad desire + For power, and gathered his replies + In braver words and fiercer fire, + + He was a wolf, disguised in wool; + He was a viper in the breast; + He was a villain, or the tool + Of greater villains; at the best, + A blind enthusiast and fool! + + As swelled the tempest, rose the man; + He turned to sport their brutal spleen; + And none could choose be slow to span + The difference that lay between + A Prospero and a Caliban! + + + + XI. + + She would not move him otherwise, + Although her heart was sad and sore. + That which was venal in his eyes + To her a lovely aspect wore, + And helped to weave the thousand ties + + Which bound her to her youth, and all + The loves that she had left behind + When, from her father's stately hall, + She came, her Northern home to find, + With him who held her heart in thrall. + + In the dark pictures which he drew + Of instituted shame and wrong, + She saw no figures that she knew, + But a confused and hateful throng + Of forms that in his fancy grew. + + Her father's rule, benign and mild, + Was all of slavery she had known; + To her, an Afric was a child-- + A charge in other ages thrown + On Christian honor, from the wild + + Of savagery in which the Fates + Had given him birth and dwelling-place-- + And so, descending through estates + Of gentle vassalage, his race + Had come to those of later dates. + + Black hands her baby form had dressed; + Black hands her blacker hair had curled; + And she had found a dusky breast + The sweetest breast in all the world + When she was thirsty or at rest. + + Her playmates, in her native bowers, + Were Darkest children of the sun, + Who built the palaces and towers + In which her reign, in love begun, + Gave foretaste of love's later hours. + + Her memory was full of song + That she had learned in house and field, + From those whose days seemed never long, + And those who could not hold concealed + The consciousness of shame and wrong. + + A loving ear heard their complaints; + A faithful tongue advised and warned; + And grave corrections and restraints + Were rendered by a heart adorned + By all the graces of the saints. + + There was no touch of memory's chords-- + No picture on her blooming wall,-- + Of life upon the sunny swards + They reproduced,--but brought recall + Of happy slaves and gentle lords. + + And Philip charged a deadly sin + Upon that beautiful domain, + Condemning all who dwelt therein, + And branding with the awful stain + Her friends, and all her dearest kin. + + + + XII. + + Yet still she knew his conscience clear,-- + That he believed his voice was God's; + And listened with a voiceless fear + To the portentous periods + In which he preached the chosen year + + Of expiation and release, + And prophesied that Slavery's power, + Grown great apace with crime's increase, + Before the front of Right should cower, + And bid God's people go in peace! + + The fierce invectives of his tongue + Frayed every day her wounds afresh, + And with new pain her bosom wrung, + For they envenomed kindred flesh, + To which in sympathy she clung. + + Yet not a finger did she lift + To hold him from his fateful task, + Though Satan oft essayed to sift + Her soul as wheat, and bade her ask + Somewhat from conscience as a gift. + + And when a serpent in his slime + Crept to her ear with phrase polite, + Prating of duty to her time + And to her people, swift and white + She turned and cursed him for his crime! + + She would have naught of all the brood + Of temporizing, driveling shows + Of men who Philip's words withstood: + Against them all her love uprose, + And all her pride of womanhood. + + + + XIII. + + She loved her kindred none the less, + She loved her husband still the more, + For well she knew that with distress + He saw the heavy cross she bore + With steadfast faith and tenderness. + + She kept her love intact, because + She would not be a partisan; + Not hers the voice that made the laws, + Nor hers prerogative to ban, + Or bolster them with her applause. + + No strife of jarring policies, + No conflict of embittered states, + No chart, defining by degrees + Of latitude her country's hates, + Could change her friends to enemies. + + The motives ranged on either hand, + Behind the war of word and will, + Were such as she could understand + And, with respect to all, fulfil + Love's broad and beautiful command. + + So, with all questions hushed to sleep, + And all opinions put aside, + She gave her loved ones to the keep + Of God, whatever should betide, + To bear her joy or bid her weep! + + + + XIV. + + Though Philip knew he wounded her, + His faith to God and faith to man + Bade him go forward, and incur + Such cost as, since the world began, + Has burdened Freedom's harbinger. + + No heart or hand was his to flinch + From ease or reputation lost; + Nor waste of gold, nor hunger-pinch, + Nor e'en his home's black holocaust, + Could stay his arm, though inch by inch, + + The maddened hosts of scorn and scath + Should crowd him backward to defeat. + He would but strive with sterner wrath, + And bless the hand that, soft and sweet, + Withheld its hinderance from his path! + + + + XV. + + Still darker loomed the Southern cloud, + While o'er its black and billowed face + In furrowed fire the lightning ploughed, + And ramping from its hiding-place + Roared the wild thunder, fierce and loud! + + And still men chattered of their trade, + And strove to banish their alarms; + And some were puzzled, some afraid, + And some held up their feeble arms + In indignation while they prayed! + + And others weakly talked of schism + As boon of God in place of war, + And bared their foreheads for its chrism! + While direr than the mace of Thor, + In mid-air hung the cataclysm + + Which waited but some chance, or act, + To shiver the electric spell, + And pour in one fierce cataract + A rain of blood and fire of hell + On Freedom's temple spoiled and sacked. + + The politician plied his craft; + The demagogue still schemed and lied; + The patriot wept, the traitor laughed; + The coward to his covert hied, + And statesmen went distract or daft. + + Contention raged in Senate halls; + Confusion reigned in field and town; + High conclaves flattened into brawls, + And till and hammer, smock and gown, + Nor duty knew nor heard its calls! + + + + XVI. + + At last, incontinent of fire, + The cloud of menace belched its brand; + And every state and every shire, + And town and hamlet in the land, + Shook with the smiting of its ire! + + Men looked each other in the eyes, + And beat their burning breasts and cursed! + At last the silliest were wise; + And swift to flash and thunder-burst + Fashioned in anger their replies. + + The smoke of Sumter filled the air. + Men breathed it in in one long breath; + And straight upspringing everywhere, + Life burgeoned on the mounds of death, + And bloomed in valleys of despair. + + The fire of Sumter, fierce and hot, + Welded their purpose into one; + And discord hushed, and strife forgot, + They swore that what had thus begun + With sacrilegious cannon-shot, + + Should find in analogue of flame + Such answer of the nation's host, + That the old flag, washed clean from shame + In blood, should wave from coast to coast, + Over one realm in heart and name! + + Pale doubters, scourged by countless whips, + Fled to their refuge, or obeyed + The motives and the masterships + That time and circumstance betrayed + Through Patriotism's apocalypse, + + And, sympathetic with the spasm + Of loyal life that thrilled the clime, + Lost in the swift enthusiasm + The loose intention of their crime, + And leaped in swarms the awful chasm + + That held them parted from the mass. + The North was one in heart and thought; + And that which could not come to pass + Through loyal eloquence, was wrought + By one hot word from lips of brass! + + + + XVII. + + The cry sprang upward and sped on: + "To arms! for freedom and the flag!" + And swift, from Maine to Oregon, + O'er glebe and lake and mountain-crag, + Hurtled the fierce Euroclydon, + + Men dropped their mallets on the bench, + Forsook their ploughs on hill and plain, + And tore themselves, with piteous wrench + Of heart and hope, from love and gain, + And trooped in throngs to tent and trench. + + "To arms!" and Philip heard the cry. + Not his the valor cheap and small + To bluster with brave phrase, and fly + When trumpet-blare and rifle-ball + Proclaimed the time for words gone by! + + Men knew their chieftain. He had borne + Their insolence through struggling years, + And they---the dastards, the forsworn-- + Who had ransacked the hemispheres + For instruments to wreak their scorn + + On him and all of kindred speech, + Gathered around him with his friends, + And with stern plaudits heard him preach + A gospel whose stupendous ends + Their martyred blood could only reach. + + They gave him honor far and wide, + As one who backed his word by deed; + And he whose task had been to guide, + Was chosen by reclaim to lead + The men who gathered at his side. + + The crook was banished for the glave; + The churchman's black for soldier-blue; + The man of peace became a brave; + And, in the dawn of conflict, drew + His sword his country's life to save. + + + + XIX. + + They came from mead and mountain-top; + They came from factory and forge; + And one by one, from farm and shop-- + Still gravel to the Northman's gorge-- + Followed the servile Ethiop. + + Gaunt, grimy men, whose ways had been + Among the shadows and the slums, + With pedagogue and paladin, + Rushed, at the rolling of the drums, + To Philip, and were mustered in! + + The beat of drum and scream of fife, + Commingling with the thundering tramp + Of trooping throngs, so changed the life + Of the calm village that the camp, + And what it prophesied of strife, + + And hap of loss and hap of gain, + Became of every tongue the theme; + Till burning heart and throbbing brain + Could waking think, and sleeping dream, + Of naught but battles and the slain. + + + + XX. + + With eager eyes and helpful hands + The women met in solemn crowds, + And shred the linen into bands + That had been better saved for shrouds, + Or want's imperious demands. + + And with them all sad Mildred walked, + The bearer of a heavy cross; + For at her side the phantom stalked-- + Nor left her for an hour--of loss + Which by no fortune might be balked. + + For one or all she loved must fall; + One cause must perish in defeat; + Success of either would appall, + And victory, however sweet + To others, would to her be gall. + + To each, with equal heart allied, + Her love was like the love of God, + That wraps the country in its tide, + And o'er its hosts, benign and broad, + Broods with its pity and its pride! + + A thousand chances of the feud + She wove and raveled one by one,-- + Of hands in kindred blood imbrued,-- + Of father, face to face with son, + And friends turned foemen fierce and rude. + + And in her dreams two forms were met, + Of friends as leal as ever breathed--- + Her husband and her brother--wet + With priceless blood from swords ensheathed + In hearts that loved each other yet! + + But itching ears her language scanned, + And jealous eyes were on her steps; + And fancies into rumors fanned + By loyal shrews and demireps + Proclaimed her traitress to the land. + + They knew her blood, but could not know + That mighty passion of her heart + Which, reaching widely in its woe, + Grasped all she loved on either part, + And could not, would not let it go! + + + + XXI. + + The time of gathering came and went-- + Of noisy zeal and hasty drill-- + And every where, in field and tent,-- + A constant presence,--Philip's will + Moulded the callow regiment. + + And then there fell a gala day, + When all the mighty, motley swarm + Appeared in beautiful display + Of burnished arms and uniform, + And gloried in their brave array!-- + + And, later still, the hour of dread + To all the simple country round, + When forth, with Philip at their head, + They marched from the familiar ground, + And drained its life, and left it dead;-- + + Dead but for those who pined with grief; + Dead but for fears that could not die; + Dead as the world when flower and leaf + Are still beneath a gathering sky, + And ocean sleeps on reach and reef. + + The weary waiting time had come, + When only apprehension waked; + And lonely wives sat chill and dumb + Among their broods, with hearts that ached + And echoed the retreating drum. + + Teachers forgot to preach their creeds, + And trade forsook its merchandise; + The fallow fields grew rank with weeds, + And none had interest or eyes + For aught but war's ensanguined deeds. + + As one who lingered by a bier + Where all she loved lay dead and cold, + Sad Mildred sat without a tear, + Living again the days of old, + Or, with the vision of a seer, + + Forecasting the disastrous end. + Whatever might come, she did not dare + Believe that fortune would defend + The noble life she could not spare, + And save her lover and her friend. + + Her blooming girls and stalwart boys + Could never comprehend the woe + Which dropped its measure of their joys, + And felt but horror in the show, + And heard but murder in the noise, + + And dreamed of death when stillness fell + Behind the gay and shouting corps. + They saw her haunted by the spell + Of a great sorrow, and forebore + To question what they could not quell. + + Small time she gave to vain regret; + Brief space to thought of that adieu + Which crushed her breast, when last they met, + And in love's baptism bathed anew + Cheeks, lips, and eyes, and left them wet! + + In deeds of sympathy and grace, + She moved among the homes forlorn, + Alike to beautiful and base + And, to the stricken and the shorn, + The guardian angel of the place. + + + + XXII. + + Oh piteous waste of hopes and fears! + Oh cruel stretch of long delay! + Oh homes bereft! Oh useless tears! + Oh war! that ravened on its prey + Through pain's immeasurable years! + + The town was mourning for its dead; + The streets were black with widowhood; + While orphaned children begged for bread, + And Rachel, for the brave and good, + Mourned, and would not be comforted. + + The regiment that, straight and crisp, + Shone like a wheat-field in the sun, + Its swift voice deafened to a lisp, + Fell, ere the war was well begun, + And waned and withered to a wisp. + + And Philip, grown to higher rank, + Crowned with the bays of splendid deeds, + Of the full cup of glory drank, + And lived, though all his reeking steeds + In the red front of conflict sank. + + The star of conquest waxed or waned, + Yet still the call came back for men; + Still the lamenting town was drained, + And still again, and still again, + Till only impotence remained! + + + + XXIII. + + There came at length an eve of gloom-- + Dread Gettysburg's eventful eve-- + When all the gathering clouds of doom + Hung low, the breathless air to cleave + With scream of shell and cannon-boom! + + Man knew too well; and woman felt, + That when the next-wild morn should rise, + A blow of battle would, be dealt + Before whose fire ten thousand eyes-- + As in a furnace flame--would melt. + + And on this eve--her flock asleep-- + Knelt Mildred at her lonely bed. + She could not pray, she did not weep, + But only moaned, and moaning, said: + "Oh God! he sows what I must reap! + + "He will not live: he must not die! + But oh, my poor, prophetic heart! + It warns me that there lingers nigh + The hour when love and I must part!" + And then she startled with a cry, + + For, from beneath her lattice, came + A low and once repeated call! + She knew the voice that spoke her name, + And swiftly, through the midnight hall + She fluttered noiseless as a flame, + + And on its unresisting hinge + Threw wide her hospitable door, + To one whose spirit did not cringe + Though he was weak, and knew he bore + No right her freedom to infringe. + + She wildly clasped his neck of bronze; + She rained her kisses; on his face, + Grown tawny with a thousand suns, + And holding him in her embrace, + She led him to her little ones, + + Who, reckless of his coming, slept. + Then down the stair with silent feet, + And through the shadowy hall she swept, + And saw, between her and the street, + A form that into darkness crept. + + She closed the door with speechless dread; + She fixed the bolt with trembling hand; + Then led the rebel to his bed, + Whom love and safety had unmanned, + And left him less alive than dead. + + Through nights and days of fear and grief, + She kept her faithful watch and ward, + But love and rest brought no relief; + And all he begged for of his Lord + Was death, with passion faint and brief. + + + + XXIV. + + Around the house were prying eyes, + And gossips hiding under trees; + And Mildred heard the steps of spies + At midnight, when, upon her knees, + She sought the comfort of the skies. + + Strange voices rose upon the night; + Strange errands entered at the gate; + Her hours were months of pale affright; + But still her prisoner of state + Was shielded from their eager sight. + + They did not dare to force the lock + Of one whose deeds had been divine, + Or carry to her heart the shock + Of violence, although condign + Toward one who dared the laws to mock. + + But there were hirelings in pursuit, + Who thirsted for his golden price; + And, swift allied with pimp and brute, + And quick to purchase and entice, + They found the tree that held their fruit. + + + + + XXV. + + The day of Gettysburg had set; + The smoke had drifted from the scene, + And burnished sword and bayonet + Lay rusting where, but yestere'en, + They dropped with life-blood red and wet! + + The swift invader had retraced + His march, and left his fallen braves, + Covered at night in voiceless haste, + To, sleep, in memorable graves, + But knew that all his loss was waste. + + The nation's legions, stretching wide, + Too sore to chase, too weak to cheer, + Gave sepulture to those who died, + And saw their foemen disappear + Without the loss of power or pride. + + And then, swift-sweeping like a gale, + Through all the land, from end to end, + Grief poured its wild, untempered wail, + And father, mother, wife, and friend + Forgot their country in their bale. + + And Philip, with his fatal wound, + Was borne beyond the battle's blaze, + Across the torn and quaking ground,-- + His ear too dull to heed the praise, + That spoke him hero, robed and crowned. + + They bent above his blackened face, + And questioned of his last desire; + And with his old, familiar grace, + And smiling mouth, and eye of fire, + He answered them: "My wife's embrace!" + + They wiped his forehead of its stain, + They bore him tenderly away, + Through teeming mart and wide champaign, + Till on a twilighty cool and gray, + And wet with weeping of the rain, + + They gave him to a silent crowd + That waited at the river's marge, + Of men with age and sorrow bowed, + Who raised and bore their precious charge, + Through groups that watched and wailed aloud. + + + + XXVI. + + The hounds of power were at her gate; + And at their heels, a yelping pack + Of graceless mongrels stood in wait, + To mark the issue of attack, + With lips that slavered with their hate. + + With window raised and portal barred, + The mistress scanned the darkening space, + And with a visage hot and hard-- + At bay before the cruel chase-- + She held them in her fierce regard. + + "What would ye--spies and hirelings--what?" + She asked with accent, stern and brave; + "Why come ye to this sacred spot, + Led by the counsel of a knave, + And flanked by slanderer and sot? + + "You have my husband: has he earned + No meed of courtesy for me? + Is this the recompense returned, + That she he loved the best should be + Suspected, persecuted, spurned? + + "My home is wrecked: what would ye more? + My life is ruined--what new boon? + My children's hearts are sad and sore + With weeping for the wounds that soon + Will plead for healing at my door! + + "I hold your prisoner--stand assured: + Safe from his foes: aye, safe from you! + Safe in a sister's love immured, + And by a warden kept as true + As e'er the test of faith endured, + + "Why, men, he was my brother born! + My hero, all my youthful years! + My counsellor, to guide and warn! + My shield alike from foes and fears! + And when he came to me, forlorn, + + "What could I do but hail him guest, + And bind his cruel wounds with balm, + And give him on his sister's breast + That which he asked, the humble alm + Of a safe pillow where to rest? + + "Come, then, and dare the wrath of fate! + Come, if you must, or if you will! + But know that I am desperate; + And shafts that wound, and wounds that kill + Your deed of dastardy await!" + + A murmur swept through all the mob; + The base informer slunk afar; + And lusty cheer and stifled sob + Rose to her at the window-bar, + While those whose hands were come to rob + + Her dwelling of its treasure, cursed; + For round their heads the menace flew + That he who dared adventure first, + Or first an arm of murder drew, + Should taste of vengeance at its worst. + + + + XXVII. + + A heavy tramp, a murmuring sound, + Low mingling with the murmuring rain,-- + Heard in the wind and in the ground,-- + Came up the street--a tide of pain, + In which the angry din was drowned. + + The leaders of the tumult fled; + The door flew open with a crash; + And down the street wild Mildred sped, + Piercing the darkness like a flash, + And walked beside her husband's bed. + + Slowly the solemn train advanced; + The crowd fell back with parted ranks; + And like a giant, half entranced, + Sailing between strange, spectral banks, + From side to side the soldier glanced. + + The sobbing rain, the evening dim, + The dusky forms that pushed and peered, + The swaying couch, the aching limb, + The lights and shadows, sharp and weird, + Were but a troubled dream to him. + + He knew his love--all else unknown, + Or seen through reason's sad eclipse-- + And with her, hand within his own, + Or fondly pressed upon his lips, + He clung to it, as if alone + + It had the power to stay, his feet + Still longer on the verge of life; + And thus they vanished from the street-- + The shepherd-warrior and his wife-- + Within the manse's closed retreat. + + + + XXVIII. + + Embraced by home, his soul grew light; + And though he moaned: "My head! my head!" + His life turned back its outward flight, + Like his, who, from the prophet's bed, + Startled the wondering Shunammite. + + He greeted all with tender speech; + He told his children he should die; + He gave his fond farewell to each, + With messages, and fond good-by + To all he loved beyond his reach. + + And then he spoke her brother's name: + "Tell him," he said, "that, in my death, + I cherished his untarnished fame, + And, to my life's expiring breath, + Held his brave spirit free from blame. + + "We strove alike for truth's behoof, + With honest faith and love sincere,-- + For God and-country, right and roof, + And issues that do not appear; + But wait with Heaven the awful proof." + + A tottering figure reached the door; + The brother fell upon the bed, + And, in each other's arms once more, + With breast to breast, and head to head,-- + Twin barks, they drifted from the shore; + + And backward on the sobbing air + Came the same words from warring lips: + "God save my country!" and the prayer + Still wailing from the drifting ships, + Returned in measures of despair; + + Till far, at the horizon's verge, + They passed beyond the tearful eyes + That could not know if in the surge + They sank at last, or in the skies + Forgot the burden of their dirge! + + + + XXIX. + + In Northern blue and Southern brown, + Twin coffins and a single grave, + They laid the weary warriors down; + And hands that strove to slay and save + Had equal rest and like renown. + + For in the graveyard's hallowed close + A woman's love made neutral soil, + Where it might lay the forms of those + Who, resting from their fateful broil, + Had ceased forever to be foes. + + To her and those who clung to her-- + From manly eldest down to least-- + The obsequies, the sepulchre, + The chanting choir, the weeping priest, + And all the throng and all the stir + + Of sympathetic country-folk, + And all the signs of death and dole, + Were but a dream that beat and broke + In chilling waves on heart and soul, + Till in the silence they awoke. + + She was a widow, and she wept; + She was a mother, and she smiled; + Her faith with those she loved was kept, + Though still the war-cry, fierce and wild, + Around the harried country swept. + + No more with this had she to do; + God and her little ones were left; + And unto these, serene and true, + She gave the life so soon bereft + Of its first gifts, and rose anew + + At duty's call to make amends + For all her loss of loves and lands; + And found, to speed her noble ends, + The succor of uplifting hands, + And solace of a thousand friends. + + And o'er her precious graves she built + A stone whereon the yellow boss + Of sword on sword with naked hilt + Lay as the symbol of her cross, + In mournful meaning, carved and gilt. + + And underneath were graved the lines:-- + + "THEY DID THE DUTY THAT THEY SAW; + BOTH WROUGHT AT GOD'S SUPREME DESIGNS + AND, UNDER LOVE'S ETERNAL LAW, + EACH LIFE WITH EQUAL BEAUTY SHINES." + + + + XXX. + + Peace, with its large and lilied calms, + Like moonlight sleeps on land and lake, + With healing in its dewy balms, + For pride that pines and hearts that ache, + From Huron to the land of palms! + + From rock-bound Massachusetts Bay + To San Francisco's Golden Gate; + From where Itasca's waters play, + To those which plunge or palpitate + A thousand happy leagues away, + + And drink, among her dunes and bars, + The Mississippi's boiling tide, + Still floating from a million spars, + The nation's ensign, undefied, + Blazons its galaxy of stars. + + No more to party strife the slave, + And freed from Hate's infernal spells, + Love pays her tribute to the brave, + And snows her holy immortelles + O'er friend and foe, where'er his grave. + + On every Decoration Day + The white-haired Mildred finds her mounds + Decked with the garnered bloom of May-- + Flowers planted first within her wounds, + And fed by love as white as they. + + And Philip's first-born, strong and sage, + Through Heaven's design or happy chance + Finds the old church his heritage, + And still, The Mistress of the Manse, + Sits Mildred, in her silver age! + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Mistress of the Manse, by J. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8391217 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #13052 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13052) diff --git a/old/13052.txt b/old/13052.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3f91b2a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13052.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3955 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mistress of the Manse, by J. G. Holland + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mistress of the Manse + +Author: J. G. Holland + +Release Date: July 29, 2004 [EBook #13052] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISTRESS OF THE MANSE *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +THE MISTRESS OF THE MANSE + +BY + +J. G. HOLLAND + + + + + +NEW YORK + +SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO + +1874 + + + + +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by + +SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., + +In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. + + + + + + +JOHN V. TROW & SON, + +PRINTERS AND BOOKBINDERS, + +205-213 East 12th St., + +NEW YORK. + + + + +CONTENTS. + +PRELUDE +LOVE'S EXPERIMENTS +LOVE'S PHILOSOPHIES +LOVE'S CONSUMMATIONS + + + + +LOVE'S EXPERIMENTS. + + + + + I. + + A fluttering bevy left the gate + With hurried steps, and sped away; + And then a coach with drooping freight, + Wrapped in its film of dusty gray, + Stopped; and the pastor and his mate + + Stepped forth, and passed the waiting door, + And closed it on the gazing street. + "Oh Philip!" She could say no more. + "Oh Mildred! You're at home, my sweet,-- + The old life closed: the new before!" + + "Dinah, the mistress!" And the maid, + Grown motherly with household care + And loving service, and arrayed + In homely neatness, took the pair + Of small gloved hands held out, and paid + + Her low obeisance; then--"this way!" + And when she brought her forth at last, + To him who grudged the long delay, + He found the soil of travel cast, + And Mildred fresh and fair as May. + + + + II + + "This is our little Manse," he said. + "Now look with both your curious eyes + Around, above and overhead, + And seeing all things, realize + That they are ours, and we are wed! + + "Walk through these freshly garnished rooms-- + These halls of oak and tinted pearl-- + And mark the cups of clover-blooms, + Cut fresh, to greet the stranger-girl, + By those whose kindliness illumes + + The house beyond the grace of flowers! + They greet you, mantled by my name, + And rain their tenderness in showers,-- + Responding to the double claim + Of love no longer mine, but ours. + + "This is our parlor, plain and sweet: + Your hands shall make it half divine. + That wide, old-fashioned window-seat + Beneath your touch shall grow a shrine; + And every nooklet and retreat, + + And every barren ledge and shelf, + Shall wear a charm beyond the boon + Of treasure-bearing drift, or delf, + Or dreams that flutter from the moon; + For it shall blossom with yourself. + + "This is my study: here, alone, + Prayerful to Him whom I adore, + And gathering speech to make him known, + Your far, quick footsteps on the floor, + Your breezy robe, your cheerful tone, + + As through our pretty home you speed + The busy ministries of life, + Will stir me swifter than my creed, + And be more musical, dear wife, + Than sweep of harp, or pipe of reed. + + "Here is our fairy banquet hall! + See how it opens to the East, + And looks through elms! The board is small, + But what it bears shall be a feast + At morn, and noon, and evenfall. + + "There will you sit in girlish grace, + And catch, the sunrise in your hair; + And looking at you, from my place, + I shall behold more sweet and fair + The morning in your smiling face. + + "And guests shall come, and guests shall go, + And break with us our daily bread; + And sometime--sometime--do you know? + I hope that--dearest, lift your head; + And let me speak it, soft and low! + + "The grass is sweeter than the ground: + Can love be better than its flowers? + Oh sometime--sometime--in the round + Of coming years, this board of ours + I hope may blossom and abound + + With shining curls, and laughing eyes, + And pleasant jests and merry words, + And questions full of life's surprise, + And light and music, when the birds + Have left us to our gloomy skies. + + "Now mount with me the old oak stair! + This is your chamber--pink and blue! + They asked the color of your hair, + And draped and fitted all for you, + My fine brunette, with tasteful care. + + "The linen is as white as snow; + The flowers are set on every sconce; + And e'en the cushioned pin-heads show + Your formal "welcome," for the nonce, + To the sweet home their hands bestow. + + "Declining to the river's marge, + See, from this window, how the turf + Runs with a thousand flowers in charge + To meet the silver feet of surf + That fly from every passing barge! + + "Along that reach of liquid light + Flies Commerce with her countless keels; + There the chained Titan in his might + Turns slowly round the groaning wheels + That drag her burdens, day and night. + + "And now the red sun flings his kiss + Across its waves from finger-tips + That pause, and grudgingly dismiss + The one he loves to closer lips, + And Moonlight's quiet hour of bliss. + + "And here comes Dinah with the steam + Of evening cups and evening food, + And coal-red berries quenched with cream, + And ministry of homely good + That proves, my dear, we do not dream." + + + + III. + + He heard the long-drawn organ-peal + Within his chapel call to prayer; + And, answering with ready zeal, + He breathed o'er Mildred's weary chair + These words, and sealed them with a seal: + + "Only an hour: but comfort take;-- + This home and I are wholly yours; + And many bosoms fondly ache + To tell you, that while life endures, + You shall be cherished for my sake. + + "So throw your heart's door open wide, + And take in mine as well as me; + Let no poor creature be denied + The grace of tender courtesy + And kindness from the pastor's bride." + + + + + IV. + + The moon came up the summer sky: + "Oh happy moon!" the lady said; + "Men love thee for thyself, but I + Am loved because my life is wed + To one whose message, pure and high, + + Has spread the world's evangel far, + And thrown such radiance through the dark + That men behold him as a star, + And in his gracious coming mark + How beautiful his footsteps are. + + "Oh Moon! dost thou take all thy light + From the great sun so lately gone? + Are there not shapes upon thy white, + That mould and make his sheen thy own, + And charms that soften to the sight + + The ardor of his blinding blaze? + Who loves thee that thou art the sun's? + Who does not give thee sweetest praise + Among the troop of shining ones + That sweep along the heavenly ways? + + "Yet still within the holy place + The altar sanctifies the gift! + Poor, precious gift, that begs for grace! + Oh towering altar! that doth lift + The gift so high, that, in its face, + + It bears no beauty to the thought + Of those who round the altar stand! + Poor, precious gift, that goes for naught + From willing heart and ready hand, + And wins no favor unbesought! + + "The stars are whiter for the blue; + The sky is deeper for the stars; + They give and take in commerce true, + And lend their beauty to the cars + Of downy dusk, that all night through, + + Roll o'er the void on silver wheels; + Yet neither starry sky nor cloud + Is loved the less that it reveals + A beauty all its own, endowed + By all the wealth its beauty steals. + + "Am I a dew-drop in a rose, + With no significance apart? + Must I but sparkle in repose + Close to its folded, fragrant, heart, + Its peerless beauty to disclose? + + "Would I not toil to win his bread, + And give him all I have to give? + Would I not die in his sweet stead, + And die in joy? But I must live; + And, living, I must still be fed + + On love that comes in love's own right. + They must not pet, or pamper me-- + Those who rejoice beneath his light-- + Or pity him, that I can be + So precious in his princely sight." + + With swifter wings, through heart and brain, + The little hour unheeded flew; + And when, behind the blazoned stain + Of saintly vestures, red and blue, + The lights on rose and window-pane + + Within the chapel slowly died, + And figures muffled by the moon + Went shuffling home on either side-- + One seeking her--she said: How soon! + And then the pastor kissed his bride. + + + + V. + + The bright night brightened into dawn; + The shadows down the mountain passed; + And tree and shrub and sloping lawn, + With bending, beaded beauty glassed + In myriad suns the sun that shone! + + The robin fed her nested young; + The swallows bickered 'neath the eaves; + The hang-bird in her hammock swung, + And, tilting high among the leaves, + Her red mate sang alone, or flung + + The dew-drops on her lifted head; + While on the grasses, white and far, + The tents of fairy hosts were spread + That, scared before the morning star, + Had left their reeking camp, and fled. + + The pigeon preened his opal breast; + And o'er the meads the bobolink, + With vexed perplexity confessed + His tinkling gutturals in a kink, + Or giggled round his secret nest. + + With dizzy wings and dainty craft, + In green and gold, the humming-bird + Dashed here and there, and touched and quaffed + The honey-dew, then flashed and whirred, + And vanished like the feathered shaft + + That glitters from a random bow. + The flies were buzzing in the sun, + The bees were busy in the snow + Of lilies, and the spider spun, + And waited for his prey below. + + With sail aloft and sail adown, + And motion neither slow nor swift, + With dark-brown hull and shadow brown, + Half-way between two skies adrift, + The barque went dreaming toward the town. + + 'Twas Sunday in the silent street, + And Sunday in the silent sky. + The peace of God came down to meet + The throng that laid their labor by, + And rested, weary hands and feet. + + Ah, sweet the scene which caught the glance + Of eyes that with the morning woke, + And, from their window in the manse, + Looked up through sprays of elm and oak + Into the sky's serene expanse, + + And off upon the distant wood, + And down into the garden's close, + And over, where his chapel stood + In ivy, reaching to its rose, + Waiting the Sunday multitude! + + + + VI. + + A red rose in her raven hair + Whose curls forbade the plait and braid, + The bride slid down the oaken stair, + And mantled like a bashful maid, + As, seated in the waiting chair, + + Behind the fragrant urn, she poured + The nectar of the morn's repast; + But fairer lady, fonder lord, + In happier hall ne'er broke their fast + With sweeter bread, at prouder board. + + And then they rose with common will, + And sought the parlor, cool and dim. + "Sing, love!" he said. "The birds grow still, + And wait with me to hear your hymn." + She swept a low, preluding trill-- + + A spray of sound--across the keys + That felt her fingers for the first; + And then, from simplest cadences, + A reverent melody she nursed, + And gave it voice in words like these: + + "From full forgetfulness of pain, + From joy to opening joy again, + With bird and flower, and hill and tree, + We lift our eyes and hands, to thee, + To greet thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth + + "That thou dost bathe our souls anew + With balm and boon of heavenly dew, + And smilest in our upward eyes + From the far blue of smiling skies, + We bless thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth! + + "For human love and love divine, + For love of ours and love of thine, + For heaven on earth and heaven above-- + To thee and us twin homes of love-- + We thank thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth! + + "Oh dove-like wings, so wide unfurled + In brooding calm above the world! + Waft us your holy peace, and raise + The incense of our morning praise + Up to our Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth!" + + VII. + + Full fleetly sped the morning hours; + Then, wide upon the country round + A tumult of melodious powers + In tumult of melodious sound + Burst forth from all the village towers. + + With blow on blow, and tone on tone, + And echoes answering everywhere-- + Like bugles from the mountains blown-- + Each sought to whelm the burdened air, + And make the silence all its own. + + In broad, sonorous, silver swells + The air was billowed like the sea; + And listening ears were listening shells + That caught the Sabbath minstrelsy, + And sang it with the singing bells. + + The billows heaved, the billows broke, + The first wild burst went down amain; + The music fell to slower stroke, + And in a rhythmic, bold refrain + The great bells to each other spoke. + + Oh bravely bronze gave forth his word, + And sharply silver made reply, + And every tower and turret stirred + With sounding breath and converse high, + Or paused with waiting ear, and heard. + + And long they talked, as friend to friend; + Then faltered to their closing toll, + Whose long, monotonous repetend, + From every music-burdened bowl + Poured the last drop, and brought the end! + + + + VIII. + + The chapel's chime fell slow and soft, + And throngs slow-marching to its knoll + From village home and distant croft, + With careful feet and reverent soul + Pressed toward the open door, but oft + + Turned curious and expectant eyes + Upon the Manse that stood apart. + There in her quiet, bridal guise + Fair Mildred sat with shrinking heart; + While Philip, bold and over wise, + + And knowing naught of woman's ways, + Smiled at her fears, and could not guess + How one so armored in his praise, + And strong in native loveliness, + Could dread to meet his people's gaze. + + He could not know her fine alarm + When at his manly side she stood, + And, leaning faintly on his arm-- + A dainty slip of womanhood-- + Walked forth where every girlish charm + + Was scanned with prying gaze and glance, + Among the slowly moving crowd + That, greedy of the precious chance, + Read furtively, but half aloud, + The pages of their new romance. + + "A child!" And Mildred caught the word. + "A plaything!" And, another voice: + "Fine feathers, and a Southern bird!" + And still one more; "A parson's choice!" + And trembling Mildred overheard. + + These from the careless or the dull-- + Gossips at best; at wisest, dolts; + And though her quickened ear might cull + From out their whispered thunderbolts + A "lovely!" and a "beautiful!" + + And though sweet mother-faces smiled, + And bows were given with friendly grace, + And many a pleasant little child + Sought sympathy within her face, + Her aching heart was not beguiled. + + She did not see--she only felt-- + As up the staring aisle she walked-- + The critic glances, coldly dealt, + By those who looked, and bent, and talked; + And, even, when at last she knelt + + Alone within the pastor's pew, + And prayed for self-forgetfulness + With deep humility, she knew + She gave her figure and her dress + To careful eyes with closer view. + + + + IX. + + At length she raised her head, and tossed + A burden from her heart, and brain. + She would have love at any cost + Of weary toil and patient pain, + And rightful ease and pleasure lost! + + They could not love her for his sake; + They would not, and her heart forgave. + Why should a woman stoop to take + The poor endowment of a slave, + And like a menial choose to make + + Her master's mantle half her own? + They loved her least who loved him most: + They envied her her little throne! + He who was cherished by a host + Was hers by gift, and hers alone, + + And she would prove her woman's right + To hold the throne to which the king + Had called her, clothing her with white; + And never would she show her ring + To win a loving proselyte! + + These were the thoughts and this the strife + That through her kindling spirit swept, + And wrought her purposes of life; + And powers that waked and powers that slept + Within the sweet and girlish wife. + + Sprang into energy intense, + At touch of an inspiring chrism + That fell on her, she knew not whence, + And lifted her to heroism + Which wrapped her wholly, soul and sense. + + + + X. + + Meanwhile, through all the vaulted space + The organ sent its angels out; + And up and down the holy place + They fanned the cheeks of care and doubt, + And touched each worn and weary face + + With beauty as their wings went by: + Then sailed afar with peaceful sweep, + And, calling heavenward every eye, + Evanished into silence deep-- + The earth forgotten in the sky! + + Then by the sunlight warmly kissed, + Far up, in rainbow glory set, + Rayed round with gold and amethyst, + She saw upon the great rosette + The Saviour's visage, pale and trist. + + "Oh Crown of Thorns!" she softly breathed; + "Oh precious crown of love divine! + Oh brow with trickling life enwreathed! + Oh piercing thorns and crimson sign! + I hold you mine in love bequeathed. + + "But not for sake of these or thee! + I must win love as thou hast won. + The thorns are mine, and all must see, + In sacrifice, and service done, + The loving Lord they love in me." + + + + XI. + + Then, through a large and golden hour + She listened to the golden speech + Of one who held the priceless dower + Of love and eloquence, that reach + And move the hearts of men with power. + + Ah poor the music of the choir + That voiced the Psalter after him! + And strong the prayer that, touched with fire, + Flamed upward, past the seraphim, + And wrapped the throne of his desire! + + She watched and heard as in a dream, + When, in the old, familiar ground + Of sacred truth, he found his theme, + And led it forth, until it wound + Through meadows broad--a swollen stream + + That flashed and eddied in the light, + And fed the grasses at its edge, + Or thundered in its onward might + O'er interposing weir and ledge, + And left them hidden in the white; + + While on it pressed, and, to the eye, + Grew broader, till its breadth became + A solemn river, sweeping by, + That, quick with ships and red with flame, + Reached far away and kissed the sky! + + Strong men were moved as trees are bowed + Before a swift and sounding wind; + And sighs were long and sobs were loud, + Of those who loved and those who sinned, + Among the deeply listening crowd. + + + + XII. + + And Mildred, in the whelming tide + Of thought and feeling, quite forgot + That he who thus had magnified + His office, held a common lot + With her, and owned her as his bride. + + But when, at length, the thought returned + That she was his in plighted truth, + And she with humbled soul discerned + That, though her youth was given to youth, + And love by love was fairly earned, + + She could not match him wing-and-wing + Through all his broad and lofty range, + And feared what passing years might bring + No change for good, but only change + That would degrade her to a thing + + Of homely use and household care, + And love by duty basely kept-- + She bowed her head upon the bare + Cold rail that hid her face, and wept, + And poured her passion in a prayer. + + + + XIII. + + "Oh Father, Father!" thus she prayed: + "Thou know'st the priceless boon I seek! + Before my life, abashed, dismayed, + I stand, with hopeless hands and weak, + Of him and of myself afraid! + + "Teach me and lead me where to find, + Beyond the touch of hand and lip, + That vital charm of heart, and mind + Which, in a true companionship, + My feebler life to his shall bind! + + "His ladder leans upon the sun: + I cannot climb it: give me wings! + Grant that my deeds, divinely done, + May be appraised divinest things, + Though they be little every one. + + "His stride is strong; his steps are high + May not my deeds be little stairs + That, counted swift, shall keep me nigh, + Till at the summit, unawares, + We stand with equal foot and eye? + + "If further down toward Nature's heart + His root is struck, commanding springs + In whose deep life I have no part, + Send me, on recompensing wings, + The rain that gathers where thou art! + + "Oh give me vision to divine + What he with delving hand explores! + Feed me with flame that shall refine + To finest gold the rugged ores + His strong hands gather from the mine! + + "O dearest Father! May no sloth, + Or weakness of my weaker soul, + Delay him in his kingly growth, + Or hold him meanly from the goal + That shines with guerdon for us both!" + + + + XIV. + + Then all arose as if a spell + Had been dissolved for their release, + The while the benediction fell + Which breathed the gentle Master's peace + On all the souls that loved him well. + + And Philip, coming from his place, + Like Moses from the mountain pyre, + Bore on his brow the shining grace + Of one who, in the cloud and fire, + Had met his Maker, face to face. + + And men and women, young and old, + Pressed up to meet him as he came, + And children, by their love made bold, + Grasped both his hands and spoke his name, + And in their simple language told + + Their joy to see his face once more; + While half in pleasure, half in pain, + His bride stood waiting at her door + The passage of the friendly train + That slowly swept the crowded floor. + + Half-bows were tendered and returned; + And welcomes fell from lips and eyes; + But in her heart she meekly spurned + The love that came in love's disguise + Of sympathy--the love unearned. + + + + XV. + + Then out beneath the noon-day sun + Of the old Temple, cool and dim, + She walked beside her chosen one, + And lost her loneliness in him; + But hardly was her walk begun + + When, straight before her in the street, + With tender shock her eye descried + A little child, with naked feet + And scanty dress, that, hollow-eyed, + Looked up and begged for bread to eat. + + Nor pride of place nor dainty spleen + Felt with her heart the sickening shock. + She took the hand so soiled and lean; + And silken robe and ragged frock + Moved side by side across the green. + + She looked for love, and, low and wild, + She found it--looking, too, for love! + So in each other's eyes they smiled, + As, dark brown hand in snowy glove, + The bride led home the hungry child. + + And men and women in amaze + Paused in their homeward steps to see + The bride retreating from their gaze, + Clasped hand in hand with misery; + Then brushed their eyes, and went their ways. + + + + When the long parley found a close, + And, clean and kempt, the little oaf-- + Disburdened of her wants and woes, + And burdened with her wheaten loaf-- + Went forth to minister to those + + Who sent her on her bitter quest, + The bride stood smiling at her door, + And in her happiness confessed + That she had found a friend; nay, more-- + Had entertained a heavenly guest. + + And as she watched her down the street, + With brow grown bright with sunny thought, + And heart o'erfilled with something sweet, + She knew the vagrant child had brought + The blessing of the Paraclete. + + She turned from out the blazing noon, + And sought her chamber's quiet shade, + Like one who had received a boon + She might not show, but which essayed + Expression in a happy croon. + + And then, outleaping from the mesh + Of Memory's net, like bird or bee, + There thrilled her spirit and her flesh + This old half-song, half-rhapsody, + That sang, or said itself, afresh: + + + "Poor little wafer of silver! + More precious to me than its cost! + It was worn of both image and legend, + But priceless because it was lost. + My chamber I carefully swept; + I hunted, and wondered, and wept; + And I found it at last with a cry: + "Oh dear little jewel!" said I; + And I washed it with tears all the day; + Then I kissed it, and put it away. + + "Poor little lamb of the sheepfold! + Unlovely and feeble it grew; + But it wandered away to the mountains, + And was fairer the further it flew. + I followed with hurrying feet + At the call of its pitiful bleat, + And precious, with wonderful charms, + I caught it at last in my arms, + And bore it far back to its keep, + And kissed it and put it to sleep. + + "Poor little vagrant from Heaven! + It wandered away from the fold, + And its weakness and danger endowed it + With value more precious than gold. + Oh happy the day when it came, + And my heart learned its beautiful name! + Oh happy the hour when I fed + This waif of the angels with bread! + And the lamb that the Shepherd had missed + Was sheltered and nourished and kissed!" + + + + XVII. + + To Philip, Mildred was a child, + Or a fair angel, to be kept + From all things earthly undenied, + One who upon his bosom slept, + And only waked to be beguiled + + From loneliness and homely care + By love's unfailing ministry; + No toil of his was she to share, + No burden hers, that should not be + Left for his stronger hands to bear. + + His love enwrapped her as a robe, + Which seemed, by its supernal charm, + To shield from every poisoned probe + Of earthly pain and earthly harm + This one choice creature of the globe. + + The love he bore her lifted him + Into a bright, sweet atmosphere + That filled with beauty to the brim + The world beneath him, far and near, + And stained the clouds that draped its rim. + + Toil was not toil, except in name; + Care was not care, but only means + To feed with holy oil the flame + That warmed her soul, and lit the scenes + Through which her figure went and came. + + Her smile of welcome was his meed; + Her presence was his great reward; + He questioned sadly if, indeed, + He loved more loyally his Lord, + Or if his Lord felt greater need. + + And Mildred, vexed, misunderstood, + Knew all his love, but might not tell + How in his thought, so large and good, + And in his heart, there did not dwell + The measure of her womanhood. + + She knew the girlish charm would fade; + She knew the rapture would abate; + That years would follow when the maid, + Merged in the matron, and sedate + With change, and sitting in the shade + + Of a great nature, would become + As poor and pitiful a thing + As an old idol, and as dumb,-- + A clog upon an upward wing,-- + A value stricken from the sum + + Which a true woman's hand would raise + To mighty numbers, and endow + With kingly power and crowning praise. + She must be mate of his; but how? + And, dreaming of a thousand ways + + Her hands would work, her feet would tread, + She thought to match him as a man! + His books should be her daily bread; + She would run swiftly where he ran, + And follow closely where he led. + + + + XVIII. + + Since time began, the perfect day + Has robbed the morrow of its wealth, + And squandered, in its lavish sway, + The balm and beauty of the stealth, + And left its golden throne in gray. + + So when the Sunday light declined, + A cold wind sprang and shut the flowers + Then vagrant voices, undefined, + Grew louder through the evening hours, + Till the old chimney howled and whined + + As if it were a frightened beast, + That witnessed from its dizzy post + The loathsome forms and grewsome feast + And hideous mirth of ghoul and ghost, + As on they crowded from the East. + + The willow, gathered into sheaves + Of scorpions by spectral arms, + Swung to and fro, and whipped the eaves, + And filled the house with weird alarms + That hissed from all its tortured leaves. + + And in the midnight came the rain;-- + In spiteful needles at the first; + But soon on roof and window-pane + The slowly gathered fury burst + In floods that came, and came again, + + And poured their roaring burden out. + They swept along the sounding street, + Then paused, and then with shriek and shout + Hurtled as if a myriad feet + Had joined the dread and deafening rout. + + But ere the welcome morning broke, + The loud wind fell, though gray and chill + The drizzling rain and drifting smoke + Drove slowly toward the westward hill, + Half hidden in its phantom cloak. + + And through the mist a clumsy smack, + Deep loaded with her clumsy freight, + With shifting boom and frequent tack, + Like a huge ghost that wandered late, + Reeled by upon her devious track. + + + + XIX. + + So Mildred, with prophetic ken, + Saw in the long and rainy day + The dreaded host of friendly men + And friendly women, kept away, + And time for love, and book, and pen. + + But while she looked, with dreaming eyes + And heart content, upon the scene, + She saw a stalwart man arise + Where the wild water lashed the green, + And pause a breath, to signalize + + Some one beyond her stinted view; + Then turn with hurried feet, and straight + The deep, rain-burdened grasses through, + And through the manse's open gate, + Pass to her door. At once she knew + + That some faint soul, in sad extreme, + Had sent for succor to the manse, + And knew its master would redeem + To sacred use the circumstance + That made such havoc of her dream. + + + + XX. + + She saw the quiet men depart, + She saw them leave the river-side, + She saw them brave with sturdy art + The surges of the angry tide, + And disappear; the while her heart + + Sank down in dismal loneliness. + Then came her vexing thoughts again; + And quick, as if she broke duress + Of heavy weariness or pain, + She sought the study's dim recess, + + Where rank on rank, against the wall, + The mighty men of every land + Stood mutely waiting for the call + Of him who, with his single hand, + Had bravely met and mastered all. + + The gray old monarchs of the pen + Looked down with calm, benignant gaze, + And Augustine and Origen + And Ansel justified the ways-- + The wondrous ways--of God with men. + + Among the tall hierophants + Angelical Aquinas stood; + While Witsius held the "Covenants," + And Irenaeus, wise and good, + Couched low his silver-bearded lance + + For strife with heresy and schism, + And Turretin with lordly nod + Gave system to the dogmatism + That analyzed the thought of God + As light is painted by a prism. + + Great Luther, with his great disputes, + And Calvin, with his finished scheme, + And Charnock, with his "Attributes," + And Taylor with his poet's dream + Of theologic flowers and flutes, + + And Thomas Fuller, old and quaint, + And Cudworth, dry with dust of gold, + And South, the sharp and witty saint, + With Howe and Owen--broad and bold-- + And Leighton still without the taint + + Of earth upon his robe of white, + Stood side by side with Hobbes and Locke, + And, braced by many an acolyte, + With Edwards standing on his rock, + And all New England's men of might, + + Whose gifts and offices divine + Had crowned her with a kingly crown, + And solemn doctors from the Rhine, + With Fichte, Kant, and Hegel, down + Through all the long and stately line! + + As Mildred saw the awful host, + She felt within no motive stir + To realize her girlish boast, + And knew they held no more for her + Than if each volume were a ghost. + + + + XXI. + + She sat in Philip's vacant chair, + And pondered long her doubtful way; + And, in her impotent despair, + Lifted her longing eyes to pray, + When on a shelf, far up, and bare, + + She saw an ancient volume lie; + And straight her rising thought was checked. + What were its dubious treasures? Why + Had it been banished from respect, + And from its owner's hand and eye? + + The more she gazed, the stronger grew + The wish to hold it in her hand. + Strange fancies round the volume flew, + And changed the dust their pinions fanned + To atmospheres of red and blue, + + That blent in purple aureole,-- + As if a lymph of sweetest life + Stood warm within a golden bowl, + Crowned with its odor-cloud, and rife + With strength and solace for her soul! + + And there it lay beyond her arm, + And wrought its fine and wondrous spell, + With all its hoard of good or harm, + Till curious Mildred, struggling well, + Surrendered to the mighty charm. + + The steps were scaled for boon or bale, + The book was lifted from its place, + And, bowing to the fragrant grail, + She drank with pleased and eager face + This draught from off an Eastern tale: + + + Selim, the haughty Jehangir, the Conqueror of the Earth, + With royal pomps and pageantries and rites of festal mirth + Was set to celebrate the day--the white day--of his birth. + + His red pavilions, stretching wide, crowned all with globes of gold, + And tipped with pinnacles of fire and streamers manifold, + Flamed with such splendor that the sun at noon looked pale and cold! + + And right and left, along, the plain, far as the eye could gaze, + His nobles and retainers who were tented in the blaze, + Kept revel high in honor of that day of all the days. + + The earth was spread, the walls were hung, with silken fabrics fine, + And arabesque and lotus-flower bore each the broidered sign + Of jewels plucked from land and sea, and red gold from the mine. + + Upon his throne he sat alone, half buried in the gems + That strewed his tapestries like stars, and tipped their tawny hems, + And glittered with the glory of a hundred diadems. + + He saw from his pavilion door the nodding heron plumes + His nobles wore upon their brows, while, from the rosy glooms + Which hid his harem, came low songs, on wings of rare perfumes! + + The elephants, a thousand strong, had passed his dreaming eye, + Caparisoned with golden plates on head and breast and thigh, + And a hundred flashing troops of horse unmarked had thundered by. + + He sat upon old Akbar's throne, the heir of power and fame, + But all his glory was as dust, and dust his wondrous name-- + Swept into air, and scattered far, by one consuming flame! + + For on that day of all the days, and in that festal hour, + He sickened with his glory and grew weary of his power, + And pined to bind upon his breast his harem's choicest flower, + + "Oh Nourmahal! oh Nourmahal! why sit I here," he cried,-- + "The victim of these gaudy shows, and of my haughty pride, + When thou art dearer to my soul than all the world beside! + + "Thy eyes are brighter than the gems piled round gilded seat; + Thy cheeks are softer than the silks that shimmer at my feet, + And purer heart than thine in woman's breast hath never beat! + + "My first love--and my only love--Oh babe of Candahar! + Torn from my boyish arms at first, and, like a silver star + Shining within another heaven, and worshipped from afar, + + "Thou art my own at last, my own! I pine to see thy face; + Come to me, Nourmahal! Oh come, and hallow with thy grace + The glories that without thy love are meaningless and base!" + + He spoke a word, and, quick as light, before him lying prone + A dark-eyed page, with gilded vest and crimson-belted zone, + Looked up with waiting ear to mark the message from the throne. + + "Go summon Nourmahal, my queen; and when her radiance comes, + Bear my command of silence to the vinas and the drums, + And for your guerdon take your choice of all these gilded crumbs." + + He tossed a handful of the gems down where his minion lay, + Who snatched a jewel from the drift, and swiftly sped away + With his command to Nourmahal, who waited to obey. + + But needlessly the mandate fell of silence on the crowd, + For when the Empress swept the path, ten thousand heads were bowed, + And drum and vina ceased their din, and no one spoke aloud. + + As comes the moon from out the sea with her attendant breeze, + As sweeps the morning up the hills and blossoms in the trees, + So Nourmahal to Selim came: then fell upon her knees! + + The envious jewels looked at her with chill, barbaric stare, + The cloth-of-gold she knelt upon grew lusterless and bare, + And all the place was cooler in the darkness of her hair. + + And while she knelt in queenly pride and beauty strange and wild, + And held her breast with both her palms and looked on him and smiled, + She seemed no more of common earth, but Casyapa's child. + + He bent to her as thus she smiled; he kissed her lifted cheek; + "Oh Nourmahal," he murmured low, "more dear than I can speak, + I'm weary of my lonely life: give me the rest I seek." + + She rose and paced the silken floor, as if in mad caprice, + Then paused, and from the Empress changed to improvisatrice, + And wove this song--a golden chain--that led him into peace: + + + Lovely children of the light, + Draped in radiant locks and pinions,-- + Red and purple, blue and white-- + In their beautiful dominions, + On the earth and in the spheres, + Dwell the little glendoveers. + + And the red can know no change, + And the blue are blue forever, + And the yellow wings may range + Toward the white or purple never. + But they mingle free from strife, + For their color is their life. + + When their color dies, they die,-- + Blent with earth or ether slowly-- + Leaving where their spirits lie, + Not a stain, so pure and holy + Is the essence and the thought + Which their fading brings to naught! + + Each contented with the hue + Which indues his wings of beauty, + Red or yellow, white or blue, + Sings the measure of his duty + Through the summer clouds in peace, + And delights that never cease. + + Not with envy love they more + Locks and pinions purple-tinted, + Nor with jealousy adore + Those whose pleasures are unstinted, + And whose purple hair and wings + Give them place with queens and kings. + + When a purple glendoveer + Flits along the mute expanses, + They surround him, far and near, + With their glancing wings and dances, + And do honor to the hue + Loved by all and worn by few. + + In the days long gone, alas! + Two upon a cloud, low-seated, + Saw their pinions in the glass + Of a silver lake repeated. + One was blue and one was red, + And the lovely pair were wed. + + "Purple wings are very fine," + Spoke the voice of Ruby, gently: + "Ay" said Sapphire, "they're divine!"-- + Looking at his blue intently. + "But we're blest," said Ruby, then, + "And we'll not complain like men." + + Sapphire stretched his loving arms, + And she nestled on his bosom, + While his heart inhaled her charms + As the sense inhales a blossom;-- + Drank her wholly, tint and tone, + Blent her being with his own. + + Rapture passed, they raised their eyes, + But were startled into clamor + Of a marvellous surprise! + Was it color! was it glamour! + Purple-tinted, sweet and warm, + Was each wing and folded form! + + Who had wrought it--how it came-- + These were what the twain disputed. + How were mingled smoke and flame + Into royal hue transmuted? + Each was right, the other wrong: + But their quarrel was not long, + + For the moment that their speech + Differed o'er their little story, + Swiftly faded off from each + Every trace of purple glory, + Blue was bluer than before, + And the red was red once more. + + Then they knew that both were wrong, + And in sympathy of sorrow + Learned that each was only strong + In the power to lend and borrow,-- + That the purple never grew + But by grace of red to blue. + + So, embracing in content, + Hearts and wings again united, + Red and blue in purple blent, + And their holy troth replighted, + Both, as happy as the day, + Kissed, and rose, and flew away! + + And for twice a thousand years, + Floating through the radiant ether, + Lived the happy glendoveers, + Of the other, jealous neither,-- + Sapphire naught without the red, + Ruby still by blue bested. + + But when weary of their life, + They came down to earth at even-- + Purple husband, purple wife-- + From the upper deeps of heaven, + And reclined upon the grass, + That their little lives might pass. + + Wing to wing and arms enwreathed, + Sank they from their life's long dreaming;-- + Into earth their souls they breathed; + But when morning's light was streaming, + All their joys and sweet regrets + Bloomed in banks of violets! + + + As from its dimpled fountain, at its own capricious will, + Each step a note of music, and each fall and flash a thrill, + The rill goes singing to the meadow levels and is still, + + So fell from Nourmahal her song upon the captive sense; + It dashed in spray against the throne, it tinkled through the tents, + And died at last among the flowery banks of recompense; + + For when great Selim marked her fire, and read her riddle well, + And watched her from the flushing to the fading of the spell, + He sprang forgetful, from his seat, and caught her as she fell. + + He raised her in his tender arms; he bore her to his throne: + "No more, oh! Nourmahal, my wife, no more I sit alone; + And the future for the dreary past shall royally atone!" + + He called to him the princes and the nobles of the land, + Then took the signet-ring from his, and placed it on her hand, + And bade them honor as his own, fair Nourmahal's command. + + And on the minted silver that his largess scattered wide, + And on the gold of commerce, till the mighty Selim died, + Her name and his in shining boss stood equal, side by side. + + + + XXII. + + The opening of the wondrous tome + Was like the opening of a door + Into a vast and pictured dome, + Crowded, from vaulted roof to floor, + With secrets of her life and home. + + To be like Philip was to be + Another Philip--only less! + To win his wit in full degree + Would bear to him but nothingness, + From one no wiser grown than he! + + If blue and red in Hindostan + Were blue and red at home, she knew + That she--a woman, he--a man, + Could never wear the royal hue + Till blue and red together ran + + In complement of each to each; + She might not tint his life at all + By learning wisdom he could teach; + So what she gave, though poor and small, + Should be of that beyond his reach. + + Where Philip fed, she would not feed; + Where Philip walked, she would not go; + The books he read she would not read, + But live her separate life, and, so, + Have sole supplies to meet his need. + + He held his mission and his range; + His way and work were all his own; + And she would give him in exchange + What she could win and she alone, + Of life and learning, fresh and strange. + + + + XXIII. + + While thus she sat in musing mood, + Determining her life's emprise, + The sunlight flushed the distant wood, + Then, coming closer, filled her eyes, + And glorified her solitude. + + The clouds were shivered by the lance + Sped downward by the morning sun, + And from her heart, in swift advance, + The shadows vanished, one by one, + Till more than sunlight filled the manse. + + She closed the volume with a gust + That sprent the light with powdered gold; + Then placed it high to hide and rust + Where, curious and over-bold + She found it, lying in its dust. + + Her soul was light, her path was plain; + One shadow only drooped above,-- + The shadow of a heart and brain + So charged with overwhelming love + That it oppressed and gave her pain. + + The modest comb that kept her hair; + To Philip was a golden crown; + And every ringlet was a snare, + And every hat, and every gown + And slipper, something more than fair. + + His love had glorified her grace, + And she was his, and not her own,-- + So wholly his she had no place + Beside him on his lonely throne, + Or share in love's divine embrace. + + And knowing that the coming days + Would strip her features of their mask, + That duty then would speak her praise, + And love become a loyal task, + Save he should find beneath the glaze + + His fiery love of her had spread, + Diviner things he had not seen, + She feared her woman's heart and head + Were armed with charms and powers too mean + To win the boon she coveted. + + But still she saw and held her plan, + And fear made way for springing hope. + If she was man's, then hers was man: + Both held their own in even scope; + And then and there her life began. + + + + + LOVE'S PHILOSOPHIES. + + I. + + A wife is like an unknown sea;-- + Least known to him who thinks he knows + Where all the shores of promise be, + Where lie the islands of repose, + And where the rocks that he must flee. + + Capricious winds, uncertain tides, + Drive the young sailor on and on, + Till all his charts and all his guides + Prove false, and vain conceit is gone, + And only docile love abides. + + Where lay the shallows of the maid, + No plummet line the wife may sound; + Where round the sunny islands played + The pulses of the great profound, + Lies low the treacherous everglade. + + And sailing, he becomes, perforce, + Discoverer of a lovely world; + And finds, whate'er may be his course, + Green lands within white seas impearled, + And streams of unsuspected source + + Which feed with gold delicious fruits, + Kept by unguessed Hesperides, + Or cool the lips of gentle brutes + That breed and browse among the trees + Whose wind-tossed limbs and leaves are lutes, + + The maiden free, the maiden wed, + Can never, never be the same. + A new life springs from out the dead, + And, with the speaking of a name, + A breath upon the marriage-bed, + + She finds herself a something new-- + (Which he learns later, but no less); + And good and evil, false and true, + May change their features--who can guess?-- + Seen close, or from another view. + + For maiden life, with all its fire, + Is hid within a grated cell, + Where every fancy and desire + And graceless passion, guarded well, + Sits dumb behind the woven wire. + + Marriage is freedom: only when + The husband turns the prison-key + Knows she herself; nor even then + Knows she more wisely well than he, + Who finds himself least wise of men. + + New duties bring new powers to birth, + And new relations, new surprise + Of depths of weakness or of worth, + Until he doubt if her disguise + Mask more of heaven, or more of earth. + + Tears spring beneath a careless touch; + Endurance hardens with a word; + She holds a trifle with a clutch + So strangely, childishly absurd, + That he who loves and pardons much + + Doubts if her wayward wit be sane, + When straight beyond his manly power + She stiffens to the awful strain + Of some supreme or crucial hour, + And stands unblanched in fiercest pain! + + A jealous thought, a petty pique, + Enwraps in gloom, or bursts in storm; + She questions all that love may speak, + And weighs its tone, and marks its form, + Or yields her frailty to a freak + + That vexes him or breeds disgust; + Then rises in heroic flame, + And treads a danger into dust, + Or puts his doubting soul to shame + With love unfeigned and perfect trust. + + Still seas unknown the husband sails; + Life-long the lovely marvel lasts; + In golden calms or driving gales, + With silent prow, or reeling masts, + Each hour a fresh surprise unveils. + + The brooding, threatening bank of mist + Grows into groups of virid isles, + By sea embraced and sunlight kissed, + Or breaks into resplendent smiles + Of cinnabar and amethyst! + + No day so bright but scuds may fall, + No day so still but winds may blow; + No morn so dismal with the pall + Of wintry storm, but stars may glow + When evening gathers, over all! + + And so thought Philip, when, in haste + Returning from his lengthened stay-- + The river and the lawn retraced-- + He found his Mildred blithe and gay, + And all his anxious care a waste. + + To be half vexed that she could thrive + Without him through a morning's span, + Upon the honey in her hive, + Was but to prove himself a man, + And show that he was quite alive! + + + + II. + + A sympathetic word or kiss, + (Mildred had insight to discern,) + Though grateful quite, is quite amiss, + In leading to the life etern + The soul that has no bread in this. + + The present want must aye be fed, + And first relieved the present care: + "Give us this day our daily bread" + Must be recited in our prayer + Before "forgive us" may be said. + + And he who lifts a soul from vice, + And leads the way to better lands; + Must part his raiment, share his slice, + And oft with weary, bleeding hands, + Pave the long path with sacrifice. + + So on a pleasant summer morn, + Wrapped in her motive, sweet and safe, + She sought the homes of sin and scorn, + And found her little Sunday waif + Ragged, and hungry, and forlorn. + + She called her quickly to her knee; + And with her came a motley troop + Of children, poor and foul as she, + Who gathered in a curious group, + And ceased their play, to hear and see. + + Tanned brown by all the summer suns, + With brutish brows and vacant eyes, + They drank her speech and ate her buns, + While she behind their sad disguise + Beheld her dear Lord's "little ones." + + She stood like Ruth amid the wheat, + With ready hand and sickle keen, + And looked on all with aspect sweet; + For where she only thought to glean, + She found a harvest round her feet. + + Ah! little need the tale to write + Of garments begged from door to door, + Of needles plying in the night, + And money gathered from the store + Alike of screw and Sybarite, + + With which to clothe the little flock. + She went like one sent forth of God + To loose the bolts of heart and lock, + And with the smiting of her rod + To call a flood from every rock. + + And little need the tale to tell + How, when the Sunday came again, + A wondrous change the group befell, + And how from every noisome den, + Responding to the chapel bell, + + They issued forth with shout and call, + And Mildred walking at their head, + Who, with her silken parasol, + Bannered the army that she led, + And with low words commanded all. + + The little army walked through smiles + That hung like lamps above their march, + And lit their swart and straggling files, + While bending elm and plumy larch + Shaped into broad cathedral aisles + + The paths that led with devious trend + To where the ivied chapel stood, + There their long passage found its end, + And there they gathered in a brood + Of gentle clamor round their friend. + + A score pressed in on either side + To share the burden of her care, + And hearts and house gave entrance wide + To those to whom the words of prayer + Were stranger than the curse of pride. + + And Mildred who, without a thought + Of glory in her week's long task, + This marvel of the week had wrought, + Had earned the boon she would not ask, + And won more love than she had sought. + + + + III. + + As two who walk through forest aisles, + Lit all the way by forest flowers, + Divide at morn through twin defiles + To meet again in distant hours, + With plunder plucked from all the miles, + + So Philip and his Mildred went + Into their walks of daily life,-- + Parting at morn with sweet consent, + And--tireless husband, busy wife-- + Together when the day was spent, + + Bringing the treasures they had won + From sundered tracks of enterprise, + To learn from each what each had done, + And prove each other grown more wise + Than when the morning was begun. + + He strengthened her with manly thought + And learning, gathered from the great; + And she, whose quicker eye had caught + The treasures of the broad estate + Of common life and learning, brought + + Her gleanings from the level field, + And gave them gladly to his hands, + Who had not dreamed that they could yield + Such sheaves, or hold within their bands + Such wealth of lovely flowers concealed. + + His grave discourse, his judgment sure, + Gave tone and temper to her soul, + While her swift thoughts and vision pure, + And mirth that would not brook control, + And wit that kept him insecure + + Within his dignified repose, + Refreshed and quickened him like wine. + No tender word or dainty gloze + Could give him pleasure half so fine + As that which tingled to her blows. + + He gave her food for heart and mind, + And raised her toward his higher plane; + She showed him that his eyes were blind; + She proved his lofty wisdom vain, + And held him humbly with his kind. + + + + IV. + + Oh blessed sleep! in which exempt + From our tired selves long hours we lie, + Our vapid worthlessness undreamt, + And our poor spirits saved thereby + From perishing of self-contempt! + + We weary of our petty aims; + We sicken with our selfish deeds; + We shrink and shrivel, in the flames + That low desire ignites and feeds, + And grudge the debt that duty claims. + + Oh sweet forgetfulness of sleep! + Oh bliss, to drop the pride of dress, + And all the shams o'er which we weep, + And, toward our native nothingness, + To drop ten thousand fathoms deep! + + At morning only--strong, erect-- + We face our mirrors not ashamed; + For then alone we meet unflecked + The image we at evening blamed, + And find refreshed our self-respect. + + Ah! little wonderment that those, + Who see us most and love us best, + Find that a true affection grows + The more when, in its parted nest, + It spends long hours in lone repose! + + Our fruit grows dead in pulp and rind + When seen and handled overmuch; + The roses fade, our fingers bind; + And with familiar kiss and touch + The graces wither from our kind. + + Man lives on love, at love's expense, + And woman, so her love be sweet; + Best honey palls upon the sense + When it is tempted to repeat + Too oft its fine experience. + + And Mildred, with instinctive skill, + And loving neither most nor least, + Stood out from Philip's grasping will, + And gave, where he desired a feast, + The taste that left him hungry still. + + She hid her heart behind a mask, + And held him to his manly course; + One hour in love she bade him bask, + And then she drove, with playful force, + The laggard to his daily task. + + They went their way and kept their care, + And met again their toil complete, + Like angels on a heavenly stair, + Or pilgrims in a golden street, + Grown stronger one, and one more fair! + + + + V. + + As one worn down by petty pains, + With fevered head and restless limb, + Flies from the toil that stings and stains, + And all the cares that wearied him, + And same far, silent summit gains; + + And in its strong, sweet atmosphere, + Or in the blue, or in the green, + Finds his discomforts disappear, + And loses in the pure serene + The garnered humors of a year; + + And sees not how and knows not when + The old vexations leave their seat, + So Philip, happiest of men, + Saw all his petty cares retreat, + And vanish, not to come again. + + Where he had thought to shield and serve, + Himself had ministry instead, + He heard no vexing call to swerve + From larger toil, for labors sped + By smaller hand and finer nerve. + + In deft and deferential ways + She took the house by silent siege; + And Dinah, warmest in her praise, + Grew, unaware, her loyal liege, + And served her truly all her days. + + And many a sad and stricken maid, + And many a lorn and widowed life + That came for counsel or for aid + To Philip, met the pastor's wife, + And on her heart their burden laid. + + + + VI. + + He gave her what she took--her will; + And made it space for life full-orbed. + He learned at last that every rill + Loses its freshness, when absorbed + By the great stream that turns the mill. + + With hand ungrasping for her dower, + He found its royal income his; + And every swiftly kindling power-- + Self-moved in its activities-- + Becoming brighter every hour. + + The air is sweet which we inspire + When it is free to come and go; + And sound of brook and scent of briar + Rise freshest where the breezes blow, + That feed our breath and fan our fire. + + That love is weak which is too strong; + A man may be a woman's grave; + The right of love swells oft to wrong, + And silken bonds may bind a slave + As truly as a leathern thong. + + We may not dine upon the bird + That fills our home with minstrelsy; + The living vine may never gird + Too firm and close the living tree, + Without sad sacrifice incurred. + + The crystal goblet that we drain + Will be forever after dry; + But he who sips, and sips again, + And leaves it to the open sky, + Will find it filled with dew and rain. + + The lilies burst, the roses blow + Into divinest balm and bloom, + When free above and free below; + And life and love must have large room, + That life and love may largest grow. + + So Philip learned (what Mildred saw), + That love was like a well profound, + From which two souls had right to draw, + And in whose waters would be drowned + The one who took the other's law. + + + + VII. + + Ambition was an alien word, + Which Mildred faintly understood; + Its poisoned breathing had not blurred + The whiteness of her womanhood, + Nor had its blatant trumpet stirred + + To quicker pulse her heart content. + In social tasks and home employ, + She did not question what it meant; + But bore her woman's lot with joy + And sweetness, wheresoe'er she went. + + If ever with unconscious thrill + It touched her, in some vagrant dream, + She only wished that God would fill + With larger tide the goodly stream + That flowed beside her, strong and still. + + She knew that love was more than fame, + And happy conscience more than love;-- + Far off and wild, the wings of flame! + Close by, the pinions of the dove + That hovered white above her name! + + She honored Philip as a man, + And joyed in his supreme estate; + But never dreamed that under ban + She lives who never can be great, + Or chieftain of a crowd or clan. + + The public eye was like a knife + That pierced and plagued her shrinking heart. + To be a woman, and a wife, + With privilege to dwell apart, + And hold unseen her modest life-- + + Alike from praise and blame aloof, + And free to live and move in peace + Beneath love's consecrated roof-- + Was boon so great she could not cease + Her thanks for the divine behoof. + + Black turns to brown and blue to blight + Beneath the blemish of the sun; + And e'en the spotless robe of white, + Worn overlong, grows dim and dun + Through the strange alchemy of light. + + Nor wives nor maidens, weak or brave, + Can stand and face the public stare, + And win the plaudits that they crave, + And stem the hisses that they dare, + And modest truth and beauty save. + + No woman, in her soul, is she + Who longs to poise above the roar + Of motley multitudes, and be + The idol at whose feet they pour + The wine of their idolatry. + + Coarse labor makes its doer coarse; + Great burdens harden softest hands; + A gentle voice grows harsh and hoarse + That warns and threatens and commands + Beyond the measure of its force. + + Oh sweet, beyond all speech, to feel + Within no answer to the drum, + Or echo to the bugle-peal, + That calls to duties which benumb + In service of the commonweal! + + Oh sweet to feel, beyond all speech, + That most and best of human kind + Have leave to live beyond the reach + Of toil that tarnishes, and find + No tongue but Envy's to impeach! + + Oh sweet, that most unnoticed deeds + Give play to fine, heroic blood!-- + That hid from light, and shut from weeds, + The rose is fairer in its bud + Than in the blossom that succeeds! + + He is the helpless slave who must; + And she enfranchised who may sit + Unblamed above the din and dust, + Where stronger hands and coarser wit + Strive equally for crown and crust. + + So ran her thought, and broader yet, + Who scanned her own by Philip's pace; + And never did the wife forget + Her grateful tribute for the grace + That charged her with so sweet a debt. + + So ran her thought; and in her breast + Her wifely pride to pity grew, + That Philip, by his Lord's behest-- + To duty and to nature true-- + Must do his bravest and his best. + + Through winter's cold and summer's heat, + Where all might praise and all might blame, + And thus be topic of the street, + And see his fair and honest name + A football, kicked by careless feet. + + She loved her creed, and doubting not + She read it well from Nature's scroll, + She found no line or word to blot; + But, from her woman's modest soul, + Thanked her Creator for her lot. + + + + VIII. + + He who, upon an Alpine peak, + Stands, when the sunrise lifts the East, + And gilds the crown and lights the cheek + Of largest monarch down to least, + Of all the summits cold and bleak, + + Finds sadly that it brings no boon + For all his long and toilsome leagues, + And chill at once and weary soon, + Rests from his fevers and fatigues, + And waits the recompense of noon, + + For then the valleys, near and far, + The hillsides, fretted by the vine, + The glacier-drift and torrent-scar + Whose restless waters shoot and shine, + And many a tarn, that like a star + + Trembles and flames with stress of light, + And many a hamlet and chalet + That dots with brown, or paints with white, + The landscape quivering in the day, + With beauty all his toil requite. + + Mountains, from mountain altitudes + Are only hills, as bleak and bare; + And he whose daring step intrudes + Upon their grandeur, and the rare + Cold light or gloom that o'er them broods, + + Finds that with even brow to stand + Among the heights that bade him climb, + Is loss of all that made them grand, + While all of lovely and sublime + Looks up to him from lake and land. + + Great men are few, and stand apart; + And seem divinest when remote. + From brain to brain, and heart to heart, + No thoughts of genial commerce float; + Each holds his own exclusive mart. + + And when we meet them, face to face, + And hand to hand their greatness greet, + Our steps we willingly retrace, + And gather humbly at their feet, + With those who live upon their grace. + + And man and woman--mount and vale-- + Have charms, each from the other seen,-- + The robe of rose, the coat of mail: + The springing turf, the black ravine: + The tossing pines, the waving swale: + + Which please the sight with constant joy. + Thus living, each has power to call + The other's thoughts with sweet decoy, + And one can rise and one can fall + But to distemper or destroy. + + The dewy meadow breeds the cloud + That rises on ethereal wings, + And wraps the mountain in a shroud + From which the living lightning springs + And torrents pour, that, lithe and loud, + + Leap down in service to the plains, + Or feed the fountains at their source; + And only thus the mountain gains + The vital fulness of the force + That fills the meadow's myriad veins. + + In fair, reciprocal exchange + Of good which each appropriates, + The meadow and the mountain-range + Nourish their beautiful estates; + And lofty wild and lowly grange + + Thrive on the commerce thus ordained; + And not a reek ascends the rock, + And not a drift of dew is rained, + But eyrie-brood and tended flock + By the sweet gift is entertained. + + A meadow may be fair and broad, + And hold a river in its rest; + Or small, arid with the silver gaud + Of a lone lakelet on its breast, + Or but a patch, that, overawed, + + Clings humbly to the mountain's hem: + It matters not: it is the charm + That cheers his life, and holds the stem + Of every flower that tempts his arm, + Or greets his snowy diadem. + + Dolts talk of largest and of least, + And worse than dolts are they who prate + Of Beauty captive to the Beast; + For man in woman finds his mate, + And thrones her equal at his feast. + + She matches meekness with his might, + And patience with his power to act,-- + His judgment with her quicker sight; + And wins by subtlety and tact + The battles he can only fight. + + And she who strives to take the van + In conflict, or the common way, + Does outrage to the heavenly plan, + And outrage to the finer clay + That makes her beautiful to man. + + All this, and more than this, she saw + Who reigned in Philip's house and heart. + Far off, he seemed without a flaw; + Close by, her tasteless counterpart, + And slave to Nature's common law. + + To climb with fierce, familiar stride + His dizzy paths of life and thought, + Would but degrade him from her pride, + And bring the majesty to naught + Which love and distance magnified. + + If she should grow like him, she knew + He would admire and love her less; + The eagle's image might be true, + But eagle of the wilderness + Would find no consort in the view. + + A woman, in her woman's sphere, + A loyal wife and worshipper, + She only thirsted to appear + As fair to him as he to her, + And fairer still, from year to year. + + And he who quickly learned to purge + His fancy of the tender whim + That she was floating at the verge + Of womanhood, half hid to him, + Saw her with gracious mien emerge, + + And stand full-robed upon the shore, + With faculties and charms unguessed; + With wondrous eyes that looked before, + And hands that helped and words that blessed-- + The mistress of an alien lore + + Beyond the wisdom of the schools + And all his manly power to win; + With handicraft of tricks and tools + That conjured marvels with a pin, + And miracles with skeins and spools! + + She seemed to mock his dusty dearth + With flowers that sprang beneath his eyes; + Till all he was, seemed little worth, + And she he deemed so little wise, + Became the wisest of the earth. + + In all the struggles of his soul, + And all the strifes his soul abhorred, + She shone before him like a goal-- + A shady power of fresh reward-- + A shallop riding in the mole, + + That waited with obedient helm + To bear him over sparkling seas, + Into a new and fragrant realm, + Before the vigor of a breeze + That drove, but would not overwhelm. + + IX. + + The river of their life was one; + The shores, down which they passed were two; + One mirrored mountains, huge and dun, + The other crimped the green and blue, + And sparkled in the kindly sun! + + Twin barks, with answering flags, they moved + With even canvas down the stream, + In smooth or ruffled waters grooved, + And found such islands in their dream + As rest and loving speech behooved. + + Ah fair the goodly gardens smiled + On Philip at his rougher strand! + And grandly loomed the summits, isled + In seas of cloud, to her who scanned + From her far shore the lofty wild. + + Two lives, two loves--both self-forgot + In loving homage to their oath; + Two lives, two loves, but living not + By ministry that reached them both + In service of a common lot, + + They sailed the stream, and every mile + Broadened with beauty as they passed; + And fruitful shore and trysting-isle, + And all love's intercourse were glassed + And blessed in Heaven's benignant smile. + + X. + + To symmetry the oak is grown + Which all winds visit on the lea, + While that which lists the monotone + Of the long blast that sweeps the sea, + And answers to its breath alone, + + Turns with aversion from the breeze, + And stretches all its stunted limbs + Landward and heavenward, toward the trees + That listen to a thousand hymns, + And grow to grander destinies. + + Man may not live on whitest loaves, + With all of coarser good dismissed; + He pines and starves who never roves + Beyond the holy eucharist, + To gather of the fields and groves. + + And he who seeks to fill his heart + With solace of a single friend, + Will find refreshment but in part, + Or, sadder still, will find the end + Of all his reach of thought and art. + + They who love best need friendship most; + Hearts only thrive on varied good; + And he who gathers from a host + Of friendly hearts his daily food, + Is the best friend that we can boast. + + She left her husband with his friends; + She called them round him at her board; + And found their culture made amends + For all the time that, from her hoard, + She spared him for these nobler ends. + + He was her lover; that sufficed: + His home was in the Holy Place + With that of the Beloved Christ; + And friendship had no subtle grace + By which his love could be enticed. + + Of all his friends, she was but one: + She held with them a common field. + Exclusive right, with love begun, + Ended with love, and stood repealed, + Leaving his friendship free to run + + Toward man or woman, all unmissed. + She knew she had no right to bind + His friendship to her single wrist, + So long as love was true and kind, + And made her its monopolist, + + No time was grudged with jealous greed + Which either books or friendship claimed. + He was her friend, and she had need + Of all--unhindered and unblamed + That he could win, through word or deed. + + Her friend waxed great as grew the man; + Her temple swelled as rose her priest-- + With power to bless and right to ban-- + And all who served him, most or least,-- + From chorister and sacristan + + To those whose frankincense and myrrh + Perfumed the sacred courts with alms,-- + Were gracious ministers to her, + Who found the largess in her palms, + And him the friendly almoner. + + + + + LOVE'S CONSUMMATIONS. + + The summer passed, the autumn came; + The world swung over toward the night; + The forests robed themselves in flame, + Then faded slowly into white; + And set within a crystal frame + + Of frozen streams, the shaggy boles + Of oak and elm, with leafless crowns, + Were painted stark upon the knolls; + And cots and villages and towns + On virgin canvas glowed like coals + + In tawny-red, or strove in vain + To shame the white in which they stood. + The fairest tint was but a stain + Upon the snow, that quenched the wood, + And paved the street, and draped the plain! + + + + II. + + Oh! Southern cheeks are quick to feel + The magic finger of the frost; + And Mildred heard but one long peal + From the fierce Arctic, which embossed + Her window-panes, and set the seal + + Of cold on all her eye beheld, + When through her veins there swept new fire, + And, in her answering bosom, swelled + New purposes and new desire, + And force to higher deeds impelled. + + Ah! well for her the languor cast + That followed from her Southern clime! + The time would come--was coming fast,-- + Love's consummated, crowning time-- + Of which her heart had antepast! + + A strange new life was in her breast; + Her eyes were full of wondrous dreams; + She sailed all whiles from crest to crest + Of a broad ocean, through whose gleams + She saw an island wrapped in rest! + + And as she drove across the sea, + Toward the fair port that fixed her gaze, + Her life was like a rosary, + Whose slowly counted beads were days + Of prayer for one that was to be! + + + + III. + + Oh roses, roses! Who shall sing + The beauty of the flowers of God! + Or thank the angel from whose wing + The seeds are scattered on the sod + From which such bloom and perfume spring! + + Sure they have heavenly genesis + Which make a heaven of every place; + Which company our bale and bliss, + And never to our sinning race + Speak aught unhallowed, or amiss! + + When love is grieved, their buds atone; + When love is wed, their forms are near; + They blend their breathing with the moan + Of love when dying, and the bier + Is white with them in every zone. + + No spot is mean that they begem; + No nosegay fair that holds them not; + They melt the pride and stir the phlegm + Of lord and churl, in court and cot, + And weave a common diadem + + For human brows where'er they grow. + They write all languages of red, + They speak all dialects of snow, + And all the words of gold are said + With fragrant meanings where they blow! + + Oh sweetest flowers! Oh flowers divine! + In which God comes so closely down, + We gather from his chosen sign + The tints that cluster in his crown-- + The perfume of his breath benign! + + Oh sweetest flowers! Oh flowers that hold + The fragrant life of Paradise + For a brief day, shut told in fold, + That we may drink it in a trice, + And drop the empty pink and gold! + + Oh sweetest flowers, that have a breath + For every passion that we feel! + That tell us what the Master saith + Of blessing, in our woe and weal, + And all events of life and death! + + + + IV. + + The time of roses came again; + And one had bloomed within the manse, + Bloomed in a burst of midnight pain, + And plumed its life in fair expanse, + Beneath love's nursing sun and rain. + + In calyx fair of lilied lawn, + Wrapped in the mosses of the lamb, + Long days it lightened toward the dawn + Of the bright-blushing oriflamme, + That on two happy faces shone. + + Such tendance ne'er had flower before! + Such beauty ne'er had flower returned! + Found on that distant island-shore, + Whose secret she at last had learned, + And made her own for evermore, + + Mildred consigned it to her breast; + And though she knew it took its hue + From her, it seemed the Lord's bequest,-- + Still sparkling with the heavenly dew, + And still with heavenly beauty dressed. + + Oh roses! ye were wondrous fair + That summer by the river side! + For hearts were blooming everywhere, + In sympathy of love and pride, + With that which came to Mildred's care. + + And rose as red as rose could be + Filled Philip's breast with largest bloom, + And cast its fragrance far and free, + And filled his lonely, silent room + With rapture of paternity! + + + + V. + + The evening fell on field and street; + The glow-worm lit his phosphor lamp, + For fairy forms and fairy feet, + That gathered for their nightly tramp + Where grass was green and flowers were sweet. + + In devious circles, round and round, + The night-hawk coursed the twilight sky, + Or shot like lightning the profound, + With breezy thunder in the cry + That marked his furious rebound! + + The zephyrs breathed through elm and ash + From new-mown hay and heliotrope, + And came through Philip's open sash + With sheen of stars that lit the cope, + And twinkling of the fire-fly's flash. + + He thought of Mildred and his boy; + And something moved him more than pride, + And purer than his manly joy; + For while these swelled with turbid tide, + His gratitude had no alloy. + + He heard the baby's weary plaint; + He heard the mother's soothing words; + And sitting in his hushed restraint, + One voice was murmur of the birds, + And one the hymning of a saint! + + And as he sat alone, immersed + In the fond fancies of the time, + Her voice in mellow music burst, + And by a rhythmic stair of rhyme + Led down to sleep the child she nursed. + + + "Rockaby, lullaby, bees in the clover!-- + Crooning so drowsily, crying so low-- + Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover! + Down into wonderland-- + Down to the under-land-- + Go, oh go! + Down into wonderland go! + + "Rockaby, lullaby, rain on the clover! + Tears on the eyelids that waver and weep! + Rockaby, lullaby--bending it over! + Down on the mother-world, + Down on the other world! + Sleep, oh sleep! + Down on the mother-world sleep! + + "Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover! + Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn! + Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover! + Into the stilly world-- + Into the lily world, + Gone! oh gone! + Into the lily-world, gone!" + + + + VI. + + They sprouted like the prophet's gourd; + They grew within a single night; + So swift his busy years were scored + That, ere he knew, his hope was white + With harvest bending round his board! + + And eyes were black, and eyes were blue, + And blood of mother and of sire, + Each to its native humor true, + Blent Northern force with Southern fire + In strength and beauty, strange and new. + + The Gallic brown, the Saxon snow, + The raven locks, the flaxen curls, + Were so commingled in the now + Of the new blood of boys and girls, + That Puritan and Huguenot + + In love's alembic were advanced + To higher types and finer forms; + And ardent humors thrilled and danced + Through veins, that tempered all their storms, + Or held them in restraint entranced. + + Oh! many times, as flew the years, + The dainty cradle-song was sung; + And bore its balm to restless ears, + As one by one the nested young + Slept in their willows and their tears. + + To each within the reedy glade, + Hid from some tyrant's cruel schemes, + It was a princess, or her maid, + Who bore him to the realm of dreams, + And made him seer by accolade + + Of flaming bush and parted deep, + Of gushing rocks and raining corn, + And fire and cloud, and lengthened sweep + Of thousands toward the promised morn, + Across the wilderness of sleep! + + + + VII. + + The years rolled on in grand routine + Of useful toil and chastening care, + Till Philip, grown to heights, serene + Of conscious power, and ripe with prayer, + Took on the strong and stately mien + + Of one on whom had been conferred + The doing of a knightly deed; + And waited till it bade him gird + The harness on him and his steed, + For man and for his Master's word. + + His name was spoken far and near, + And sounded sweet on every tongue; + Men knew him only to revere, + And those who knew him nearest, flung + Their hearts before his grand career, + + And paved his way with loyal trust. + He was their strongest, noblest man,-- + Sworn foe of every selfish lust, + And brave to do as wise to plan, + And swift to judge as pure and just. + + + + VIII. + + Against such foil the mistress stood-- + A pearl upon a cross of gold-- + White with consistent womanhood, + And fixed with unrelaxing hold + Upon the centre of the rood! + + Through all those years of loving thrift, + Nor blame nor discord marred their lot; + Each to the lover-life was gift; + And each was free from blur or blot + That called for silence or for shrift. + + Each bore the burden that it held + With patient hands along the road; + And though, with passing years, it swelled + Until it grew a weary load, + Nor tongue complained, nor heart rebelled. + + At length the time of trial came, + And they were tried as gold is tried. + Their peace of life went up in flame, + And what was good was vilified, + And what was blameless came to blame. + + + + IX. + + The Southern sky was dun with cloud; + And looming lurid o'er its edge + The brows of awful forms were bowed, + That forged in flame the fateful wedge + Which waited in the angry shroud + + The banner of the storm unfurled, + And all the powers of death arrayed + In black battalions, to be hurled + Down through the rack--a blazing blade-- + To cleave the realm, and shake the world! + + The North was full of nameless dread; + Wild portents flamed from out the pole; + Old scars on Freedom's bosom bled, + And sick at heart and vexed of soul + She tossed in fever on her bed! + + Pale Commerce hid her face and whined; + The arms of Toil were paralyzed; + The wise were of divided mind, + And those who counselled and advised + Were sightless leaders of the blind. + + Men lost their faith in good and great; + No captain sprang, or prophet bard, + To win their trust, and save the state + From the wild storm that, like a pard, + On quivering haunches lay in wait! + + The loyal only were not brave; + E'en peace became a cringing dog; + The patriot paltered like a knave, + And partisan anti demagogue + Quarrelled o'er Freedom's waiting grave. + + + + X. + + Amid the turmoil and disgrace, + The voice was clear from first to last, + Of one who, in the desert place + Of barren counsels, held him fast + His shepherd's crook, and made it mace + + To bear before the Great Event + Whose harbinger he chose to be, + And called on all men to repent, + And build a way from sea to sea, + For Freedom's full enfranchisement. + + For Philip, to his conscience leal, + Conceived that God had chosen him + With Treason's sophistries to deal, + And grapple with the Anakim + Whose menace shook the common weal. + + His pulpit smoked beneath his blows; + His voice was heard in hall and street; + A thousand friends became his foes, + And pews were empty or replete, + With passion's ebbs and overflows. + + They trailed his good name in the mire; + They spat their venom in his eyes; + They taunted him with mad desire + For power, and gathered his replies + In braver words and fiercer fire, + + He was a wolf, disguised in wool; + He was a viper in the breast; + He was a villain, or the tool + Of greater villains; at the best, + A blind enthusiast and fool! + + As swelled the tempest, rose the man; + He turned to sport their brutal spleen; + And none could choose be slow to span + The difference that lay between + A Prospero and a Caliban! + + + + XI. + + She would not move him otherwise, + Although her heart was sad and sore. + That which was venal in his eyes + To her a lovely aspect wore, + And helped to weave the thousand ties + + Which bound her to her youth, and all + The loves that she had left behind + When, from her father's stately hall, + She came, her Northern home to find, + With him who held her heart in thrall. + + In the dark pictures which he drew + Of instituted shame and wrong, + She saw no figures that she knew, + But a confused and hateful throng + Of forms that in his fancy grew. + + Her father's rule, benign and mild, + Was all of slavery she had known; + To her, an Afric was a child-- + A charge in other ages thrown + On Christian honor, from the wild + + Of savagery in which the Fates + Had given him birth and dwelling-place-- + And so, descending through estates + Of gentle vassalage, his race + Had come to those of later dates. + + Black hands her baby form had dressed; + Black hands her blacker hair had curled; + And she had found a dusky breast + The sweetest breast in all the world + When she was thirsty or at rest. + + Her playmates, in her native bowers, + Were Darkest children of the sun, + Who built the palaces and towers + In which her reign, in love begun, + Gave foretaste of love's later hours. + + Her memory was full of song + That she had learned in house and field, + From those whose days seemed never long, + And those who could not hold concealed + The consciousness of shame and wrong. + + A loving ear heard their complaints; + A faithful tongue advised and warned; + And grave corrections and restraints + Were rendered by a heart adorned + By all the graces of the saints. + + There was no touch of memory's chords-- + No picture on her blooming wall,-- + Of life upon the sunny swards + They reproduced,--but brought recall + Of happy slaves and gentle lords. + + And Philip charged a deadly sin + Upon that beautiful domain, + Condemning all who dwelt therein, + And branding with the awful stain + Her friends, and all her dearest kin. + + + + XII. + + Yet still she knew his conscience clear,-- + That he believed his voice was God's; + And listened with a voiceless fear + To the portentous periods + In which he preached the chosen year + + Of expiation and release, + And prophesied that Slavery's power, + Grown great apace with crime's increase, + Before the front of Right should cower, + And bid God's people go in peace! + + The fierce invectives of his tongue + Frayed every day her wounds afresh, + And with new pain her bosom wrung, + For they envenomed kindred flesh, + To which in sympathy she clung. + + Yet not a finger did she lift + To hold him from his fateful task, + Though Satan oft essayed to sift + Her soul as wheat, and bade her ask + Somewhat from conscience as a gift. + + And when a serpent in his slime + Crept to her ear with phrase polite, + Prating of duty to her time + And to her people, swift and white + She turned and cursed him for his crime! + + She would have naught of all the brood + Of temporizing, driveling shows + Of men who Philip's words withstood: + Against them all her love uprose, + And all her pride of womanhood. + + + + XIII. + + She loved her kindred none the less, + She loved her husband still the more, + For well she knew that with distress + He saw the heavy cross she bore + With steadfast faith and tenderness. + + She kept her love intact, because + She would not be a partisan; + Not hers the voice that made the laws, + Nor hers prerogative to ban, + Or bolster them with her applause. + + No strife of jarring policies, + No conflict of embittered states, + No chart, defining by degrees + Of latitude her country's hates, + Could change her friends to enemies. + + The motives ranged on either hand, + Behind the war of word and will, + Were such as she could understand + And, with respect to all, fulfil + Love's broad and beautiful command. + + So, with all questions hushed to sleep, + And all opinions put aside, + She gave her loved ones to the keep + Of God, whatever should betide, + To bear her joy or bid her weep! + + + + XIV. + + Though Philip knew he wounded her, + His faith to God and faith to man + Bade him go forward, and incur + Such cost as, since the world began, + Has burdened Freedom's harbinger. + + No heart or hand was his to flinch + From ease or reputation lost; + Nor waste of gold, nor hunger-pinch, + Nor e'en his home's black holocaust, + Could stay his arm, though inch by inch, + + The maddened hosts of scorn and scath + Should crowd him backward to defeat. + He would but strive with sterner wrath, + And bless the hand that, soft and sweet, + Withheld its hinderance from his path! + + + + XV. + + Still darker loomed the Southern cloud, + While o'er its black and billowed face + In furrowed fire the lightning ploughed, + And ramping from its hiding-place + Roared the wild thunder, fierce and loud! + + And still men chattered of their trade, + And strove to banish their alarms; + And some were puzzled, some afraid, + And some held up their feeble arms + In indignation while they prayed! + + And others weakly talked of schism + As boon of God in place of war, + And bared their foreheads for its chrism! + While direr than the mace of Thor, + In mid-air hung the cataclysm + + Which waited but some chance, or act, + To shiver the electric spell, + And pour in one fierce cataract + A rain of blood and fire of hell + On Freedom's temple spoiled and sacked. + + The politician plied his craft; + The demagogue still schemed and lied; + The patriot wept, the traitor laughed; + The coward to his covert hied, + And statesmen went distract or daft. + + Contention raged in Senate halls; + Confusion reigned in field and town; + High conclaves flattened into brawls, + And till and hammer, smock and gown, + Nor duty knew nor heard its calls! + + + + XVI. + + At last, incontinent of fire, + The cloud of menace belched its brand; + And every state and every shire, + And town and hamlet in the land, + Shook with the smiting of its ire! + + Men looked each other in the eyes, + And beat their burning breasts and cursed! + At last the silliest were wise; + And swift to flash and thunder-burst + Fashioned in anger their replies. + + The smoke of Sumter filled the air. + Men breathed it in in one long breath; + And straight upspringing everywhere, + Life burgeoned on the mounds of death, + And bloomed in valleys of despair. + + The fire of Sumter, fierce and hot, + Welded their purpose into one; + And discord hushed, and strife forgot, + They swore that what had thus begun + With sacrilegious cannon-shot, + + Should find in analogue of flame + Such answer of the nation's host, + That the old flag, washed clean from shame + In blood, should wave from coast to coast, + Over one realm in heart and name! + + Pale doubters, scourged by countless whips, + Fled to their refuge, or obeyed + The motives and the masterships + That time and circumstance betrayed + Through Patriotism's apocalypse, + + And, sympathetic with the spasm + Of loyal life that thrilled the clime, + Lost in the swift enthusiasm + The loose intention of their crime, + And leaped in swarms the awful chasm + + That held them parted from the mass. + The North was one in heart and thought; + And that which could not come to pass + Through loyal eloquence, was wrought + By one hot word from lips of brass! + + + + XVII. + + The cry sprang upward and sped on: + "To arms! for freedom and the flag!" + And swift, from Maine to Oregon, + O'er glebe and lake and mountain-crag, + Hurtled the fierce Euroclydon, + + Men dropped their mallets on the bench, + Forsook their ploughs on hill and plain, + And tore themselves, with piteous wrench + Of heart and hope, from love and gain, + And trooped in throngs to tent and trench. + + "To arms!" and Philip heard the cry. + Not his the valor cheap and small + To bluster with brave phrase, and fly + When trumpet-blare and rifle-ball + Proclaimed the time for words gone by! + + Men knew their chieftain. He had borne + Their insolence through struggling years, + And they---the dastards, the forsworn-- + Who had ransacked the hemispheres + For instruments to wreak their scorn + + On him and all of kindred speech, + Gathered around him with his friends, + And with stern plaudits heard him preach + A gospel whose stupendous ends + Their martyred blood could only reach. + + They gave him honor far and wide, + As one who backed his word by deed; + And he whose task had been to guide, + Was chosen by reclaim to lead + The men who gathered at his side. + + The crook was banished for the glave; + The churchman's black for soldier-blue; + The man of peace became a brave; + And, in the dawn of conflict, drew + His sword his country's life to save. + + + + XIX. + + They came from mead and mountain-top; + They came from factory and forge; + And one by one, from farm and shop-- + Still gravel to the Northman's gorge-- + Followed the servile Ethiop. + + Gaunt, grimy men, whose ways had been + Among the shadows and the slums, + With pedagogue and paladin, + Rushed, at the rolling of the drums, + To Philip, and were mustered in! + + The beat of drum and scream of fife, + Commingling with the thundering tramp + Of trooping throngs, so changed the life + Of the calm village that the camp, + And what it prophesied of strife, + + And hap of loss and hap of gain, + Became of every tongue the theme; + Till burning heart and throbbing brain + Could waking think, and sleeping dream, + Of naught but battles and the slain. + + + + XX. + + With eager eyes and helpful hands + The women met in solemn crowds, + And shred the linen into bands + That had been better saved for shrouds, + Or want's imperious demands. + + And with them all sad Mildred walked, + The bearer of a heavy cross; + For at her side the phantom stalked-- + Nor left her for an hour--of loss + Which by no fortune might be balked. + + For one or all she loved must fall; + One cause must perish in defeat; + Success of either would appall, + And victory, however sweet + To others, would to her be gall. + + To each, with equal heart allied, + Her love was like the love of God, + That wraps the country in its tide, + And o'er its hosts, benign and broad, + Broods with its pity and its pride! + + A thousand chances of the feud + She wove and raveled one by one,-- + Of hands in kindred blood imbrued,-- + Of father, face to face with son, + And friends turned foemen fierce and rude. + + And in her dreams two forms were met, + Of friends as leal as ever breathed--- + Her husband and her brother--wet + With priceless blood from swords ensheathed + In hearts that loved each other yet! + + But itching ears her language scanned, + And jealous eyes were on her steps; + And fancies into rumors fanned + By loyal shrews and demireps + Proclaimed her traitress to the land. + + They knew her blood, but could not know + That mighty passion of her heart + Which, reaching widely in its woe, + Grasped all she loved on either part, + And could not, would not let it go! + + + + XXI. + + The time of gathering came and went-- + Of noisy zeal and hasty drill-- + And every where, in field and tent,-- + A constant presence,--Philip's will + Moulded the callow regiment. + + And then there fell a gala day, + When all the mighty, motley swarm + Appeared in beautiful display + Of burnished arms and uniform, + And gloried in their brave array!-- + + And, later still, the hour of dread + To all the simple country round, + When forth, with Philip at their head, + They marched from the familiar ground, + And drained its life, and left it dead;-- + + Dead but for those who pined with grief; + Dead but for fears that could not die; + Dead as the world when flower and leaf + Are still beneath a gathering sky, + And ocean sleeps on reach and reef. + + The weary waiting time had come, + When only apprehension waked; + And lonely wives sat chill and dumb + Among their broods, with hearts that ached + And echoed the retreating drum. + + Teachers forgot to preach their creeds, + And trade forsook its merchandise; + The fallow fields grew rank with weeds, + And none had interest or eyes + For aught but war's ensanguined deeds. + + As one who lingered by a bier + Where all she loved lay dead and cold, + Sad Mildred sat without a tear, + Living again the days of old, + Or, with the vision of a seer, + + Forecasting the disastrous end. + Whatever might come, she did not dare + Believe that fortune would defend + The noble life she could not spare, + And save her lover and her friend. + + Her blooming girls and stalwart boys + Could never comprehend the woe + Which dropped its measure of their joys, + And felt but horror in the show, + And heard but murder in the noise, + + And dreamed of death when stillness fell + Behind the gay and shouting corps. + They saw her haunted by the spell + Of a great sorrow, and forebore + To question what they could not quell. + + Small time she gave to vain regret; + Brief space to thought of that adieu + Which crushed her breast, when last they met, + And in love's baptism bathed anew + Cheeks, lips, and eyes, and left them wet! + + In deeds of sympathy and grace, + She moved among the homes forlorn, + Alike to beautiful and base + And, to the stricken and the shorn, + The guardian angel of the place. + + + + XXII. + + Oh piteous waste of hopes and fears! + Oh cruel stretch of long delay! + Oh homes bereft! Oh useless tears! + Oh war! that ravened on its prey + Through pain's immeasurable years! + + The town was mourning for its dead; + The streets were black with widowhood; + While orphaned children begged for bread, + And Rachel, for the brave and good, + Mourned, and would not be comforted. + + The regiment that, straight and crisp, + Shone like a wheat-field in the sun, + Its swift voice deafened to a lisp, + Fell, ere the war was well begun, + And waned and withered to a wisp. + + And Philip, grown to higher rank, + Crowned with the bays of splendid deeds, + Of the full cup of glory drank, + And lived, though all his reeking steeds + In the red front of conflict sank. + + The star of conquest waxed or waned, + Yet still the call came back for men; + Still the lamenting town was drained, + And still again, and still again, + Till only impotence remained! + + + + XXIII. + + There came at length an eve of gloom-- + Dread Gettysburg's eventful eve-- + When all the gathering clouds of doom + Hung low, the breathless air to cleave + With scream of shell and cannon-boom! + + Man knew too well; and woman felt, + That when the next-wild morn should rise, + A blow of battle would, be dealt + Before whose fire ten thousand eyes-- + As in a furnace flame--would melt. + + And on this eve--her flock asleep-- + Knelt Mildred at her lonely bed. + She could not pray, she did not weep, + But only moaned, and moaning, said: + "Oh God! he sows what I must reap! + + "He will not live: he must not die! + But oh, my poor, prophetic heart! + It warns me that there lingers nigh + The hour when love and I must part!" + And then she startled with a cry, + + For, from beneath her lattice, came + A low and once repeated call! + She knew the voice that spoke her name, + And swiftly, through the midnight hall + She fluttered noiseless as a flame, + + And on its unresisting hinge + Threw wide her hospitable door, + To one whose spirit did not cringe + Though he was weak, and knew he bore + No right her freedom to infringe. + + She wildly clasped his neck of bronze; + She rained her kisses; on his face, + Grown tawny with a thousand suns, + And holding him in her embrace, + She led him to her little ones, + + Who, reckless of his coming, slept. + Then down the stair with silent feet, + And through the shadowy hall she swept, + And saw, between her and the street, + A form that into darkness crept. + + She closed the door with speechless dread; + She fixed the bolt with trembling hand; + Then led the rebel to his bed, + Whom love and safety had unmanned, + And left him less alive than dead. + + Through nights and days of fear and grief, + She kept her faithful watch and ward, + But love and rest brought no relief; + And all he begged for of his Lord + Was death, with passion faint and brief. + + + + XXIV. + + Around the house were prying eyes, + And gossips hiding under trees; + And Mildred heard the steps of spies + At midnight, when, upon her knees, + She sought the comfort of the skies. + + Strange voices rose upon the night; + Strange errands entered at the gate; + Her hours were months of pale affright; + But still her prisoner of state + Was shielded from their eager sight. + + They did not dare to force the lock + Of one whose deeds had been divine, + Or carry to her heart the shock + Of violence, although condign + Toward one who dared the laws to mock. + + But there were hirelings in pursuit, + Who thirsted for his golden price; + And, swift allied with pimp and brute, + And quick to purchase and entice, + They found the tree that held their fruit. + + + + + XXV. + + The day of Gettysburg had set; + The smoke had drifted from the scene, + And burnished sword and bayonet + Lay rusting where, but yestere'en, + They dropped with life-blood red and wet! + + The swift invader had retraced + His march, and left his fallen braves, + Covered at night in voiceless haste, + To, sleep, in memorable graves, + But knew that all his loss was waste. + + The nation's legions, stretching wide, + Too sore to chase, too weak to cheer, + Gave sepulture to those who died, + And saw their foemen disappear + Without the loss of power or pride. + + And then, swift-sweeping like a gale, + Through all the land, from end to end, + Grief poured its wild, untempered wail, + And father, mother, wife, and friend + Forgot their country in their bale. + + And Philip, with his fatal wound, + Was borne beyond the battle's blaze, + Across the torn and quaking ground,-- + His ear too dull to heed the praise, + That spoke him hero, robed and crowned. + + They bent above his blackened face, + And questioned of his last desire; + And with his old, familiar grace, + And smiling mouth, and eye of fire, + He answered them: "My wife's embrace!" + + They wiped his forehead of its stain, + They bore him tenderly away, + Through teeming mart and wide champaign, + Till on a twilighty cool and gray, + And wet with weeping of the rain, + + They gave him to a silent crowd + That waited at the river's marge, + Of men with age and sorrow bowed, + Who raised and bore their precious charge, + Through groups that watched and wailed aloud. + + + + XXVI. + + The hounds of power were at her gate; + And at their heels, a yelping pack + Of graceless mongrels stood in wait, + To mark the issue of attack, + With lips that slavered with their hate. + + With window raised and portal barred, + The mistress scanned the darkening space, + And with a visage hot and hard-- + At bay before the cruel chase-- + She held them in her fierce regard. + + "What would ye--spies and hirelings--what?" + She asked with accent, stern and brave; + "Why come ye to this sacred spot, + Led by the counsel of a knave, + And flanked by slanderer and sot? + + "You have my husband: has he earned + No meed of courtesy for me? + Is this the recompense returned, + That she he loved the best should be + Suspected, persecuted, spurned? + + "My home is wrecked: what would ye more? + My life is ruined--what new boon? + My children's hearts are sad and sore + With weeping for the wounds that soon + Will plead for healing at my door! + + "I hold your prisoner--stand assured: + Safe from his foes: aye, safe from you! + Safe in a sister's love immured, + And by a warden kept as true + As e'er the test of faith endured, + + "Why, men, he was my brother born! + My hero, all my youthful years! + My counsellor, to guide and warn! + My shield alike from foes and fears! + And when he came to me, forlorn, + + "What could I do but hail him guest, + And bind his cruel wounds with balm, + And give him on his sister's breast + That which he asked, the humble alm + Of a safe pillow where to rest? + + "Come, then, and dare the wrath of fate! + Come, if you must, or if you will! + But know that I am desperate; + And shafts that wound, and wounds that kill + Your deed of dastardy await!" + + A murmur swept through all the mob; + The base informer slunk afar; + And lusty cheer and stifled sob + Rose to her at the window-bar, + While those whose hands were come to rob + + Her dwelling of its treasure, cursed; + For round their heads the menace flew + That he who dared adventure first, + Or first an arm of murder drew, + Should taste of vengeance at its worst. + + + + XXVII. + + A heavy tramp, a murmuring sound, + Low mingling with the murmuring rain,-- + Heard in the wind and in the ground,-- + Came up the street--a tide of pain, + In which the angry din was drowned. + + The leaders of the tumult fled; + The door flew open with a crash; + And down the street wild Mildred sped, + Piercing the darkness like a flash, + And walked beside her husband's bed. + + Slowly the solemn train advanced; + The crowd fell back with parted ranks; + And like a giant, half entranced, + Sailing between strange, spectral banks, + From side to side the soldier glanced. + + The sobbing rain, the evening dim, + The dusky forms that pushed and peered, + The swaying couch, the aching limb, + The lights and shadows, sharp and weird, + Were but a troubled dream to him. + + He knew his love--all else unknown, + Or seen through reason's sad eclipse-- + And with her, hand within his own, + Or fondly pressed upon his lips, + He clung to it, as if alone + + It had the power to stay, his feet + Still longer on the verge of life; + And thus they vanished from the street-- + The shepherd-warrior and his wife-- + Within the manse's closed retreat. + + + + XXVIII. + + Embraced by home, his soul grew light; + And though he moaned: "My head! my head!" + His life turned back its outward flight, + Like his, who, from the prophet's bed, + Startled the wondering Shunammite. + + He greeted all with tender speech; + He told his children he should die; + He gave his fond farewell to each, + With messages, and fond good-by + To all he loved beyond his reach. + + And then he spoke her brother's name: + "Tell him," he said, "that, in my death, + I cherished his untarnished fame, + And, to my life's expiring breath, + Held his brave spirit free from blame. + + "We strove alike for truth's behoof, + With honest faith and love sincere,-- + For God and-country, right and roof, + And issues that do not appear; + But wait with Heaven the awful proof." + + A tottering figure reached the door; + The brother fell upon the bed, + And, in each other's arms once more, + With breast to breast, and head to head,-- + Twin barks, they drifted from the shore; + + And backward on the sobbing air + Came the same words from warring lips: + "God save my country!" and the prayer + Still wailing from the drifting ships, + Returned in measures of despair; + + Till far, at the horizon's verge, + They passed beyond the tearful eyes + That could not know if in the surge + They sank at last, or in the skies + Forgot the burden of their dirge! + + + + XXIX. + + In Northern blue and Southern brown, + Twin coffins and a single grave, + They laid the weary warriors down; + And hands that strove to slay and save + Had equal rest and like renown. + + For in the graveyard's hallowed close + A woman's love made neutral soil, + Where it might lay the forms of those + Who, resting from their fateful broil, + Had ceased forever to be foes. + + To her and those who clung to her-- + From manly eldest down to least-- + The obsequies, the sepulchre, + The chanting choir, the weeping priest, + And all the throng and all the stir + + Of sympathetic country-folk, + And all the signs of death and dole, + Were but a dream that beat and broke + In chilling waves on heart and soul, + Till in the silence they awoke. + + She was a widow, and she wept; + She was a mother, and she smiled; + Her faith with those she loved was kept, + Though still the war-cry, fierce and wild, + Around the harried country swept. + + No more with this had she to do; + God and her little ones were left; + And unto these, serene and true, + She gave the life so soon bereft + Of its first gifts, and rose anew + + At duty's call to make amends + For all her loss of loves and lands; + And found, to speed her noble ends, + The succor of uplifting hands, + And solace of a thousand friends. + + And o'er her precious graves she built + A stone whereon the yellow boss + Of sword on sword with naked hilt + Lay as the symbol of her cross, + In mournful meaning, carved and gilt. + + And underneath were graved the lines:-- + + "THEY DID THE DUTY THAT THEY SAW; + BOTH WROUGHT AT GOD'S SUPREME DESIGNS + AND, UNDER LOVE'S ETERNAL LAW, + EACH LIFE WITH EQUAL BEAUTY SHINES." + + + + XXX. + + Peace, with its large and lilied calms, + Like moonlight sleeps on land and lake, + With healing in its dewy balms, + For pride that pines and hearts that ache, + From Huron to the land of palms! + + From rock-bound Massachusetts Bay + To San Francisco's Golden Gate; + From where Itasca's waters play, + To those which plunge or palpitate + A thousand happy leagues away, + + And drink, among her dunes and bars, + The Mississippi's boiling tide, + Still floating from a million spars, + The nation's ensign, undefied, + Blazons its galaxy of stars. + + No more to party strife the slave, + And freed from Hate's infernal spells, + Love pays her tribute to the brave, + And snows her holy immortelles + O'er friend and foe, where'er his grave. + + On every Decoration Day + The white-haired Mildred finds her mounds + Decked with the garnered bloom of May-- + Flowers planted first within her wounds, + And fed by love as white as they. + + And Philip's first-born, strong and sage, + Through Heaven's design or happy chance + Finds the old church his heritage, + And still, The Mistress of the Manse, + Sits Mildred, in her silver age! + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Mistress of the Manse, by J. 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