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diff --git a/16144.txt b/16144.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c4242dc --- /dev/null +++ b/16144.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3021 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Harry, by Fanny Wheeler Hart + + +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: Harry + + +Author: Fanny Wheeler Hart + + + +Release Date: June 28, 2005 [eBook #16144] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARRY*** + + +E-text preparerd by Barbara Tozier, William Flis, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +HARRY + +by + +FANNY WHEELER HART + +The Author of _Mrs. Jerningham's Journal_ + +Fourth Edition + +New York +Macmillan and Co. + +1877 + + + + + + + +DEDICATED TO + +MENELLA SMEDLEY, + +AS A TINY TOKEN + +OF + +BOUNDLESS LOVE AND ADMIRATION. + + + + +HARRY. + + + +PART I. + + + Love caught his heart in a lovely surprise, + Just the first moment he looked in my eyes: + Poor little eyes! by no prescience lit, + They saw him three weeks ere I lov'd him one bit. + + Fair is the book[1] where we read of a life + Born to a throne, taking love for its bliss, + Self-reproach wounding the sweet royal wife + For keeping two years he had asked for as his. + + [Footnote 1: See 'Life of Prince Consort,' vol. i.] + + So _I_ might suffer a sort of remorse, + Thinking of days that I cared not, yet knew; + Only, he says, ''Tis a matter of course + Girls should be woo'd and their lovers should woo.' + + Only, the blossom he stoops not to touch. + Sparkling with beauty that lies at his feet; + Only, the blossom he coveteth much, + Is one that shineth as distant as sweet. + + Only, a bird may fly helplessly near, + Chirping aloud in a manner too free; + Only, the bird he delighteth to hear, + Sings from the far-away top of a tree. + + Is it for this he first fancied me, then? + He to whom earth her allegiance brings, + Noblest of nobles, a king among men, + Hero of heroes! a god among kings! + + 'Twill be very nice to be very old, + And with wrinkled brows and eyes that are dim, + To sit by the fire and in dreams behold + The face of the child that was woo'd by him. + + Eve in her Eden, belov'd and preferr'd, + Sun, moon, and stars for her benefit made, + Bright as a blossom and gay as a bird, + Earth at her feet like a pleasure-ground laid; + + All things about her benignant and fair-- + Was she of Adam an actual part? + Love shining over her everywhere-- + Had he no trouble in winning her heart? + + Born with a mind even Kant must admit + Had no antecedents for doubt or regret, + Only white paper where nothing is writ, + Was she his wife the first moment they met? + Did she no gradual wooing receive? + Was she never a girl?--I am sorry for Eve! + + Or if like others her history sped, + In those lovely regions to mortals unknown; + Flirting and courting and woo'd ere she wed, + Was the bird of her paradise Eve's chaperone? + + I wonder if Adam my fancy would strike + As something like Harry!--What _is_ Harry like? + Handsome and tall, with command in his eye, + The sweetest of smiles giving sternness the lie; + His soldierly bearing keeps foemen at bay; + His hair is clipped close in the orthodox way; + His nose has a curve from the bridge to the tip: + A statue might envy his short upper lip. + He dances divinely, and walks with an air + Half autocratic and half debonair, + With something about him no words can define: + Eve, was your hero as handsome as mine? + + + + + And oh! the years that pass'd over my head + When I was leisurely growing or grown; + And oh! the minutes that suddenly led + To the sweetest thought that ever was known. + + Only one glad little glance that I gave, + Where by the window the passion-flower grew, + And a strong man was turn'd into a slave, + Watching and waiting for all that I do. + + And a strong man's heart beat only for me-- + Only for me while it answers life's call; + Till _I_ was compell'd to hear and to see; + And only one little look did it all! + + Oh, such an infinitesimal thing! + One unthought-of minute hurrying by, + And the whole of two lives yet in their spring + Are utterly chang'd for ever and aye! + + If with idle heart and with careless eyes + I had not happened just there and just then + To smile at a flower beneath the skies, + Should I never have lov'd the first of men? + + Had he seen me first in a festal hour, + Or riding, or driving, or by the sea, + And not with a smile for the passion-flower, + Would he never, never have cared for me? + + Who planted the root, and its climbing plann'd? + Who water'd below or cherish'd above? + Is it the work of a gardener's hand + That causes my Harry and me to love? + + Had that gardener never been born or hir'd, + Or done this one insignificant thing; + Had the passion-flower died;--my heart is tir'd + With the troublesome sudden thoughts that spring; + And mine eyes are filling with foolish tears, + And the pang that I feel is sharp and keen, + As I see the empty unhappy years, + And I think of all that might _not_ have been. + + * * * * * + + Treason to love, that such thoughts should arise! + In Heaven I _know_ our marriage was made; + Heaven _is_ somewhere beyond those blue skies, + Why am I weeping and feeling afraid? + + Happy the angels, who tenderly plan + These beautiful compacts to glorify man! + Happy the man and the woman who take + Humbly their crown for the dear angels' sake! + + Love in our hearts giving strength to endure, + Eternal itself, makes eternity sure; + Earth growing perfect, unspeakably dear, + Only makes heaven seem yet more near. + + Why do I tremble in fanciful doubt? + All things--or nothing--had brought it about; + Whatever might happen, _I must_ be his; + What signifies _talking_, since _so it is_? + + + + + So there came the last of the careless days: + Did time in the very same manner move? + (My heart almost stops in a mute amaze + To think that it ever was _not_ in love.) + + Up in the morning, as gay as a lark, + With a glad good-bye to the pleasant night; + Without an idea I am in the dark, + Or that just beyond is the real light; + + Running down stairs, with a laugh as I ran, + Free as 'the blossom that hangs on the bough'-- + I never had given a thought to a man, + And why in the world should I give one now. + + Dancing along through the hawthorn-crown'd lane, + 'Neath showers of flowers whose name I bear, + Was it not strange I should find Harry Vane + Coming to meet me just then and just there? + + Is it for this our two lives have been led, + Each travelling on its different way, + To meet with the blue sky over our head + Shaded by delicate blossoms of may? + + Little reck'd I whom I happened to meet, + That I had a lover I never guess'd, + As I danc'd along with my careless feet, + And the heart of a child within my breast. + + I had seen him a dozen times before, + With a pleasure that brought no sudden change; + I knew that he lik'd me--but nothing more: + O Harry! to think of it _is_ so strange! + + Sauntering on with the birds and the flowers, + Talking of things that we know or we knew-- + Of the pretty wishes that once were ours + In long-ago times when our years were few: + + A wild little bird skims rapidly by; + And I tell of a day when my heart was stirr'd, + And I cried as only a child can cry, + That I was a girl instead of a bird. + + 'And oh!' in an eager manner I cried, + 'I am feeling the very same wish to-day: + Oh for two wild wings, and to spread them wide, + And rush through the sky away and away.' + + I cast up my eyes, to the smiling skies, + And smiling I lower'd their glance again, + And as they were lower'd they met his eyes, + And a thrill went through me of sweetest pain. + + I blush'd when I thought of my eager words-- + But why do I blush? and why do I care? + What does it matter to me and the birds, + Or the pretty blossoms or scented air? + + 'And I,' he replied, 'have my wishes too: + Time teaches the real meaning of things; + And only this moment, looking at you, + I felt that an angel need _not_ have wings.' + + We had sauntered on to the garden gate: + He look'd in my eyes ere we turn'd to part: + I walk'd away in a manner sedate, + And with something new just touching my heart. + + When the first violet open'd in bloom, + Was it surpris'd at its lovely perfume? + Why does not History tell us, who met + First, the sweet breath of the first violet? + Rather I'd know it than facts that are known-- + As when some tyrant ascended some throne, + A battle was fought, a comet display'd, + Coals were discover'd, or steam-engines made. + + I can no moment recall, ere I knew + Perfume pertain'd to those blossoms of blue; + Had the first knowledge of sweetness like this + Touch'd me to-day, what perfection of bliss! + Children with all that creation can grant + Scarcely will miss the one pleasure I want, + Just to _remember_ the day and the hour + When, by spring breezes caressingly blown, + Delicate fragrance of violet flower + First touch'd my senses, becoming my own! + + + + + And what can it be--oh, what can it be, + That has garnish'd earth with a golden grace? + What is this something that entering me + Changes my life in a minute of space? + + When I first notic'd the power in his eyes-- + Watching to see if they praise or condemn, + Blushing to meet them--came into the skies + Beauty that never has vanish'd from them. + + When I first stopp'd in the midst of my mirth, + While my heart beat in a tremulous way + Only to see him,--came over the earth, + Glory that earth has retain'd to this day. + + When the first whisper assaulted my ear, + When the first pressure astonish'd my hand, + When I first fancied that _I_ might be dear-- + Life was a miracle joyous and grand. + + When he first woo'd me with prayers, for his own, + Suddenly came an eclipse of the light: + Sighing, I wish'd he would let me alone; + Smiling, I long'd to hide out of his sight. + + Life being lit by a fairy-like gleam, + Sparkling and glittering, tender and pure, + Was not he stupid to change such a dream + Into reality tame and secure? + + 'Tis sweet to find I am wrong in the thought, + Joy is but brighter for being confess'd; + Every moment has happiness brought, + Every stage of true love is the best. + + + + + They wish me at home to sit and to sew-- + And I like to do what my aunt thinks right-- + But the stitching never seem'd half so slow, + Nor zigzagg'd itself as it did one night. + + And my work kept slipping out of my hand + As wonderful thoughts came into my head: + Sure, life is becoming too bright and grand + To be given up to needles and thread! + + I was thinking of words that Harry spake, + And of looks that more than mere words betray, + With a joy as pure as the first snow-flake, + And almost as ready to melt away. + + And with little tears beginning to start, + And with smiles and blushes that come and go; + And I did not know what was in my heart, + Or else I pretended I did not know! + + O sudden awaking from dream so fair! + 'Tis the voice of my aunt, and I hear it say-- + 'Child, are you falling asleep in your chair? + Will you _ever_ finish that collar, May?' + + I caught up my work (I knew I was wrong), + Determin'd to finish it ere we sup; + But something within me, for me too strong, + Conquer'd myself, and I _had_ to give up. + + 'O, my Aunt Bridget,' I timidly said, + 'I am _tired_ of stitching--I _want_ to rest; + O let me gather the roses instead, + The young little roses the first and best.' + + Soft summer twilights caressing the air + Have buried the garden in lovely gloom; + But I knew that the eagerest roses there + Were just beginning to think they might bloom. + + The pretty wee stars kept peeping about, + And even peep'd in through our prison bars, + As she gravely said, 'Who ever went out + To gather a rose by the light of stars?' + + My heart beat fast at the beautiful phrase; + She had not intended it, I suppose, + But I felt I could love her all my days, + If under the stars I might pluck one rose! + + Pleading my cause in so ardent a way, + Almost evoking an answering glow, + Crying, 'You once were as young and as gay'-- + Then, she smil'd a little and let me go. + + 'Twas pleasure enough to be out of doors; + I look'd at the stars and I felt content: + But it never rains, you know, but it pours, + And the path that I _had_ to go--I went! + + Playing with fancies, in fanciful play, + 'If I want a rose,' I demurely said, + 'I must look for an omen to point the way, + And I must look for it over my head.' + + So I found a star that shone in the sky, + And mark'd how it glitter'd down on a tree, + And felt--but I swear that I know not why-- + There grow the roses intended for me! + + And as I approach the shadowy boughs + That are spreading out over earth and air, + A gay little miracle fate allows, + And the star appears to be sparkling there! + + Gladly I ran o'er the daisy-clad plain, + Led by the shimmering light of the star, + And under the tree I found--Harry Vane + Lying, and smoking a 'mild cigar!' + + I started astonish'd--he stood upright, + And said, in a voice persuasively kind, + 'Don't you _know_ that I come here every night, + To see your shadow flit by on the blind?' + + I look'd where he pointed, as if 'twas I + Could see my own phantom flicker and pass,-- + And _Aunt Bridget's_ shadow mov'd solemnly by, + Over the canvas that hangs by the glass! + + Oh, how could we help it?--we laugh'd aloud + (Birds never cease their sweet voices in spring; + And I think in youth little laughters crowd + And spring to our lips at everything!) + + In laughter we lost all sense of surprise; + It seem'd only natural we should meet; + And a star shot flaming across the skies, + And a little glow-worm gleam'd at my feet. + + And a distant bell swung its solemn chime, + That seem'd to me like the voice of a star; + And I think, through a century of time, + I shall always believe that such things are. + + And then--it was then--he spoke, and I heard; + And the moon rose up, and the stars grew dim, + And all of a sudden the nightingale-bird + Triumphantly chanted her jubilant hymn. + + + + + What are you singing about, little birds, + Twittering loudly in lime-tree and oak? + Telling each other the wonderful words + On a sweet May evening a lover spoke? + + Butterflies, floating away from the trees, + With blossom-like wings of delicate dye, + You are bearing tidings certain to please, + Scatter them freely, but do not ask why. + + Two lovers stood 'neath a star-lighted sky, + Half fearfully touching enchanted ground: + One lover was Harry, and one was I, + And the world went merrily round and round. + + Souls rushing together from distant parts, + Vows utter'd that cannot be ever undone; + A minute ago two lives and two hearts, + Through time and eternity now but one. + + O foolish butterflies! chattering birds! + Instinct in vain with humanity strives; + You can't understand the wonderful words + Or magical kisses that changed two lives! + + + + + What is Nature made for? is it for us + The beautiful world is burnish'd and blent? + If we had not eyes, would blossoms shine thus? + If we had not nostrils, would they have scent? + + I heard a philosopher say--in isles + Surrounded by ocean, apart, alone, + With no living creature to reckon miles, + Wherein life had never been born or known, + + That the clouds with electric flash may meet, + And thunder may rattle its dreadful breath, + Yet never a sound break the rest complete, + Or the silence of this eternal death; + + That the fierce storm-wind may bluster and blow, + Tearing the trees from the root-broken ground, + Or the wild sea-surf may leap and may flow + In solemn silence with never a sound. + + For sound is but the vibrations of air + That strike on the drum of the living ear; + So if never a living ear is there, + There is nothing to strike and nothing to hear. + + Though the vibrations move on, and live, + And thus the law of their being obey, + 'Tis the ear produces the sound they give-- + That's what I heard a philosopher say. + + So if thunder, roll'd through quivering air, + With that awful silence reigning around, + And you or I suddenly landed there, + All Nature would break at once into sound. + + It seems very strange and eerie, you know; + I don't understand how it is--do you? + But a philosopher said it, so + I really suppose that it must be true. + + And is not there something in human hearts + (Mountains, you know, must spring out of the flat) + That at Love's light touch into music starts? + Ah, what would philosophers say to _that_? + + + + + There never was summer so bright as this, + And the world will always be burnished thus; + For if Love the magical painter is, + He for ever will paint the same for us. + + 'Tis a light within that illumes the land; + And free as the birds from sorrow or strife, + Very close together, and hand in hand, + We shall walk on through unlimited life. + + 'Ah, Harry!' I cried, 'I shall lean on _you_! + 'Tis the purest joy to look up so high; + You will teach me all that I ought to do; + On your noble strength can my steps rely. + + I hope that you know I am very weak, + Only a poor little thing at the best; + But children can love before they can speak, + And I hope that love will make up the rest.' + + Oh beautiful pathway, untouched by care; + Oh you scattered roses on which we tread; + You lead to a church with its holy prayer, + And its Heaven-blessing over us shed! + + + + + Nightingales singing an exquisite tune + All the sweet music for me and for you, + Saying my prayers by the light of the moon, + Happy the prayers that are utter'd for two! + + Stars in the depth of a fathomless space, + Summer-blue sky by no shadow o'ercast, + Joy pointing on to a far-away grace + Brighter than e'en the beneficent past; + + Trouble to measureless distances fled, + Death too remote to be worthy a sigh-- + Can there be any one sorry or dead? + Sorrow or death 'neath a summer-blue sky! + + Was there a moment we never had met? + Was there a time unexalted by him? + Shone the same lustre in suns when they set? + Sparkled the river with joy to the brim? + + Glitter'd the blue over heaven and sea? + Flutter'd the birds to a musical call? + Could he be happy unconscious of me? + And, without Harry, what was I at all? + + I stand on a rock where two rivers meet, + With a life behind and a life before; + And one is ebbing away from my feet, + And the other is rising more and more. + + Ah, poor little maiden! ah, dear little wife! + Ah, days that are past and days that will come! + The past is nothing--this only is life; + I am going with _him_ and am going HOME. + + + + + And such a sweet pretty home as it is! + What shall I do with my exquisite bliss? + How can I ever be charming enough, + Where rumpling a roseleaf will make the path rough? + How can I thank the great Father above + For showing His child such abundance of love? + With Harry a home in a hovel were sweet, + And this is a palace that lies at my feet. + + I look at the gardens spread out in the sun, + Where every rosebud a prize might have won; + Where lilies lift up tinted crowns to the skies, + And clematis strike you aghast by their size; + Where lawns smooth as ice tempt your feet as they pass, + Though only a fairy should tread on such grass; + And big forest trees on the slopes, spread afar + Those branches that grander than anything are. + + I sweep through the rooms where the mirrors portray + A slender young thing in a robe of pale gray, + And catching quick glimpses, now here and now there, + I own with delight she is graceful and fair; + I study the creature, and smile as I see + How handsome a woman one day she may be; + I draw myself up with a stately expanse + And try to look grand, while I'm longing to dance; + I flourish, I curtsey, I slip and I slide;-- + This will do for a wife, this is fit for a bride. + I smile and I bow, in a dignified way, + And even shake hands with the lady in gray; + Then draw back astonish'd, afraid to offend, + It is all a mistake, and she is not a friend. + In a moment sweeps over the vision a change + Deliciously sweet and suddenly strange, + A blush in the cheek and a light in the eyes;-- + A step in the passage, to meet it she flies, + And still in the mirror I mark the embrace, + Where the strong manly arms hide the small blushing face. + + + + + When the sun rises early to call people out, + There is nothing so sweet as to wander about, + A hand on an arm or an arm round a waist, + In lover-like leisure or holiday haste. + Then, all is delightful we see or we hear, + And speaking or silence are equally dear; + The earth at our feet of an emerald hue, + The Heaven above us incredibly blue, + The flowers baptiz'd with miraculous dew. + + While yet the sky blushes to welcome the sun, + Through the gay gardens we stroll and we run; + In fields where lambs gambol less happy than we, + Glittering grass makes a sheen like the sea; + Birds unexpectedly set up a chant, + Adding a joy that the world seem'd to want. + Creation is made for our pleasure alone: + Adam and Eve, with no sin to atone, + Knowledge untasted, less rapture have known! + + Keeping by Harry, a friend who is fond + Follows as closely as follow he can: + _Is_ there an earthly affection beyond + The love a good dog feels for a good man? + + If twenty people fling down twenty gloves + Our Rover has never been known to fail; + He picks out the glove of the man he loves, + And brings it triumphantly, wagging his tail. + + Rover and I, under shadowy yew, + List'ning for Harry's dear step on the path-- + He _always_ hears it the first of the two, + Which gives me a feeling half joy, half wrath. + + By divers states can our spirits be mov'd + Our hearts will answer to many a touch; + We love one creature for being much lov'd, + And we love another for loving much. + + By delicate touches our souls are stirr'd, + Fraught with a meaning life never reveals: + I wonder the Bible says not a word + Of the faithful love that a good dog feels. + + + + + Good are the mornings for birds in a nest, + Fluttering out from a beautiful home; + Good are the mornings, but evenings are best, + Seeking its shelter nor asking to roam. + + Life, like a secret, is too much for one-- + May be too little where numbers are great-- + All _may_ be vanity under the sun, + But all _is_ charming when done _tete a tete_. + + Neighbours _will_ call--what a trouble it is! + Dinners and parties are made for our sake: + Why must society trouble our bliss? + Dinners and neighbours are quite a mistake! + + Drest as a bride, I must dine at the Grange; + Harry beside me, I have not a care; + Only it seems so exceedingly strange + Not to be thinking of meeting him there! + + Jane does my hair with a skill, I confess, + Smilingly thinking of days that are gone, + When for a party I ran up to dress + With neither a husband nor maid of my own. + + Life that is past, did you certainly pass? + When were you actual? how did you change? + Who is this girl that I see in the glass + Thinking of things that are happy and strange? + + Who is this man who may enter the room, + Placidly certain his presence must please, + Settle her colours, select her perfume, + Hands in his pockets serenely at ease: + + Who can the girl be, and who is the man? + Light-hearted creatures who live but to love! + 'Tis the result of the Angels' kind plan, + One of the marriages made up above! + + Hand laid in hand to the stairs we advance, + Feet scarcely touching the carpet at all: + Why should they walk who are able to dance? + Clasping each other, we waltz through the hall! + + Pleasant the drive in the twilight's soft gloom; + Dazzling the change to society's light; + Proud of my Harry I enter the room, + Every eye on my gallant young knight. + + Lovely the welcome around me I see-- + Will it be thus through a beautiful life? + Everybody attentive to me, + And only because I am Harry's wife? + + Dear to my heart are the glitter and grace; + But nothing so charming, or bright, is here + As the gracious smile upon Harry's face, + Or his manly voice as it greets my ear. + + As from the banquet the ladies depart + I hear two gentlemen murmuring low-- + 'The Captain has got an excellent start + But he won't set the Thames on fire, you know!' + + Then I look back and attempt to decide + _Who_ is this Captain who must not aspire; + I meet Harry's eyes, and I smile with pride, + For I know _he_ could set the Thames on fire! + + Afterwards music; he sings and I sing, + She sings and they sing, and minutes flit past:-- + Harmony certainly quickens Time's wing, + And the lark sings loudest when flying fast. + + + + +HIS SONG. + + + Must he toil beneath the sun + Who has nothing else to do? + What's the use of such a one? + I know not--pray do you? + Skies are not aflame for him; + _He_ converses not with elves; + Primroses on river's brim + _Can_ be nothing but themselves. + + Need he interfere with me, + Who care only to be blest? + Go thy way, unhappy bee, + Leave a butterfly at rest. + Butterflies with painted wings + Are a part of Nature's plan; + Is not every bird that sings, + Wiser than a busy man? + + Harry's rich tenor delighteth my ears + Oft as I hear it; 'tis ever the same; + Brings to my eyes a soft _soupcon_ of tears, + Sends from my heart little thrills through my frame. + + + + +MY SONG. + + + When the sea + Speaks to me, + Sure I may reply to it; + When the skies + Catch my eyes, + I must smile a little bit. + When the trees + Try to please + With their buds and blossoms new, + Shall I dare + Not to care + For a world so bright and true? + + Earth and sky, + Tell me why + Sorrow ever comes between? + Is it you, + Heaven blue? + Is it you, my earth so green? + Is it there + In the air + That you neither of you touch? + Is the wind + So unkind + When I love its kiss so much? + + Let it be + Earth or sea, + Skies or breezes as they move, + Earth is sweet + 'Neath my feet, + Heaven sweeter yet above; + And the air + Ev'rywhere + Is the sweetest of the three; + I will take, + For their sake, + Anything they bring to me! + + + + + Men flocking round me, I find I'm admir'd; + Praise is as sweet as a gratified whim; + When a girl pleases she never feels tir'd-- + Harry smiles at me, and I smile at him. + Through the open doors of a crystal dome + Sweet is the scent of the tropical flowers, + The splendid exiles who, banish'd from home, + Are sparkling and shining to gladden ours. + Figures appearing 'mid blossom and fruit, + In an airy, fairy, magical way; + Their lips keep moving altho' they are mute + For ears too distant to hear what they say. + + From a lily bud can a voice be sent?-- + 'Let us hope the Captain's wild oats are sown; + A pretty young wife should make him content'-- + Only a word in a soft-spoken tone! + + Moving serenely 'mid beauty and song, + Am not I born for the glittering throng? + Treading on roses with delicate feet, + Is not a life a perpetual treat? + Can we be more than delighted and blest? + Pleasure is beautiful--is it the best? + Highest and best that our nature can know? + Answer my heart--and my heart answers No. + And my heart answers, 'more beautiful yet + Life is for those who leave _Home_ with regret, + And greet it again as the sailor greets shore, + Gaily returning to life gone before.' + + Thus from the banquet two lovers depart, + Owning thy truth, lovely voice of my heart; + Seeking a home that, whatever befall, + Is brighter and sweeter and dearer than all; + Better than all that the world can decree, + For happy young creatures like Harry and me! + + Self-ordained critics, we sit at our ease, + Life spread before us to judge as we please; + Harry in quite a ridiculous way + Prates about wine, like a swell in a play; + Next, the made dishes proceeding to scan, + With wisdom becoming a greedy old man; + Looking so charmingly youthful and gay, + I laugh in his face at his airs of _gourmet_; + Admitting myself but three things to be nice-- + Champagne, lobster salad, and strawberry ice. + + Then pass the people in sparkling review; + I ask fifty questions beginning with Who? + Midnight approaches--a sense of repose + Floating about me, my eyelids half close; + Rising, I languidly say, 'By the bye, + Who is the Captain?' he laughs in reply, + Stands up in front of me, just face to face, + Makes me a bow with an air and a grace: + 'The Captain this moment before you' you see-- + That's my nickname in the country,' says he. + Pleasantly sleepy I felt ere he spake, + Now I am thoroughly widely awake; + A shock passes through me of horrid surprise, + I turn upon Harry my wondering eyes, + Catching at hopes, as the drowning at straws, + I cry, as the truth for a moment withdraws, + 'You're quizzing me, Harry--that's what you're at, + It _cannot_ be _you_ that they speak of like that!' + Then he insists on my telling, displeas'd + At any concealment, WHAT have I heard? + Worried and wearied, bewilder'd and teaz'd, + I blurt it out and repeat every word! + Harry regards me with almost a stare-- + Pulls his moustache with a sort of amaze-- + Passes his hand through his clustering hair + And--bursts out laughing, as if it was praise! + There is nothing so sweet or full of grace + (Can one who has seen it ever forget?) + As the smile that comes over Harry's face; + It is Heaven on earth--and yet--and yet-- + I feel a strange chill steal into my heart-- + Should he permit such remarks from the crowd? + Can it be their part? Can it be his part? + They the mean snobs! he the noble and proud! + + + + + No shooting to-day of partridge or snipe; + It has steadily rained since morning broke, + In dancing spirits I kindle his pipe + (I am learning to like the smell of smoke!) + + He has given up such a deal for me! + He likes to give up his bachelor way; + He says it is charming _not_ to be free, + So he only smokes one pipe in the day. + + Together we sit in his little room, + Which is fitted up like a dainty toy; + And if without there is darkness and gloom, + Within there is plenty of light and joy. + + 'Tell me of all you have done, if you can,' + I cry, as the pretty smoke lightly curls; + 'I want to hear of the life of a man + I, who only know of the life of girls!' + + He shakes his head with a smile and a nod, + The smoke curling round it with idle aim; + He is like the picture of some young god, + Who, from painted clouds, looks out of a frame. + + 'The life of a girl is a fairy thing, + With a sweetness none can wish to forget, + Caught from a snowdrop in earliest spring + Or the first faint breath of a violet; + The life of a man, as it is and was, + Is like autumn leaves decaying and dead, + With a flavour of bad theatrical gas, + And of last night's banquet,' my husband said. + + I laugh'd at the gay nonsensical speech, + In my merry pride at being his wife; + I sat at his feet, and I bade him teach + A neophyte out of his noble life. + + He mutter'd 'My noble life!' with a frown, + 'With noble lives I have little to do; + My dear, put those frivolous notions down, + I am but a man, and a weak one too. + My life has been full of confounded things, + I am only a man, like other men; + But we hear a flutter of angel-wings, + And our demons forsake us, there and then. + In marrying _thee_, my innocent sprite, + I had caught a glimpse of a purer joy; + I turn'd a new page, and the page was white; + I'm quite determin'd to be a good boy!' + His hand sought my head with a careless grace, + And the sun shone suddenly out on us; + O gracious and sweet was my Harry's face,-- + Why should a hero belie himself thus? + + + + +PART II. + + + When turf is level how rapid the pace! + Linger ye moments!--be patient my life! + Marriage is only an idyl of grace, + What knows a bride of the bliss of a wife? + + Are all things the dearer for growing old? + As flowers _are_ sweeter deep in a wood; + Will the warmth of May in July seem cold? + Was earth less perfect when God call'd it 'good'? + + Even roses when young are only green, + And the exquisite perfume faint and small, + If roses are lovely when just half seen, + When blown they are sweetest and best of all. + + Time passes on, and they open _too_ much; + Still the rich fragrance about them is shed; + Delicate petals fall off with a touch; + Happy and mourn'd for, the roses are dead! + + And when _we_ die (if death ever can be, + Life leaping in me, it sounds like a jest), + May it be thus with my Harry and me-- + Love's latest perfume its sweetest and best. + + He, whom I speak to, smiles into my face, + Crying, with kisses, that life would restore, + 'All that you say has a feminine grace; + But _hasn't_ Moore said something like it before?' + + From the piano I draw forth a peal, + Greeting the sound with a smile and a sigh, + Singing 'The Last Rose of Summer,' I feel + That summer and roses can _never_ die! + + + + + 'Twas a beautiful evening, fresh and fair, + Earth sweeter far than impossible skies; + My heart beating light as a bird in air, + When Harry brought home with him Jack Devize. + + Did no presentiment touch me that day? + Never a _soupcon_ of evil or ill? + No, the world was bright with Harry away, + And when Harry came back it was brighter still. + + The man stood there, and his shadow was laid + Straight at my feet by the sunset decrees; + I mark'd it well, and I was not afraid; + And when Harry nam'd him I smil'd with ease. + + The roses poured out their exquisite scent, + Birds gave us the sweetest music they had, + And the little grasses daintily bent + In the tender breeze, as if they were glad. + + Are there not angels to guard us and keep? + Are spirits _not_ round us hidden from sight? + Oh! angels and spirits were all asleep, + Or they must have warn'd me that fatal night. + + I have wak'd with the thought of an absent friend + (And others I know who have done the same), + And have felt 'ere I see the daylight's end, + Her letter must come--and her letter came. + I have run indoors with the happy thought + That something pleasant was going to be, + And--coincidence strange!--my eye has caught + The sight of the thing it desired to see. + + I have felt a depression all the day, + A dullness for which I could not account, + And a flower has died--a dog run away-- + Or a horse gone lame that I wish'd to mount. + + And if from the regions of mysteries + _Something_ can warn us of trifles like these; + How could it be I met Mr. Devize + With a smiling face and a heart at ease? + + No dream at night, when by wonderful laws + The bodies are dead, the spirits alive; + No little heart--sinking without a cause + When the perfect sunshine made nature thrive; + No omen or signal, little or great, + Not a quicken'd pulse or a flutter'd breath;-- + So Harry and I rush'd on to our fate, + And the unseen world was passive as Death. + + We stroll'd through the gardens till dinner came, + The scented breezes were faultlessly sweet; + The sun went suddenly down in a flame, + While the birds their jubilant hymns repeat, + We chatted at dinner, and afterwards, + And the moments pleasantly slid away, + But when Mr. Devize suggested cards, + I laughingly told him I could not play. + + The cards are produced; the men begin; + I sit by Harry and watch his hand; + I am very eager that he should win, + And when he does so, I feel very grand. + + 'Twas all very well for once you see; + Its novelty made it a thing to praise; + It was quite a joke for a girl like me, + Living with men and observing their ways. + + But when Jack had dined again and again, + And with others enjoy'd the cards and fare. + With a little shiver that felt like pain, + I would say 'good night' and leave Harry there. + + Cool is the chamber and pleasant the light, + Tranquil and innocent, tender and calm; + Sweet are the thoughts that approach us at night, + Sweet as the breeze with its perfumy balm. + And if I am reading the happy Word, + Or saying my prayers by the taper's glow, + I wish that my Harry had _this_ preferr'd + To the painted toys and the men below. + + * * * * * + + 'I wish that my Harry had this preferr'd'-- + But ought I to wish it, if he does not? + Has my foolish heart from its duty err'd, + And the soft compliance of love forgot? + + There _can_ be no question 'twixt wrong and right; + And surely we all can be brave and strong; + Yet I seem a little perplex'd to-night, + And hardly to know what _is_ right or wrong. + + I'm very young to be anyone's wife, + And to know about serious things like these-- + Must my little hand touch my husband's life + With a thought of something _more_ than to please? + + What shall I do with this ghost of a care + That makes my silly heart flutter and sink? + I will first kneel down and will say a prayer, + And then I'll ask Harry what I should think! + + + + + Harry stalk'd into my room in a rage-- + 'Hilton and Wilton have clear'd me out quite; + A run of ill luck at every stage-- + Fifty pounds lost since you left us to-night! + I'll have my revenge on the rogues I vow!' + Marks of strange anger disfigure his face, + A dry parch'd lip and a thundery brow, + And a sharp bright eye that has lost its grace. + + So a lov'd little hand comes smoothing down-- + Wandering kisses can anger eclipse; + The beautiful forehead has ceased to frown, + And sweet is the kiss I find on my lips. + + 'Ah, dearest,' I whisper, 'mourn not for this, + On a summer day with a heap of flowers; + This cannot be sorrow, or if it is, + It is a sorrow that cannot be ours.' + + All the strange passion had vanish'd, I ween; + The Harry I knew had come back again; + And on his sweet face I had never seen + A sweeter smile than illumin'd it then. + + With smiles he caress'd me: 'you little thing-- + You dear little thing,' he tenderly said; + 'We have banish'd you by the cards we bring; + Let us banish cards and have you instead.' + + I clapp'd my hands, and my heart beat light, + As I softly whisper'd, 'Indeed you may, + For I'm certain, Harry, it is not RIGHT + To spend so much money and time at play.' + + He gave me an odd little look askance, + And mutter'd, 'A man must do something though;' + I answer'd the look with a loving glance, + 'But the something need not be cards, you know; + There is plenty to do before we die, + That may suit a gay and a careless mood; + We are _so_ happy, Harry, you and I, + That I think we ought to be ever so good. + Playing at cards for money, I'm clear, + Is an alien thing in beautiful lives'-- + He grumbled, 'The fellows will think me queer; + But then the poor fellows have _not_ got wives.' + We talk'd the matter delightfully out; + Our words were earnest and bright and free; + We twisted it round, we turn'd it about, + And we both agreed that it should not be. + + 'You are my angel,' he cried, with a kiss; + 'I fear lest your wings are spreading to fly,' + And his angel I _ought_ to be, in this, + For 'tis he who is tempted, and not I. + + O, women have no temptations at all; + They have only to keep their white lives white; + But men are so tempted, that men must fall-- + O wonderful Harry who stands upright! + + * * * * * + + Again the sweet evenings we had at first: + He reads, and I work; or we play and sing; + And looks and words that, if life were accurs'd, + In memory only, would rapture bring. + Engagements of course will sometimes arise; + But the joy is still in the coming back; + And sometimes he dines with us (Jack Devize), + And sometimes my husband dines out with Jack. + + Under the cliff with its towering crest, + Where the wandering sea has fill'd the space, + A sweet little village has made its nest, + A sort of miniature watering place. + + Scarcely a mile by the upper cliff way-- + Further of course by the beach-shaded road-- + Little Bellhaven contentedly lay, + Easily reached from our pleasant abode. + + Therein a Church, and a place of Dissent, + A shop where we purchase our sugar and shoes, + Therein a Library ladies frequent; + Therein a club where the men read the news; + Also a chamber where, lit from above, + Balls white and crimson disport on green baize, + That capital game which gentlemen love, + Where Harry conquers whenever he plays. + Billiards require grace, agility, skill; + No one without them can hope to excel; + But Harry never did anything ill + That it is manly and right to do well. + In my pretty turn-out with ponies gray, + At a rattling pace to the club I come, + And feel like a queen triumphantly gay, + As I drive my conquering Hero home. + + I like him to play; I like him to win; + I like to wait by the Ocean expanse, + To watch its wild waves come careering in, + In regular order unknown to chance. + + I like the scent of the weeds that they bear, + And their rolling sound on the pebbly beach; + I like the touch of the salt-flavour'd air; + There is beauty, pleasure, and health in each. + + A little hotel in Bellhaven stands, + Where dinners are serv'd remarkably well, + And sometimes Harry slips out of my hands + And dines with Jack at this little hotel. + I'm not very fond of the place, I own; + Ought I to mind it, if Harry's amused? + But I feel so lonely when I'm alone, + And sometimes I feel a little ill-used. + + 'Tis seldom my husband deserts me thus, + He is always home ere the clock strikes ten; + So I won't be foolish and make a fuss, + But try to remember that men are men. + + + + + Sitting and waiting for Harry alone, + Watching the minutes, and wanting him back-- + Why are you absent, my Harry, my own? + Am not I nicer than billiards and Jack? + + Traitress to ask such a question! for shame! + Thou art, thou knowest, beginning and end! + His whole life is thine--he is _not_ to blame! + May not thy husband go out with a friend? + + Thou art the false one, and he is the true-- + Fretful and idle, unworthy thy king! + Hast thou not anything useful to do, + Thou good-for-nothing and cross little thing? + + Scolding myself, I spring up from my chair, + Calling out loud that the time is _not_ long; + March down the room with a resolute air, + Seize my guitar, and burst out into song! + + Poor little girl, sitting singing alone, + Pretty guitar round a slender neck hung, + Smiles on thy lips, but a sad little moan, + Deep in a heart that is foolish and young. + + +SONG. + + To one whose footsteps fall + Upon a mountain's height, + Earth must seem very small, + And heaven infinite. + + Then why do misty tears + Conceal each lofty crest, + If earth so far appears, + So near the land of rest? + + Hush! for the mists withdraw + The Hidden shines in bliss; + Who in a valley saw + A heaven-light like this? + + I think when earth can speak + (She will one of these days), + That every mountain-peak + Will give a shout of praise. + + + + + I did not care for the song that I sang; + I was not thinking of mountains at all; + Tiresome and strange in mine ears the words rang-- + 'Heaven is infinite, earth is so small'-- + Rang in that eerie monotonous way + Words sometimes will, when _we_ don't will one bit. + Which proves they're alive--It is hard in the day, + But in the night _who_ can battle with it? + And a little sob rose up in my throat-- + 'Harry, Harry, Harry,' thrill'd through the sob; + I touch'd the guitar, and its answering note + Came unexpected, and made my heart throb. + + +SONG. + + It was once upon a time, + Ere the roses bud and blow, + Underneath the scented lime, + Long ago, ah, long ago! + Is it I that was so fair, + When the sun is slanting low, + With a lily in my hair, + Ah, so very long ago? + + Was my heart as light as this + Was the lily white as snow? + What a happy hour it is, + Long ago, ah, long ago? + Then the lily bloom'd to save, + Ere a tear had learn'd to flow + Now it lies upon a grave, + Ah, so very long ago! + + + + + While I sat singing, steps came on the path, + Outside the window--what marvel is this? + Steady and solemn, they make my heart wrath, + Steps come towards me, and they are not his! + Steps in the night time pass up to my door; + Then comes a knocking might waken the dead: + Instead of one Harry there must be four, + Only not one has his light springy tread. + + My old nurse's son to sea ran away-- + At a 'Norwester,' or gale from the South, + I've heard the poor woman tremblingly say + The sound 'brought her heart up into her mouth!' + + I, little prattler, crouched down at her feet, + Would stop aghast in my innocent play, + Wondering, will she be able to eat, + Supposing her heart in her mouth shall _stay_? + + Strange are our minds and their workings, I'm sure + Studying them might drive Solomon wild: + At the loud knocking, I ran to the door + With a sudden thought of that nurse and child. + + I saw her rocking herself in her chair, + While the mad wind blew 'neath the stormy sky; + I saw the little child watching her there, + And knew, with a pang, that the child was I. + + (Strange are the pangs, that, when life is most fair, + With not a regret to shadow the scene, + Seize on the heart with a sudden despair, + From a passing mem'ry of what _has been_.) + + And while to the door I ran with a start, + Frighten'd to death at the knocking without, + I was thinking of my old nurse's heart, + And _not_ of what all the noise was about! + + + + + Four men without peering sharply within; + One girl within looking out at the men; + Silence at first--you might have heard a pin + Drop on the doorsteps--silence--and then, + + 'What do you want?' cried the girl. She spoke loud, + In a voice that sounded unlike her own. + 'We want Mr. Vane,' said a man, who bowed, + And uttered the words in a gentle tone. + + They were very well dressed--they were not poor-- + They had shining hats and cloaks wrapp'd about, + These men who stood at the happy hall-door, + Where Harry and I run in and run out. + + (You want him? _I_ want him, I might have said; + But only to say so seem'd like a sin): + 'He is not within'; and I shook my head, + And while I yet spoke _the men were_ within. + + They did not appear to wish to intrude; + They did not attempt to frighten me now; + They did not push by me; they were not rude;-- + But _somehow_ they enter'd--I know not how. + + 'It's no use trying to 'ide 'im, my dear,' + Said one, in a really fatherly way; + 'In course we knows that the gen'leman's 'ere; + And till he turns up we shall 'ave to stay.' + + 'The gentleman's here? but no one has come; + And no one _can_ come--it is much too late. + Mr. Vane is out--he will soon be home; + But I really must ask you not to wait.' + + The man laid a finger against his nose; + With a horrible slyness look'd at me: + 'We understands all that 'ere, I suppose; + But you'd _better_ come to terms,' said he. + + I stared at the man with my vacant eyes, + That dreamily question'd him how he dared? + And suddenly saw, with extreme surprise, + It was a policeman at whom I stared. + + + + + The five of us stood in the pleasant hall; + And four were policemen, and one was I; + And Harry had never come home at all; + And the clock struck one with a gasping sigh. + + My heart grew cold, and my courage ran down; + I pinch'd my finger--I tried _not_ to scream-- + I felt like a creature about to drown, + And I cried aloud 'It MUST be a dream!' + I angrily spoke,--and I spoke out loud; + I _knew_ 'twas a dream and nothing in it; + I spurn'd the dream with a gesture proud, + And ORDERED myself to wake that minute. + + Of course, I just fell asleep where I sat, + And this is a dream--yes I know it is-- + But O it is stranger than dreaming, that + Harry has not waken'd me with a kiss! + + I looked at the men, who are searching round, + And taking a note of all they can find; + Examining ceiling and walls and ground,-- + --I am surely going out of my mind! + + I said to myself in a coaxing way-- + 'I am wide awake, and he _has_ come back; + Harry is acting a sort of a play: + He has dress'd himself up, and so has Jack.' + + A glance or a signal dispers'd the men: + Two went upstairs, and another below; + The leader sat down in the hall; and then-- + What am _I_ to do? Where am _I_ to go? + + I rush'd to the door, and I flung it wide-- + A frighten'd creature can anything dare-- + And I saw the darkness that lay outside, + And I heard the silence--and nothing was there. + + 'Harry! Harry! Harry!' was all my cry, + As I stood alone at the open door; + And the night heard me--and so did the sky, + And the wind and the earth--and nothing more. + + I turn'd from the door with a sad surprise: + I could call for my love and call in vain; + And I met that horrid policeman's eyes, + Keenly and quietly watching my pain. + + He suddenly called for his men to come; + So they made their appearance one by one, + And he said, 'The gen'leman's _not_ been 'ome, + And she 'asn't a notion what he's done. + + And he _won't_ come now, you may swear to that; + I rayther think he'll look arter a ship: + I rayther suspect we've been rayther flat, + And the gen'leman's given us the slip!' + + With a regular march they trod the ground, + Suddenly left me alone in the hall; + In the dreadful silence that settled round, + Again I _knew_ I was dreaming it all? + + + + + A voice that can banish my sleep I know; + I know a voice that could wake me if dead; + A loud cheery voice, but it might speak low, + And 'May, little May,' it whispering said. + + I stand like a statue of silence. Hush! + I listen not with my ears, but my soul; + And I feel the sudden accustom'd blush, + As again the whisper reaches its goal. + + I open the window. 'Mid blossom and bough + Of clustering laurel and Daphne white, + I am showering kisses on Harry's brow, + And dropping the first tears I've shed to-night. + + His face is as white as the Daphne-bud; + He is hiding down on the hidden sward; + He is wan and haggard, and splashed with mud; + He is crouching frighten'd--my king and lord! + + He whisper'd, and fill'd my heart with dismay,-- + Scared by the sounds that used once to rejoice!-- + O Harry, my Harry, speak loudly, I pray, + And _not_ in that shocking whispering voice. + + He whisper'd, 'I've got in a horrid scrape; + Fetch me some money, and bid me good-bye; + I must run away, and make my escape,'-- + 'I shall run with you, my darling,' said I. + + 'You cannot,' he murmur'd;--a speechless love + Shone out of his eyes; he return'd my kiss-- + 'I never intended--Great Father above, + You _know_ that I never intended this. + + Fetch me some money--the desk and the key-- + You know them--be quick! or dearly you'll rue-- + My life's in your hands!--have mercy on me-- + Fetch me some money--It's all you can do.' + + A horrible haste in manner and voice, + A desperate hungry imploring haste; + I rush'd up the stairs--I had not a choice, + And I snatch'd the notes from where they were plac'd + All that I had--to the window I rush'd-- + With kisses and tears in his hands I laid; + He return'd the kisses, with lips that crush'd + Their vehement kisses on lips dismay'd. + + He was almost gone; but I held him tight, + And cried in my anguish, 'You have forgot-- + When shall I follow you, darling? to-night?' + He shook his head, and he answer'd me not! + He threw off my hands in a savage way; + He cried, 'I adore you,' in fondest tone; + 'You _shall_ follow me, sweet--I dare not stay-- + I'll write to you, darling;' and he is gone! + + + + +PART III. + + + O the weary, dark, impossible days, + That have dragg'd their lingering length since then! + O the cruel sunshine's merciless blaze! + O the unnatural faces of men! + + I was told it all--it was all explain'd; + And they all declar'd that I understood; + But only one knowledge on earth remain'd, + I knew that Harry was noble and good. + + They had dined together--together play'd, + Together quarrell'd--who cares about what? + And somebody, speaking about them, said, + 'They were out and out a thorough bad lot!' + 'They left the village, they rush'd to the cliff, + A dissolute crew that good Christians condemn'-- + This is the way they keep talking, as if + I did not know _Harry_ was one of them! + 'Shouting and swearing, and heated and flush'd, + All talking together, and running pell mell, + Out to the cliff from the village they rush'd, + And two men were fighting, and one man fell.' + And the man who fell over the dreadful edge, + For ever lost, and for ever must be; + There was never a sandbank, rock, or ledge, + There was _nothing_ but the pitiless sea! + + I hear it said, without doubt or surmise, + Over and over and over again, + The man who was murder'd was Jack Devize, + And the man who murder'd him, Harry Vane! + + + + + I dream I am standing on purple heights, + Alone and alone for ever and aye; + The sun is shining with pitiless lights; + I pray that darkness may cover the sky. + + I dream I am lying buried in sand, + Alone and alone for ever and aye; + Parch'd and dry is the terrible land; + I pray but for water before I die. + + I dream I am tossing on ocean waves, + Alone and alone for ever and aye; + I shudder to think of the open graves; + Under daisy blossoms I pray to lie. + + O daisy buds I am dreaming of _you_, + Alone and alone for ever and aye; + From a dream of daisies scatter'd with dew + I wake with a start, and a piercing cry. + + Let me but dream of affliction and shame, + Of saints that punish and sinners that cower, + Of troubles by sickness and sword and flame, + And _not_ of an innocent daisy flower! + + I am haunted by words--by seven words-- + Seven words echoing everywhere; + They are borne on breezes, and sung by birds, + They are written on earth and sea and air. + + I think there is nothing else is my own; + I think there is nothing else is alive; + Seven words and I are always alone; + The world about me may hunger and strive. + + I have heard that mystic meaning is hid, + I have heard that wonderful things are made, + Of the number seven--may God forbid-- + For I cannot tell, and I feel afraid. + + The sweetest poem that ever was writ-- + Do you not know it?--is 'We are seven;' + For the dear little girl who talks in it, + Will not give up her brothers in Heaven. + + What the stupid sense of the grown-up man + Urges, she cannot perceive; but prefers + The simple faith of her own sweet plan, + And the brothers in Heaven still are hers. + + The very last day that Harry was here + I read him those verses, and Harry smil'd; + And we held some converse, divinely dear, + Which was all about that dear little child. + + Is it for this that I think of it now? + Is it for this he let seven words fall? + O pulses are beating behind my brow, + And I think my heart is not beating at all! + And my brain, it keeps whirling round and round, + Like a sing-song wheel through a ship at night; + And the seven words that constantly sound + Are 'you shall follow me, sweet,' and 'I'll write.' + + + + + I wonder if I have been going mad, + In the strange wild world I am living in? + I think that I have--I hop'd that I had-- + For I weary with wondering, what is sin? + + There's blood on your hand--there's blood on your soul-- + O lily-white hand--soul noble and true! + You murder'd him where the blue waters roll, + And he set the seal of his death on you. + + I have sat so happily by your side, + I have lain so tranquilly on your breast; + But I think that you died, and I think that I died-- + And death is the end of all, and the best. + + It was God who created men and time; + And a better than you He could not need; + So if you did it, it was not a crime, + And if 'twas a crime, you did not the deed. + + I am fighting with life, with death I strive; + Ready for neither; both crush with their might; + Only those seven words keep me alive-- + You said 'you shall follow me,' and 'I'll write.' + + + + + They stealthily talk; I hear what they say-- + Sharply she hears who each syllable dreads-- + Glancing at me in significant way, + Touching their foreheads and shaking their heads. + + 'Mad?'--'not exactly--bewilder'd--confus'd; + Thoughts turn'd astray by grief's terrible force; + Not even by love is murder excus'd; + She cannot believe that he did it, of course. + She thinks him a hero, and so loves on; + Reason enthron'd would annihilate this; + Love would have nothing to nestle upon, + Did she perceive him the sinner he is.' + + * * * * * + + Words striking my brain like sunshine on ice, + Bursting the bulwarks that kept the flood in; + Is love only madness? Will reason suffice + To crucify love at the presence of sin? + + Reason comes back with all honours she had, + Calmly accepting my life as it is; + I will not go mad--I dare not go mad-- + I must _prove_ love is not treason like this! + + Is he not all that I thought him? Be still + O treacherous heart--then _you_ were to blame: + I married my Harry for good or ill, + And through good and ill I love him the same. + + If God died for us, and lay in a grave, + Leaving His mansions of glory for this; + It must have been from a longing to save + Such a noble sinner as Harry is. + + In His own image created He him, + And He called man 'good' on the virgin sod; + And when He beheld His image grow dim, + He died to redeem it--the gracious God! + + Rebuking myself with an angry pain-- + What was I wishing for? What would I have? + A paragon fram'd by my shallow brain, + And not the sinner God died to save? + + + + + I have _driven_ madness out of my brain, + Studying life with intolerant eyes; + Praying and weeping and praying again-- + Earth is good for nothing but prayers and sighs. + + We all are made up of follies and faults, + That, if time but serv'd, would lead us to crime; + And for every time my darling halts, + I am sure I have halted fifty times! + + I am not blinded or prejudiced here; + I have sought the truth and found what I sought; + I know you were wrong, my Harry, my dear; + You should not have play'd and quarrell'd and fought. + + Had you been _here_ on that evening--a cry + Comes out of my heart as _one_ grace I implore: + Let me not think of our evenings, or I + Shall suddenly die, and see him no more. + + I know you were wrong, my darling; I know + That we all do wrong, and must all repent; + But this horrible depth of nameless woe + Was nothing on earth but an accident. + With your tender heart and your gracious way, + And your temper as gay as cloudless skies, + You would sooner have died that fatal day + Than taken the life of Jack Devize. + + O tender heart, art thou lonely and cold, + With no one to comfort or take thy part? + O sweet gay words in the days that are old! + And oh, to be clasp'd to that tender heart! + + I am so afraid that you feel remorse + For an end that _indeed_ you could not prevent; + And I am not there to put gentle force + On what you should and should _not_ repent. + I am so afraid that you grieve _too_ much, + With a sorrow that nothing will stop or stay: + O Harry, don't _let_ your sorrow be such; + O darling, you _shall_ be happy some day! + + They want to have you; they hunt you to death: + They _cannot_ believe that you _meant_ the deed! + Have they no sense? no perception? no faith? + Are they helmless boats, without God or Creed? + + + + + Waiting, waiting, waiting, Harry, for you, + While the dreadful days drag wearily by; + I cannot wait longer--what shall I do? + For till I have kiss'd you I cannot die. + + Frighten'd at every movement or sound-- + Every thing except one thing forgot-- + Always in terror that you have been found-- + Would the _first moment_ be rapture or not? + + Wandering aimlessly everywhere, + Upstairs and downstairs, from room into room, + Searching for nothing--for nothing is there, + Only the changeless impregnable gloom. + + Stifled within, the cool gardens I seek;-- + Like poor human souls the flowers all die; + Even the birds are refusing to speak, + Crush'd by the weight of a leaden-gray sky. + + Is this the whole of it? is this the end? + Life finish'd off by a heartless Amen? + When will you write to me? when will you send? + When shall I follow you, Harry?--Ah when? + + I wander'd far from my hateful abode; + The hour was becoming a little late; + Just there a gate open'd into a road, + And a boy was leaning upon the gate. + + Faithful old Rover, who follow'd me out, + Went perfectly frantic beholding this boy, + Sniff'd at his coat, leaping wildly about, + And danced like a dog that dances for joy. + + He was a stripling both slender and tall + (My idle eyes vacantly take the view), + His coat was too large, or he was too small, + His nose was a snub, and his eyes were blue. + Angry I felt to see Rover rejoice, + But he suddenly stopp'd, began to quake, + And howl'd in a most deplorable voice, + As if his dog-heart was ready to break. + + Then the boy, stooping down, _something_ slipp'd in + (The something was little and square and white) + Between the steel collar and hairy skin, + Saw that I saw it, and so took to flight. + + Wagging his tail, a hurrah in each beat, + Expanding his chest with a gesture grand, + Rover ran back to crouch down at my feet, + Licking my eager incredulous hand. + + * * * * * + + It was in my hands--I tore it apart, + This letter that Harry had writ to me; + My head turn'd giddy, and so did my heart, + And turn'd my eyes blind that I could not see. + + O wicked blind eyes, will you _not_ be clear? + Have I not _told_ you 'tis written by him? + 'Tis a piece of Heaven I am holding here, + And my horrible earthly eyes are dim! + + The cruel letters run out and run in, + Fluttering, tottering, stammering by, + Mixing together like threads that you spin, + Flying apart, as birds recklessly fly. + + Is it for years that I helplessly stand, + While tremulous lights into shadows flit, + With a piece of Heaven held in my hand, + Which is mine--and I cannot enter it! + + At last--O my wonderful dear at last! + Thou always comest, howe'er it is-- + The senseless signs into symmetry pass'd, + For a few short seconds it _must_ be bliss! + + And so standing there in the twilight's fall + (What happen'd is nothing but what must be) + I read the first words that ever at all + My Harry (God bless him!) has written me. + + +HARRY'S LETTER. + + 'O Child, when my words your sweet youth beguil'd + I _meant_ to make you the happiest child! + I _meant_ that no earthly life should be known + As bless'd as the life I had made my own; + My weakness and follies I had forgot-- + But you _were_ happy with me, were you not? + I am not worthy my Love should come, + Forsaking for my sake her English home; + Exiled from all that is happy and good, + Caress'd by a hand that is stain'd with blood. + Your innocent face shall never be kiss'd + By him who his Heaven and Hope has miss'd! + I suffer for sin, as I ought to do; + But, my darling, it shall not fall on you. + + 'I am safely hous'd by a faithful friend, + And the letter I write his hands will send; + I'm at Clarendon Crescent, Liverpool + (I've told you, Love, of the dear old school); + Clarence will help me all ways that he can + (_Though_ a good tutor, he is a good man). + I shall sail for another hemisphere, + Leaving behind me my anguish and fear; + Leaving behind me my joy and my grace, + I shall soon pass over limitless space. + + 'Could I _but_ have seen you but once again! + It is hard to suffer and not complain! + 'Tis my sin against _you_ I most repent + (I _did_ make you happy? you _were_ content?) + + 'O fool, who possessing all man may win, + Could not keep his fool-nature free from sin! + Love must have changed to a useless regret; + You cannot forgive me--can you forget?' + + * * * * * + + Without an hour's or a minute's delay + All is arranged, I decide what to do; + My brain is at work, my heart is at play, + I am running, flying, Harry, to you. + + O stricken woman, whose life is all black, + Wearily walking in sorrow and shame! + O gay little girl who comes running back, + You are not, I'm certain, one and the same! + + The sky is hid in its lead-coloured pall, + Not a bird utters the least little tone; + The blossoms about me wither and fall; + The change _must_ be in _me_--and me alone! + + * * * * * + + I tell them I cannot endure it more; + That the empty house is killing my heart; + They have done their best to assist before, + And they eagerly help me to depart. + The world is very good-natured, I find + (Why do worldlings often their home condemn?) + And servants are always extremely kind, + If mistresses only are kind to them. + 'I go to London to meet a friend'-- + They are all agreed I want change and rest-- + I give a direction where they may send, + I take my own maid, and I leave the rest. + + I know that detectives are on my track, + Watching the house--watching all that I do-- + I have to pretend I am coming back, + And enact this drama, Harry, for you. + + I am sorry to say goodbye to all-- + For all had been kind in days that are dead; + But the only tear that my eyes let fall + Was dropp'd upon Rover's shaggy old head. + + My London friend I can trust; she is one + That I knew at school, and have lov'd for years-- + O happy school-days that are past and done! + O beautiful friendship, unsoiled by tears! + + Restlessly, wearily eager am I-- + (Do girls feel thus when about to elope?)-- + I leave Harry's home 'neath a star-lit sky, + And my heart beats high with a single hope. + + + + + And my heart beats high with a single hope, + Which has come on a sudden when unsought; + In all the wide world there is only scope + For a single hope and a single thought. + O why should a wide world have more than this? + When after all has been done and been said, + 'Tis a single grief or a single bliss + That rekindles a life or strikes it dead. + + + + + Clasp'd in her arms, with her tears on my cheek, + Her kind husband warmly grasping my hand, + In statue-like calm, I move not nor speak-- + A silent machine for one purpose plann'd. + + 'O white little face,' she tremblingly cries, + 'It cannot be yours, that white little face; + O when did you get those far-seeking eyes? + And the stillness in lieu of girlish grace?' + + And looking at me she drew back alarm'd, + She felt that _something_ divided us; + She, who lived the life of the happy charm'd, + And I, who am battling with fortune thus. + + Out spake her husband--'I know what to do; + Put her to bed--she will wake by-and-by-- + Then let her have, in the boudoir with you, + A hot cup of tea and thorough good cry.' + + As a judge in court he summ'd up the whole; + I laugh'd my first laugh since the grief began; + For I thought, this is how a woman's soul + Is held at the hands of a worthy man! + + I answer'd him with a sort of a scorn-- + The least little bend from a haughty height-- + 'I left home last evening, was here at morn, + And shall be in Liverpool long ere night.' + + They were startled, eager, anxious and kind + (They had read the papers and learn'd the fact), + But they question'd not, from the touch refin'd + Of a sweet good-nature that men call tact. + + I told where he was--I trusted them both, + Sounding the depths of their souls in their eyes; + The man was too honest to need an oath, + And the woman too tender not to be wise. + + They were ready to help with hand and heart + (And a kindness no balancing prudence bounds), + Fed me and petted me, let me depart, + And lent me at parting five hundred pounds. + We started as if for an airing gay, + No coachman or footman, not even Jane; + The husband drove us the whole of the way, + And saw me safe in the Liverpool train. + The tears of my friend lie wet on my cheek, + I pointed onward, and wistfully smil'd; + Her husband smil'd too, though he did not speak + And kiss'd me as if I had been his child. + + + + + Never a slumber the whole of the night, + Never a slumber with day in the skies; + Nature assumes preternatural light, + Set in sharp outlines that dazzle my eyes. + + Blackness and whiteness--no colour there is-- + Terrible contrast of lustre and shade-- + Yet no surprise thrills my spirit at this + Wonderful world into silhouettes made. + + Countries and cities rush hastily by, + Hedgerows and forests excitedly fly; + Rapidly earth pirouettes through the sky; + All things are madly in motion, but I-- + If they would stop for one minute, but one, + Thought might return from spheres distant and dim; + Thought has forsaken me; I am alone, + With but one consciousness--nothing but _him_. + + + + + We have reach'd the station--the train is left: + What I am doing I know must be done; + I am a creature whose body's bereft + Of all sensations and feelings save one. + + I don't think I _see_ the streets and the lights, + Or _hear_ the answers my questions brought; + Yet _something_ guides me, and guides me aright-- + _Is_ mesmerism the nonsense I thought? + If the brain, engross'd by a single fact, + Fails the whole army of nerves to sustain, + The outposts perhaps, refusing to act, + Transmit neither sight nor sound to the brain. + + But are SOULS dependent on eye and ear? + Does _nothing_ come straight to them from above? + Are there no spirit-instincts, to see and hear, + And _no_ miraculous power of Love? + + I have found the Crescent, and number Two-- + I have rung the bell--the servant has come-- + I have opened my lips, and words run through, + And they ask 'Is Mr. Clarence at home?' + A man has appear'd from some inner place + (I heard him describ'd 'ere this trance began)-- + Is he moving away into empty space? + I must come to life and must stop this man. + + A terrible nightmare on throat and brain-- + A body and soul in bewilder'd strife-- + Shall I never be quite alive again?-- + I'll make a desperate struggle for life! + + I catch at his arm as he passes by, + As a drowning creature clutches at life; + And I whisper low as a lullaby-- + 'Give him me _instantly_--I am his wife!' + + He stares in my face with nothing to say-- + A tremor comes over his brow and lip-- + He flings up his arms in a helpless way, + And stammers--'Alas! he's on board the ship!' + + + + + I am not fainting--I am not appall'd-- + I am not beat down--I feel no despair: + It seems all expected and all forestall'd, + As I utter my three words, 'When and where?' + + 'Two hours ago at the Northern quay'-- + He offers me food, and to rest and sit-- + I have left the house--I am on my way-- + I have hail'd a cab and jump'd into it. + + O faster! O faster! O yet more fast! + There's nothing on earth but driving like this: + I _know_ it will all come right at the last, + But I am not certain what the right is. + + There is a river and there is a boat + (I read it all in a far-away tale)-- + O faster! O faster! you do but float; + Pull away with your oars, shake out your sail! + + A woman, I know, must sail in a skiff, + And reach a ship ere it reaches the sea; + But it _is_ a wonderful matter if + The woman who sits here is really me! + + O faster! O faster! you scarcely stir-- + The ship has grown large that was but a speck! + We have reached the ship--we have boarded her-- + And I SEE who is standing on her deck! + + I see who stands there, I hear and see + His incredulous joy and startled cry, + His beautiful wonder at sight of me; + I feel his embraces, and then--I die! + + + + +PART IV. + + + I know not how long I was lying dead; + I know not what happen'd day after day: + But I know whose breast supported my head; + I know in whose arms I passively lay. + + I know whose voice I was hearing again; + With no vivid emotion through me sent, + But only with that sweet absence of pain + The young call repose, and the old, content. + + I know of the presence that o'er me shed + Through all that I suffer'd a perfect ease; + I know all this because I am dead-- + I suppose the dead can know what they please! + + Can I be dead? It is foolish to die, + Earth shining brighter than any bright star. + Death, do you _know_ it is Harry and I? + Heaven is here--must I seek it afar? + + Death, seize thy prey from the world-weary track; + Let not the happy by thee be remov'd; + Slowly and softly and sweetly come back, + Life that she loves to a girl that is lov'd! + + * * * * * + + Cut through the waves, happy ship 'neath my feet; + Scatter thy prow with beneficent spray! + Never an admiral leading a fleet + Felt as triumphant as I do to-day! + + Ocean around us, and Heaven above; + Hands clasp'd together in innocent bliss; + Heart meeting heart with the fulness of love-- + Can there be anything sweeter than this? + + Seeking a home on a far-distant shore, + Mid gigantic forests and splendid flow'rs, + Where sorrow cannot bewilder us more, + Or fear reach a solitude perfect as ours. + + Crossing blue oceans 'neath heavens as blue, + Seeking new worlds with new winters and springs; + Even the old stars are changing to new, + Lovely confusion of wonderful things! + + Almost forgetting to feel a regret-- + Almost forgotten the world whence we came-- + Only our hearts, Harry, cannot forget; + Only our love will be ever the same! + + Talking together through nights and through days; + Talking together through days and through nights; + Facing futurity's fathomless haze; + Piercing its shadows with delicate lights. + + Forward our glances immutably cast + (Pillars of salt will not garnish our way!) + Just for the present forgetting the past, + Planning the future in all that we say. + + Where neither sorrow nor sin has beguil'd, + Deep in a forest, a home will be made; + Nature contrasting with hand undefil'd + Novel creations of sunlight and shade. + + Softness and grandeur enchantingly blent, + Deep in a forest two lives pass away; + Wrapp'd in each other, supremely content, + Lighted by love's irrefrangible ray. + + + + + So the ship flew on that contain'd us two, + With ocean around and heaven above; + It seem'd there was nothing for us to do + But to love and live, and to live and love. + + So the ship flew on to the sinless shore, + Where a younger world from the deep sea starts; + Where sorrow cannot bewilder us more, + Or fear lay her cold hand over our hearts. + + + + + It is just as lovely as what we plann'd, + With its exquisite air of bright repose; + And 'tis Harry himself must till the land, + And 'tis I must sweep and cook, I suppose! + + Is it playing at life, this life of ours? + Has childhood come back with its pleasant plays? + Mid gigantic trees and delicious flow'rs + We are passing our happy nights and days. + + But the little cloud--O the little cloud-- + So little at first it might almost please-- + That covers us up like a dead man's shroud, + Growing bigger and bigger by degrees. + + Alas! is it only in some bright past + That love can be perfect and bliss secure? + O days of delight that flew by too fast, + Leaving the present too empty and poor! + + I had sometimes fancied a pang like this, + From a passing tone, or a look in his face; + But the meeting was such unclouded bliss, + And the days that follow'd it full of grace. + + In the sweet content of finding a home, + There was not leisure for joy to grow dim; + But the cloud was there, and ready to come, + And the cloud was the fear of change in _him_! + + + + + Harry is changed--he is graver,--I think + Never I'll see the old Harry again: + There's a look in his face that makes my heart sink, + For it is a look of a hopeless pain. + + Sometimes I hardly can keep down my cries-- + I could wring my hands--I could tear my hair-- + When an expression comes into his eyes, + Which is the expression of a despair. + + He never alludes to the dreadful past; + But when his lips tremble and brow is knit, + I cannot bear it, and cry out at last, + 'O talk of it, Harry--O talk of _it_!' + + His eyes are full of a helpless regret + (And I almost wish I was lying dead); + Will he not talk of it? not even yet?-- + He speaks in a whisper, and shakes his head. + + 'I cannot--I dare not.' 'You can--you dare-- + You must do it, Harry--just for my sake; + For this burthen, which it is _not_ to bear, + Is crushing my heart, and my heart will break.' + + He kisses my lips--he presses my hand-- + Looking straight in my face without surprise; + But it seems that he _cannot_ understand, + And very wide of the mark he replies-- + + 'I will not shadow that innocent heart + With the lightest cloud that may dim its light.' + 'But my life in your life must take its part, + Or I am lost in the darkness of night. + + I married you, Harry, for good or ill, + For better or worse, for sickness or health. + O let me the beautiful vow fulfil, + Joyously, utterly--never by stealth! + I am _not_ your wife while you treat me thus, + And life is becoming too hard to bear; + Is there that in the heart of one of _us_, + That the heart of the other must not share? + + 'I almost died when you left me, my dear; + Yet you did it quite for my good, you know; + O where should I be if I was not here? + 'Neath a little grass hillock lying low! + You would be living, to labour and strive, + And I should be lying quite dead--quite dead! + You would be thinking of me as alive, + While daisies were growing over my head. + + And now--for my good--will you crush my life + With a burthen it cannot bear, I _know_? + O Harry, my darling, I _am_ your wife-- + O what have I done that you treat me so?' + + He stared in my eyes with a sort of frown, + That more than a smile gave promise of grace; + The mask that he wore fell suddenly down, + A wonderful change came over his face. + + He sat at my feet, and his head he laid + Low down on my lap, and he did not move, + But he murmur'd softly, 'I am afraid + I shall make a fool of myself, my love.' + + And then he suddenly burst into tears + (I had never seen tears in Harry's eyes), + And he cried, 'If I live a hundred years, + I shall see the wild face of Jack Devize!' + + Then I felt the doom that was o'er us laid, + And our lives stood before me pale and gray; + My heart turn'd sick--I was feeling afraid-- + As I kept kissing Harry's tears away. + + And must his life be so faint and so dim? + And his heart be rack'd by a useless pain? + While I'm always trying to comfort him, + And always trying to comfort in vain? + + Ah no, my beloved, it shall _not_ be so, + I will try so hard--I will pray so much; + Comfort will come to you, Harry, I know, + And grief die out 'neath her delicate touch. + We must both be brave and must play our parts; + We must fight the battle with weapons fit; + Time will take sorrow out of our hearts, + But oh, the pity--the pity of it! + + There are no more secrets 'twixt you and me; + Our hearts may reveal their thoughts as they pass; + There is a ripple the less on the sea, + And a purer light flits over the grass. + + If shadows are dark, and lights are not clear, + It is only the common lot of man; + We must live our actual lives, my dear, + And make the best of those lives that we can. + + I used to be certain of perfect bliss, + And find it in every breath I drew; + And now the height of my happiness is + To lessen the sorrow that burthens _you_! + + Thank God that we met when our lives were bright, + And earth was as fair as heaven above, + And stood in the lovely religious light, + And vowed the sweet vows to cherish and love. + + O Harry, my dear! if we had not met, + What would you do with your desolate life? + O merciful God, can I ever forget + Your goodness in _letting_ me be his wife? + + * * * * * + + We walk 'neath the weight that we have to bear + (I suppose all people walk under weights); + They say that a road of trouble and care + Is the straightest road to the Heaven-gates. + + I hope we shall find the gates open far, + So that close together we both come in; + I shrink from the thoughts of the gates ajar, + When only the one might an entrance win. + + I wonder if Heaven is brighter yet, + Than the home that lies o'er a distant main; + I wonder if there we shall _quite_ forget + That we never saw that dear home again! + + I must not be tired, or think of my load; + I must try to walk with a step more free; + I have to help Harry along the road, + That is so much harder for him than me. + + Living alone in the depths of a wood, + Life catches meanings, and things become clear; + But Harry is growing so very good, + That it almost gives me a sort of fear. + + 'O little May-blossom!' he softly cries, + As together we tread the well-worn way, + 'There is nothing sweeter beneath the skies, + Than a little shining blossom of May! + + O lie on my heart, as you ever do, + Till my heart grows lighter under your touch; + O little May-blossom! while I have _you_ + No shaft of misfortune can hurt me much!' + + + + + He has work'd all day on the virgin sod; + We have eaten the meal that my hands prepare; + We have said our prayers to the Father-God, + And Harry is placidly sleeping there. + + He is sleeping there, while I work away-- + My busy needle has plenty to do; + And my thoughts turn idly to yesterday, + And a world where troubles were very few; + + To a world that shines in a distance fair, + Like a fairy dream, impossibly sweet,-- + _Was_ life what it seem'd when we liv'd out there? + Or was it only a lovely deceit? + + Slumber approach'd not my eyes--open'd wide-- + My wide-open eyes that so seldom weep! + Harry turn'd in his sleep, and turning sigh'd-- + It breaks my heart when he sighs in his sleep. + + And while I sat there in the twilight-gloom, + Looking at life with my wide-open eyes, + A ghost slipp'd suddenly into the room, + And that ghost was the ghost of Jack Devize! + + A shiver ran o'er me from head to foot-- + The crisis had come, and fate wrought her worst-- + I tried to speak, but my tongue was quite mute, + And I knew that a ghost could _not_ speak first. + + O ought I to wake my Harry, or no? + To question the Thing, and let it depart? + The good God would never frighten me so, + If it was not to ease my Harry's heart. + + But while I was doubting in fear and pain, + And praying for light to see my way clear, + The ghost said--'My goodness! it's Mrs. Vane! + How in the world did the woman come here?' + + + + + The ghost stalk'd towards me with outstretch'd hand: + I put mine behind me, and back'd away; + My terrified brain could not understand, + And my arid lips had nothing to say. + + Yet for Harry's sake no time must be lost: + I must ask the dreadful Thing why it came; + Then I remember'd 'twas he kill'd the ghost, + And I hung down my head and blush'd for shame. + + Suddenly turning, my Harry it saw; + Suddenly sprang t'wards the couch where he lay;-- + A deadlier terror conquering awe, + Brave as a lion, I stood in its way. + + I wav'd both my hands to signal it back: + 'You shall not come near him!' I wildly said; + 'He never intended to kill you, Jack-- + O Jack, I _hope_ you don't mind being dead!' + + Strive as we will, fate can calmly defeat-- + What _is_ to be, happens--and always will; + Harry awoke, and stood up on his feet, + And my heart leapt madly and then stood still. + + I trembled for Harry, all unprepar'd! + I stood between the Alive and the Dead! + The man and the ghost at each other star'd-- + And the man got white, and the ghost got red. + + The man kept on staring with hungry eyes, + Pointing at it, till I trembled to see; + Then said in a whisper, 'It's Jack Devize!'-- + Shook himself wildly and turn'd upon _me_. + + His hand sought his brow in a weak sad way, + A pitiful look came into his face: + 'It is a brain-phantom,' I heard him say, + 'Which my weary brain engenders in space!' + + 'No, Harry,' I whisper'd, 'it is not so; + I wish that it was--from my heart I do'-- + I held him tight, whispering very low, + 'Tis a real ghost, for--I see it too!' + + I felt his arm quiver under my clasp; + He started backwards with such a great start; + He flung up his arms, and cried with a gasp, + 'Oh speak to me, Jack, whatever thou art!' + + The ghost caught his hands with a cheer almost, + And shook them right manfully where it stood, + Shouting 'I'm neither a phantom nor ghost; + I am Jack Devize, and am flesh and blood!' + + + + + And so the sorrow was only a dream + (As the sun uprises the dream departs); + And the false false sorrow did only seem, + And the true true joy came into our hearts. + + I had so determin'd to be resign'd, + And to school myself to a patient mood, + That I felt a little ill-used to find + There was no occasion for being good. + + But oh the joy, like the sweetest surprise, + With a light light heart and nothing to bear! + And oh to be looking in Harry's eyes + And never a fear of what I see there! + + And when earth is deck'd in eternal spring, + Singing we go on a flowery way; + And happiness _is_ such a happy thing, + And it seems so natural to be gay. + + + + + I think that the dullest will understand + Jack was not drown'd when he fell from the height; + A ship passing by, as if it was plann'd, + Carried him off mid the darkness of night. + He was up to the neck in debts and scrapes; + And when the west wind refreshingly blew, + He thought it the pleasantest of escapes + To sail for new worlds with nothing to do. + Strolling and idling by day and by night, + He liv'd by his wits, with a laugh for fate; + And his wits not being extremely bright, + He accomplish'd nothing remarkably great. + + Wandering ev'rywhere, ragged and poor, + With nothing to do and plenty to say, + By the merest chance he enter'd our door + To ask for a meal and a bed by the way. + + So the three of us met delighted there, + And set sail together that perfect spring, + When the skies were fine and the winds were fair, + And our hearts were lighter than anything. + + From the midst of the sea the white cliffs rise-- + The snowy white cliffs of the ocean gem! + And they smile their welcome into our eyes + As Harry and I smile it back on them. + + Standing together alone on the deck, + With a hope that almost becomes a fear, + We can watch that wonderful little speck + Grow into places unspeakably dear. + + Is it years or days since we sail'd away? + And are we returning the self-same track? + Did we cross the ocean but yesterday? + And is it to-day we are coming back? + + Back to the home whence he vanish'd that night, + In through the hall where I talk'd with the men,-- + Can it be true that our hearts are so light? + When did we dream? Is it now? Was it then? + + And oh! to stand on the well-known road + In the bright uncertain English weather; + And oh! the hearts that are free from a load, + And oh! the hands that are knit together! + + And oh! to see Rover leap to his side + With a yell as if he doubted his sight! + I thought the old dog would have really died + In his vehement agony of delight. + + And I know the present is _not_ a dream, + For I feel a touch and a well-known kiss; + And they are not phantoms that shine and gleam + From days that are past with a solemn bliss. + + From days that are lit by a heaven-ray, + To kindle our hearts and strengthen our faith; + For Harry and I are changed in a way, + Like people whose eyes have looked upon death.[2] + + My Harry has won such a patient mood, + And has grown so resolute and so wise; + He is always trying to do some good, + And always succeeding in what he tries. + + The trials I trembled that he should bear, + His noble heart has accepted as such; + And I see they were sent with a tender care, + And never intended to be too much. + + My heart is too full of its joy, I fear, + When he whispers in fond caressing tone-- + 'It was not my trials that won me, dear; + It was watching my darling bear her own. + + Afar from the hut in the dusky wood, + We sometimes recall with a yearning sigh, + The days of our sorrowful solitude, + When the world was nothing but he and I. + + [Footnote 2: + + For she had look'd upon a great man's death + And she was changed. + + _Queen Isabel_, by MENELLA SMEDLEY.] + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARRY*** + + +******* This file should be named 16144.txt or 16144.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/1/4/16144 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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