Bitter-Sweet: A Poem Part 16

_David_.

Go. Move you carefully, and bring us word Whether he sleeps.

[MARY _rises, goes to the settle, and sinks back fainting _]

Why! What ails the girl?

I thought her nerves were iron. Dash her brow, And bathe her temples!

_Mary_.

There--there,--that will do.

'Tis over now.

_David_.

The man is speaking. Hush!

_Stranger_.

Oh, what a heavenly dream! But it is past, Like all my heavenly dreams, for never more Shall dream entrance me. Death has never dreams, But everlasting wakefulness. The eye Of the quick spirit that has dropped the flesh May close no more in slumber.

I must die!

This painless spell which binds my weary limbs-- This peace ineffable of soul and sense-- Is dissolution's herald, and gives note That life is conquered and the struggle o'er.

But I had hoped to see her ere I died; To kneel for pardon, and implore one kiss, Pledge to my soul that in the coming heaven We should not meet as strangers, but rejoin Our hearts and lives so madly sundered here, Through fault and freak of mine. But it is well!

G.o.d's will be done!

I dreamed that I had reached The old red farmhouse,--that I saw the light Flaming as brightly as in other times It flushed the kitchen windows; and that forms Were sliding to and fro in joyous life, Restless to give me welcome. Then I dreamed Of the dear woman who went out with me One sweet spring morning, in her own sweet spring, To--wretchedness and ruin. Oh, forgive-- Dear, pitying Christ, forgive this cruel wrong, And let me die! Oh let me--let me die!

Mary! my Mary! Could you only know How I have suffered since I fled from you.-- How I have sorrowed through long months of pain, And prayed for pardon,--you would pardon me.

_David_.

[_Sotto voce_]

Mary, what means this? Does he dream alone, Or are we dreaming?

_Mary_.

Edward, I am here!

I am your Mary! Know you not my face?

My husband, speak to me! Oh, speak once more!

This is no dream, but kind reality.

_Edward_.

[_Raising himself, and looking wildly around_.]

You, Mary? Is this heaven, and am I dead?

I did not know you died: when did you die?

And John and Peter, Grace and little Ruth Grown to a woman; are they all with you?

'Tis very strange! O pity me, my friends!

For G.o.d has pitied me, and pardoned, too; Else I should not be here. Nay, you seem cold, And look on me with sad severity.

Have you no pardoning word--no smile for me?

_Mary_.

This is not Heaven's, but Earth's reality; This is the farm-house--these your wife and friends.

I hold your hand, and I forgive you all.

Pray you recline! You are not strong enough To bear this yet.

_Edward_.

[_Sinking back_.]

O toiling heart! O sick and sinking heart!

Give me one hour of service, ere I die!

This is no dream. This hand is precious flesh, And I am here where I have prayed to be.

My G.o.d, I thank thee! Thou hast heard my prayer, And, in its answer, given me a pledge Of the acceptance of my penitence.

How have I yearned for this one priceless hour!

Cling to me, dearest, while my feet go down Into the silent stream; nor loose your hold, Till angels grasp me on the other side.

_Mary_.

Edward, you are not dying--must not die; For only now are we prepared to live.

You must have quiet, and a night of rest.

Be silent, if you love me!

_Edward_.

If I love?

Ah, Mary! never till this blessed hour, When power and pa.s.sion, l.u.s.t and pride are gone, Have I perceived what wedded love may be;-- Unutterable fondness, soul for soul; Profoundest tenderness between two hearts Allied by nature, interlocked by life.

I know that I shall die; but the low clouds That closed my mental vision have retired, And left a sky as clear and calm as Heaven.

I must talk now, or never more on earth; So do not hinder me.

_Mary_.

[_Weeping_.]

Have you a wish That I can gratify? Have you any words To send to other friends?

_Edward_.

I have no friends But you and these, and only wish to leave My worthless name and memory redeemed Within your hearts to pitying respect.

I have no strength, and it becomes me not, To tell the story of my life of sin.

I was a drunkard, thief, adulterer; And fled from shame, with shame, to find remorse.

I had but few months of debauchery, Pursued with mad intent to damp or drown The flames of a consuming conscience, when My body, poisoned, crippled with disease, Refused the guilty service of my soul, And at midday fell p.r.o.ne upon the street.