Eidolon, or The Course of a Soul Part 6

Beside the marge of this fair fountain stood A maiden tranced with its melting sound, For rillet murmurs are to pensive mood Sweet as the rain-drops to the thirsty ground.

Alas! that youth so soon should feel the rude And merciless stinging of cold sorrow's wound, That Nature's sweetest melodies should gain The heart's full rapture through the ear of pain.

IX.

She was a maiden, in whose gentle mien The spirit mirror'd all its fairest hues, As on the undimm'd summer sky serene The noonday sun its golden splendour strews; Her deep blue eye o'erflowed with tender sheen, Like sadness through whose frame soft smiles infuse, Whilst on her lip expression rippling lay, And limned in silence what the soul would say.

X.

Her's was a beauty vivified by grace, That made each motion music to the eye, Beam'd from the sunny sweetness of her face, And tuned her accents all so tenderly, That when Alceste spake the heart could trace A woman's spirit full of motions high, And kind, and n.o.ble, and whose inward bent Sway'd to all courses pure and innocent.

XI.

There were full many suitors who had sigh'd Their amorous orisons before her shrine, And with the flutter of a doublet vied To win the smile they toasted o'er their wine; There were full many who with blinded pride, Deem'd that a t.i.tle could the scale incline, And flung their lordships, gauntlet-fashion, down, Daring a Caesar to refuse a crown.

XII.

But there was one who loved for love's own sake, And treasured its dear sweetness in his breast, Whose spirit thrill'd within him when she spake, And bowed before her as the flower down-prest By her light step, and who could ever make A long day happy and a midnight blest With brooding on a word, a smile, a glance, That haply served to sun love's young romance.

XIII.

They had been playmates in gay childhood's days, When hearts are open as a summer flower, And love had wound them slowly in his maze, And knit them close ere yet they felt his power.

But once a-wandering by green-shaded ways, The silence drew their souls out, and that hour, Hand clasped in hand, and lip to lip united, Their pure young vows of constant love they plighted.

XIV.

What spirit fused into the blossom'd spray, And wreathed about them in its waving scent?

What angel echoes tuned the thrushes lay, And gave the tones such sudden ravishment?

For sure they ne'er were sweet as on that day, Nor with such magic to the spirit went; If it was love, then love is wondrous sweet, The point of life where Earth and Heaven meet.

XV.

Yet Love but drew the summer clouds away That curtain'd heaven from their raptured eyes; Still from attainment spread an ocean wide, And bade them pause in sight of paradise: Her father sternly his fond suit denied, Nor soften'd to his prayers, nor heard his sighs; So Julian shrined her image in his soul, Till happier fortune brought them sweeter dole.

XVI.

Now at Verona sojourn'd he a s.p.a.ce, Dreaming of her, as he must everywhere; Unconscious of the woes that grew apace, And soon might drive his spirit to despair; Unconscious that his love in grief's embrace Cradled her panting soul, nigh dead with care, And wept at noontide, wept at dewy eve, Till e'en the light that saw her seem'd to grieve.

XVII.

There was a suitor, who with crooked frame Crawled in the race for beauty; thither prest, Not 'fore the gaze of heaven, but as in shame Hid he the purpose in his own dark breast, And serpented his motions to his aim, Like one who stabs a victim in his rest; For still the heart must feel in its calm time, That to crush love's true spirit is a crime.

XVIII.

One midnight gather'd round the fatal board Where wealth's death rattle echoes in the dice, Her sire, Amieri, with some others pored In full abstraction of the cursed vice.

Each golden piece raked from his precious h.o.a.rd, Froze the vext heart-pulse of the wretch like ice.

There was no sound save the cold ring of gold, That broke the stillness as a knell had toll'd.

XIX.

Amieri staked, and lost, and staked again, Drawn, fascinated, to his ruin fast, Imploring fortune to his aid in vain, Till, desperate, he staked all on one cast, And lost--was ruined--and fell down as slain, Life, fortune, seeming at a moment past, Like gambling pledges raked from Earth's rich h.o.a.rd By Death's strong hand, whose gains are ne'er restored.

XX.

Better if he had staked upon a throw His honour and his daughter openly, And thus like some fell fiend at one swift blow Sunk all he loved in utter misery, Than yielding unto calculation slow, Consent to blast them, and a witness be While sorrow sapped the vigour of her frame, And with her weakness stronger grew his shame;

XXI.

For in the morning the betrayer rose, The crippled Pietro, the false lover, and With honied phrases, and well studied shows, Sought from Amieri poor Alceste's hand, Whilst for his "intercession" he bestows Full rest.i.tution of his wealth and land; Fortune and Honour, fronted, held the field-- Ah! poor Alceste, why did honour yield!

XXII.

Amieri humbled like a guilty thing Beneath shame's level, tremblingly agreed, And sought by torture of the mind to wring Her sad consent to save him in his need, Falsehood and art together minist'ring, To soften her weak heart, and gild the deed; By prayers he moved her, and by childish tears, And fann'd into fierce flame her woman's fears,

XXIII.

Till she, poor fluttering dove, mesh'd in the net, Panted with bitter anguish and dismay, By love and fear so grievously beset, That each would draw her on a diff'rent way.

Her tears at night the sleepless pillow wet, And coursed along her pallid cheeks by day, Making life weary, sad, and full of woe, Her hopes of bliss and rapture shatter'd so.

XXIV.

When did a woman's spirit true and sweet, E'er close its issues against pity's cry, E'er hold the field for self without defeat, Nor yield to prayer, though yielding were to die!

And so she trembled to this calm retreat, To weep her bitter doom forth silently, Where in the sadness of the fountain's tone, She heard a gentle echo of her own.

XXV.

A feeble step trail'd o'er the gravell'd way, At which she thrill'd and turned in sudden fright, Whilst in her eyes there shot a fitful ray, That scorched the tears up with its flashing light.

He was a weak old man, and time's decay Stood on his brow and thin locks snowy white, And trembling hands that shook upon his staff, As though, alive, they wrote their epitaph.

XXVI.