Poems Part 15

Hast thou, like me, a spot upon thy soul That neither tears can cleanse nor fires eterne?

GIRL.

But few request _my_ prayers.

WALTER.

I request them.

For ne'er did a dishevelled woman cling So earnest-pale to a stern conqueror's knees, Pleading for a dear life, as did my prayer Cling to the knees of G.o.d. He shook it off, And went upon His way. Wilt pray for me?

GIRL.

Sin crusts me o'er as limpets crust the rocks.

I would be thrust from ev'ry human door; I dare not knock at heaven's.

WALTER.

Poor homeless one!

There is a door stands wide for thee and me-- The door of h.e.l.l. Methinks we are well met.

I saw a little girl three years ago, With eyes of azure and with cheeks of red, A crowd of sunbeams hanging down her face; Sweet laughter round her; dancing like a breeze.

I'd rather lair me with a fiend in fire Than look on such a face as hers to-night.

But I can look on thee, and such as thee; I'll call thee "Sister;" do thou call me "Brother."

A thousand years hence, when we both are d.a.m.ned, We'll sit like ghosts upon the wailing sh.o.r.e, And read our lives by the red light of h.e.l.l.

Shall we not, Sister?

GIRL.

O thou strange, wild man!

Let me alone: what would you seek with me?

WALTER.

Your ear, my Sister. I have that within Which urges me to utterance. I could accost A pensive angel, singing to himself Upon a hill in heaven, and leave his mind As dark and turbid as a trampled pool, To purify at leisure.--I have none To listen to me, save a sinful woman Upon a midnight bridge.--She was so fair, G.o.d's eye could rest with pleasure on her face.

Oh, G.o.d, she was so happy! Her short life, As full of music as the crowded June Of an unfallen orb. What is it now?

She gave me her young heart, full, full of love: My return--was to break it. Worse, far worse; I crept into the chambers of her soul, Like a foul toad, polluting as I went.

GIRL.

I pity her--not you. Man trusts in G.o.d; He is eternal. Woman trusts in man, And he is shifting sand.

WALTER.

Poor child, poor child!

We sat in dreadful silence with our sin, Looking each other wildly in the eyes: Methought I heard the gates of heaven close, She flung herself against me, burst in tears, As a wave bursts in spray. She covered me With her wild sorrow, as an April cloud With dim dishevelled tresses hides the hill On which its heart is breaking. She clung to me With piteous arms, and shook me with her sobs, For she had lost her world, her heaven, her G.o.d, And now had nought but me and her great wrong.

She did not kill me with a single word, But once she lifted her tear-dabbled face-- Had h.e.l.l gaped at my feet I would have leapt Into its burning throat, from that pale look.

Still it pursues me like a haunting fiend: It drives me out to the black moors at night, Where I am smitten by the hissing rain, And ruffian winds, dislodging from their troops, Hustle me shrieking, then with sudden turn Go laughing to their fellows. Merciful G.o.d!

It comes--that face again, that white, white face, Set in a night of hair; reproachful eyes, That make me mad. Oh, save me from those eyes!

They will torment me even in the grave, And burn on me in Tophet.

GIRL.

Where are you going?

WALTER.

My heart's on fire by h.e.l.l, and on I drive To outer blackness, like a blazing ship.

[_He rushes away._

SCENE XI.

_Night._--WALTER, _standing alone in his garden._

WALTER.

Summer hath murmured with her leafy lips Around my home, and I have heard her not; I've missed the process of three several years, From shaking wind-flowers to the tarnished gold That rustles sere on Autumn's aged boughs.

I went three years ago, and now return, As stag sore-hunted a long summer day Creeps in the eve to its deep forest-home. [_A pause._ This is my home again! Once more I hail The dear old gables and the creaking vanes.

It stands all flecked with shadows in the moon, Patient, and white, and woeful. 'Tis so still, It seems to brood upon its youthful years, When children sported on its ringing floors, And music trembled through its happy rooms.

'Twas here I spent my youth, as far removed From the great heavings, hopes, and fears of man, As unknown isle asleep in unknown seas.

Gone my pure heart, and with it happy days; No manna falls around me from on high, Barely from off the desert of my life I gather patience and severe content.

G.o.d is a worker. He has thickly strewn Infinity with grandeur. G.o.d is Love; He yet will wipe away Creation's tears, And all the worlds shall summer in His smile.

Why work I not? The veriest mote that sports Its one-day life within the sunny beam Has its stern duties. Wherefore have I none?

I will throw off this dead and useless past, As a strong runner, straining for his life, Unclasps a mantle to the hungry winds.

A mighty purpose rises large and slow From out the fluctuations of my soul, As, ghost-like, from the dim and tumbling sea Starts the completed moon. [_Another pause._ I have a heart to dare, And spirit-thews to work my daring out; I'll cleave the world as a swimmer cleaves the sea, Breaking the sleek green billows into froth, With tilting full-blown chest, and scattering With scornful breath the kissing, flattering foam, That leaps and dallies with his dipping lip.

Thou'rt distant, now, O World! I hear thee not; No pallid fringes of thy fires to-night Droop round the large horizon. Yet, O World!

I have thee in my power, and as a man By some mysterious influence can sway Another's mind, making him laugh and weep, Shudder or thrill, such power have I on thee.

Much have I suffered, both from thee and thine; Thou shalt not 'scape me, World! I'll make thee weep; I'll make my lone thought cross thee like a spirit, And blanch thy braggart cheeks, lift up thy hair, And make thy great knees tremble; I will send Across thy soul dark herds of demon dreams, And make thee toss and moan in troubled sleep; And, waking, I will fill thy forlorn heart With pure and happy thoughts, as summer woods Are full of singing-birds. I come from far, I'll rest myself, O World! awhile on thee, And half in earnest, half in jest, I'll cut My name upon thee, pa.s.s the arch of Death, Then on a stair of stars go up to G.o.d.

SCENE XII.

_An Apartment_--CHARLES _and_ EDWARD _seated._

EDWARD.

Have you seen Walter lately?

CHARLES.

Very much; I wintered with him.

EDWARD.

What was he about?

CHARLES.

He wrote his Poem then.