The Feast of the Virgins and Other Poems Part 11

"The rising sun Beamed full upon my face and wakened me, And there beside me lay my pet--the lamb-- Gazing upon me with his wondering eyes, And all the fields were bright and beautiful, And brighter seemed the world. I rose resolved.

I let the cottage and disposed of all; The lamb went bleating to a neighbor's field; And oft my heart ached, but I mastered it.

This was the constant burden of my brain-- _'Beggar!_'--I'll teach him that I am a man; I'll speak and he shall listen; I will rise, And he shall see my course as I go up Round after round the ladder of success.

Even as the pine upon the mountain-top Towers o'er the maple on the mountain-side, I'll tower above him. Then will I look down And call him _Father_:--He shall call me _Son_.'

"Thus hushing my sad heart the day drew nigh Of parting, and the promised sign was given.

The night was dismal darkness--not one star Twinkled in heaven; the sad, low-moaning wind Played like a mournful harp among the pines.

I groped and listened through the darkling grove, Peering with eager eyes among the trees, And calling as I peered with anxious voice One darling name. No answer but the moan Of the wind-shaken pines. I sat me down Under the dusky shadows waiting for her, And lost myself in gloomy reverie.

Dim in the darksome shadows of the night, While thus I dreamed, my darling came and crept Beneath the boughs as softly as a hare, And whispered 'Paul'--and I was at her side.

We sat upon a mound moss-carpeted-- No eyes but G.o.d's upon us, and no voice Spake to us save the moaning of the pines.

Few were the words we spoke; her silent tears, Our clasping, trembling, lingering embrace, Were more than words. Into one solemn hour, Were pressed the fears and hopes of coming years.

Two tender hearts that only dared to hope There swelled and throbbed to the electric touch Of love as holy as the love of Christ.

She gave her picture and I gave a ring-- My mother's--almost with her latest breath She gave it me and breathed my darling's name.

I girt her finger, and she kissed the ring In solemn pledge, and said:

"'I bring a gift-- The priceless gift of G.o.d unto his own: O may it prove a precious gift to you, As it has proved a precious gift to me; And promise me to read it day by day-- Beginning on the morrow--every day A chapter--and I too will read the same.'

"I took the gift--a precious gift indeed-- And you may see how I have treasured it.

Here, Captain, put your hand upon my breast-- An inner pocket--you will find it there."

I opened the b.l.o.o.d.y blouse and thence drew forth The Book of Christ all stained with Christian blood.

He laid his hand upon the holy book, And closed his eyes as if in silent prayer.

I held his weary head and bade him rest.

He lay a moment silent and resumed: "Let me go on if you would hear the tale; I soon shall sleep the sleep that wakes no more.

O there were promises and vows as solemn As Christ's own promises; but as we sat The pattering rain-drops fell among the pines, And in the branches the foreboding owl With dismal hooting hailed the coming storm.

So in that dreary hour and desolate We parted in the silence of our tears.

"And on the morrow morn I bade adieu To the old cottage home I loved so well-- The dear old cottage home where I was born.

Then from my mother's grave I plucked a rose Bursting in bloom--Pauline had planted it-- And left my little hill-girt boyhood world.

I journeyed eastward to my journey's end; At first by rail for many a flying mile, By mail-coach thence from where the hurrying train Leaps a swift river that goes tumbling on Between a village and a mountain-ledge, Chafing its rocky banks. There seethes and foams The restless river round the roaring rocks, And then flows on a little way and pours Its laughing waters into a bridal lap.

Its flood is fountain-fed among the hills; Far up the mossy brooks the timid trout Lie in the shadow of vine-tangled elms.

Out from the village-green the roadway leads Along the river up between the hills, Then climbs a wooded mountain to its top, And gently winds adown the farther side Unto a valley where the bridal stream Flows rippling, meadow-flower-and-willow-fringed, And dancing onward with a merry song, Hastes to the nuptials. From the mountain-top-- A thousand feet above the meadowy vale-- She seems a chain of fretted silver wound With artless art among the emerald hills.

Thence up a winding valley of grand views-- Hill-guarded--firs and rocks upon the hills, And here and there a solitary pine Majestic--silent--mourns its slaughtered kin, Like the last warrior of some tawny tribe Returned from sunset mountains to behold Once more the spot where his brave fathers sleep.

The farms along the valley stretch away On either hand upon the rugged hills-- Walled into fields. Tall elms and willow-trees Huge-trunked and ivy-hung stand sentinel Along the roadway walls--storm-wrinkled trees Planted by men who slumber on the hills.

Amid such scenes all day we rolled along, And as the shadows of the western hills Across the valley crept and climbed the slopes, The sunset blazed their hazy tops and fell Upon the emerald like a mist of gold.

And at that hour I reached my journey's end.

The village is a gem among the hills-- Tall, towering hills that reach into the blue.

One grand old mountain-cone looms on the left Far up toward heaven, and all around are hills.

The river winds among the leafy hills Adown the meadowy dale; a shade of elms And willows fringe it. In this lap of hills Cl.u.s.ter the happy homes of men content To let the great world worry as it will.

The court-house park, the broad, bloom-bordered streets, Are avenues of maples and of elms-- Grander than Tadmor's pillared avenue-- Fair as the fabled garden of the G.o.ds.

Beautiful villas, tidy cottages, Flower gardens, fountains, offices and shops, All nestle in a dreamy wealth of woods.

"Kind hearts received me. All that wealth could bring-- Refinement, luxury and ease--was theirs; But I was proud and felt my poverty, And gladly mured myself among the books To master 'the lawless science of the law.'

I plodded through the ponderous commentaries-- Some musty with the mildew of old age; And these I found the better for their years, Like olden wine in cobweb-covered flasks.

The blush of sunrise found me at my books; The midnight c.o.c.k-crow caught me reading still; And oft my worthy master censured me: 'A time for work,' he said, 'a time for play; Unbend the bow or else the bow will break.'

But when I wearied--needing sleep and rest-- A single word seemed whispered in my ear-- '_Beggar_,' it stung me to redoubled toil.

I trod the ofttimes mazy labyrinths Of legal logic--mined the mountain-ma.s.s Of precedents conflicting--found the rule, Then branched into the exceptions; split the hair Betwixt this case and that--ran parallels-- Traced from a 'leading case' through many tomes Back to the first decision on the 'point,'

And often found a pyramid of law Built with bad logic on a broken base Of careless '_dicta;_'--saw how narrow minds Spun out the web of technicalities Till common sense and common equity Were strangled in its meshes. Here and there I came upon a broad, unfettered mind Like Murray's--cleaving through the spider-webs Of shallower brains, and bravely pushing out Upon the open sea of common sense.

But such were rare. The olden precedents-- Oft stepping-stones of tyranny and wrong-- Marked easy paths to follow, and they ruled The course of reason as the iron rails Rule the swift wheels of the down-thundering train.

"I rose at dawn. First in this holy book I read my chapter. How the happy thought That my Pauline would read--the self-same morn The self-same chapter--gave the sacred text, Though I had heard my mother read it oft, New light and import never seen before.

For I would ponder over every verse, Because I felt that she was reading it, And when I came upon dear promises Of Christ to man, I read them o'er and o'er, Till in a holy and mysterious way They seemed the whisperings of Pauline to me.

Later I learned to lay up for myself 'Treasures in heaven where neither moth nor rust Corrupteth, and where thieves do not break through, Nor steal'--and where my treasures all are laid My heart is, and my spirit longs to go.

O friend, if Jesus was but man of man-- And if indeed his wondrous miracles Were mythic tales of priestly followers To chain the brute till Reason came from heaven-- Yet was his mission unto man divine.

Man's pity wounds, but Jesus' pity heals: He gave us balm beyond all earthly balm; He gave us strength beyond all human strength; He taught us love above the low desires; He taught us hope beyond all earthly hope; He taught us charity wherewith to build From out the broken walls of barbarism, The holy temple of the perfect man.

"On every Sabbath-eve I wrote Pauline.

Page after page was burdened with my love, My glowing hopes of golden days to come, And frequent boast of rapid progress made.

With hungry heart and eager I devoured Her letters; I re-read them twenty times.

At morning when I laid the Gospel down I read her latest answer, and again At midnight by my lamp I read it over, And murmuring 'G.o.d bless her,' fell asleep To dream that I was with her under the pines.

"Thus fled four years--four years of patient toil Sweetened with love and hope, and I had made Swift progress in my studies. Master said Another year would bring me to the bar-- No fledgeling but full-feathered for the field.

And then her letters ceased. I wrote and wrote Again, but still no answer. Day after day The tardy mail-coach lagged a mortal hour, While I sat listening for its welcome horn; And when it came I hastened from my books With hope and fear contending in my soul.

Day after day--no answer--back again I turned my footsteps with a weary sigh.

It wore upon me and I could not rest; It gnawed me to the marrow of my bones.

The heavy tomes grew dull and wearisome, And sometimes hateful;--then I broke away As from a prison and rushed wildly out Among the elms along the river-bank-- Baring my burning temples to the breeze-- And drank the air of heaven like sparkling wine-- Conjuring excuses for her;--was she ill?

Perhaps forbidden. Had another heart Come in between us?--No, that could not be; She was all constancy and promise-bound.

A month, which seemed to me a laggard year, Thus wore away. At last a letter came.

O with what springing step I hurried back-- Back to my private chamber and my desk!

With what delight--what eager, trembling hand-- The well-known seal that held my hopes I broke!

Thus ran the letter:

"'Paul, the time has come When we must both forgive while we forget.

Mine was a girlish fancy. We outgrow Such childish follies in our later years.

Now I have pondered well and made an end.

I cannot wed myself to want, and curse My life life-long, because a girlish freak Of folly made a promise. So--farewell.'

"My eyes were blind with pa.s.sion as I read.

I tore the letter into bits and stamped Upon them, ground my teeth and cursed the day I met her, to be jilted. All that night My thoughts ran riot. Round the room I strode A raving madman--savage as a Sioux; Then flung myself upon my couch in tears, And wept in silence, and then stormed again.

'_Beggar!_'--it raised the serpent in my breast-- Mad pride--bat-blind. I seized her pictured face And ground it under my heel. With impious hand I caught the book--the precious gift she gave, And would have burned it, but that still small voice Spake in my heart and bade me spare the book.

"Then with this Gospel clutched in both my hands, I swore a solemn oath that I would rise, If G.o.d would spare me;--she should see me rise, And learn what she had lost.--Yes, I would mount Merely to be revenged. I would not cringe Down like a spaniel underneath the lash, But like a man would teach my proud Pauline And her hard father to repent the day They called me '_beggar_.' Thus I raved and stormed That mad night out;--forgot at dawn of morn This holy book, but fell to a huge tome And read two hundred pages in a day.

I could not keep the thread of argument; I could not hold my mind upon the book; I could not break the silent under-tow That swept all else from out my throbbing brain But false Pauline. I read from morn till night, But having closed the book I could not tell Aught of its contents. Then I cursed myself, And muttered--'Fool--can you not shake it off-- This nightmare of your boyhood?--Brave, indeed-- Crushed like a spaniel by this false Pauline!

Crushed am I?--By the G.o.ds, I'll make an end, And she shall never know it nettled me!'

So pa.s.sed the weary days. My cheeks grew thin; I needed rest, I said, and quit my books To range the fields and hills with fowling-piece And '_mal prepense_' toward the feathery flocks.

The pigeons flew from tree-tops o'er my head; I heard the flap of wings--and they were gone; The pheasant whizzed from bushes at my feet Unseen until its sudden whir of wings Startled and broke my wandering reverie; And then I whistled and relapsed to dreams, Wandering I cared not whither--wheresoe'er My silent gun still bore its primal charge.

So gameless, but with cheeks and forehead tinged By breeze and sunshine, I returned to books.

But still a phantom haunted all my dreams-- Awake or sleeping, for awake I dreamed-- A spectre that I could not chase away-- The phantom-form of my own false Pauline.

"Six months wore off--six long and weary months; Then came a letter from a school-boy friend-- In answer to the queries I had made-- Filled with the gossip of my native town.

Unto her father's friend--a bachelor, Her senior by full twenty years at least-- Dame Rumor said Pauline had pledged her hand.

I knew him well--a sly and cunning man-- A honey-tongued, false-hearted flatterer.

And he my rival--carrying off my prize?

But what cared I? 'twas all the same to me-- Yea, better for the sweet revenge to come.

So whispered pride, but in my secret heart I cared, and hoped whatever came to pa.s.s She might be happy all her days on earth, And find a happy haven at the end.

"My thoughtful master bade me quit my books A month at least, for I was wearing out.

'Unbend the bow,' he said. His watchful eye Saw toil and care at work upon my cheeks; He could not see the canker at my heart, But he had seen pale students wear away With overwork the vigor of their lives; And so he gave me means and bade me go To romp a month among my native hills.

I went, but not as I had left my home-- A bashful boy, uncouth and coa.r.s.ely clad, But clothed and mannered like a gentleman.