The Mistress of the Manse Part 3

XIV.

Then all arose as if a spell Had been dissolved for their release, The while the benediction fell Which breathed the gentle Master's peace On all the souls that loved him well.

And Philip, coming from his place, Like Moses from the mountain pyre, Bore on his brow the shining grace Of one who, in the cloud and fire, Had met his Maker, face to face.

And men and women, young and old, Pressed up to meet him as he came, And children, by their love made bold, Grasped both his hands and spoke his name, And in their simple language told

Their joy to see his face once more; While half in pleasure, half in pain, His bride stood waiting at her door The pa.s.sage of the friendly train That slowly swept the crowded floor.

Half-bows were tendered and returned; And welcomes fell from lips and eyes; But in her heart she meekly spurned The love that came in love's disguise Of sympathy--the love unearned.

XV.

Then out beneath the noon-day sun Of the old Temple, cool and dim, She walked beside her chosen one, And lost her loneliness in him; But hardly was her walk begun

When, straight before her in the street, With tender shock her eye descried A little child, with naked feet And scanty dress, that, hollow-eyed, Looked up and begged for bread to eat.

Nor pride of place nor dainty spleen Felt with her heart the sickening shock.

She took the hand so soiled and lean; And silken robe and ragged frock Moved side by side across the green.

She looked for love, and, low and wild, She found it--looking, too, for love!

So in each other's eyes they smiled, As, dark brown hand in snowy glove, The bride led home the hungry child.

And men and women in amaze Paused in their homeward steps to see The bride retreating from their gaze, Clasped hand in hand with misery; Then brushed their eyes, and went their ways.

When the long parley found a close, And, clean and kempt, the little oaf-- Disburdened of her wants and woes, And burdened with her wheaten loaf-- Went forth to minister to those

Who sent her on her bitter quest, The bride stood smiling at her door, And in her happiness confessed That she had found a friend; nay, more-- Had entertained a heavenly guest.

And as she watched her down the street, With brow grown bright with sunny thought, And heart o'erfilled with something sweet, She knew the vagrant child had brought The blessing of the Paraclete.

She turned from out the blazing noon, And sought her chamber's quiet shade, Like one who had received a boon She might not show, but which essayed Expression in a happy croon.

And then, outleaping from the mesh Of Memory's net, like bird or bee, There thrilled her spirit and her flesh This old half-song, half-rhapsody, That sang, or said itself, afresh:

"Poor little wafer of silver!

More precious to me than its cost!

It was worn of both image and legend, But priceless because it was lost.

My chamber I carefully swept; I hunted, and wondered, and wept; And I found it at last with a cry: "Oh dear little jewel!" said I; And I washed it with tears all the day; Then I kissed it, and put it away.

"Poor little lamb of the sheepfold!

Unlovely and feeble it grew; But it wandered away to the mountains, And was fairer the further it flew.

I followed with hurrying feet At the call of its pitiful bleat, And precious, with wonderful charms, I caught it at last in my arms, And bore it far back to its keep, And kissed it and put it to sleep.

"Poor little vagrant from Heaven!

It wandered away from the fold, And its weakness and danger endowed it With value more precious than gold.

Oh happy the day when it came, And my heart learned its beautiful name!

Oh happy the hour when I fed This waif of the angels with bread!

And the lamb that the Shepherd had missed Was sheltered and nourished and kissed!"

XVII.

To Philip, Mildred was a child, Or a fair angel, to be kept From all things earthly undenied, One who upon his bosom slept, And only waked to be beguiled

From loneliness and homely care By love's unfailing ministry; No toil of his was she to share, No burden hers, that should not be Left for his stronger hands to bear.

His love enwrapped her as a robe, Which seemed, by its supernal charm, To shield from every poisoned probe Of earthly pain and earthly harm This one choice creature of the globe.

The love he bore her lifted him Into a bright, sweet atmosphere That filled with beauty to the brim The world beneath him, far and near, And stained the clouds that draped its rim.

Toil was not toil, except in name; Care was not care, but only means To feed with holy oil the flame That warmed her soul, and lit the scenes Through which her figure went and came.

Her smile of welcome was his meed; Her presence was his great reward; He questioned sadly if, indeed, He loved more loyally his Lord, Or if his Lord felt greater need.

And Mildred, vexed, misunderstood, Knew all his love, but might not tell How in his thought, so large and good, And in his heart, there did not dwell The measure of her womanhood.

She knew the girlish charm would fade; She knew the rapture would abate; That years would follow when the maid, Merged in the matron, and sedate With change, and sitting in the shade

Of a great nature, would become As poor and pitiful a thing As an old idol, and as dumb,-- A clog upon an upward wing,-- A value stricken from the sum

Which a true woman's hand would raise To mighty numbers, and endow With kingly power and crowning praise.

She must be mate of his; but how?

And, dreaming of a thousand ways

Her hands would work, her feet would tread, She thought to match him as a man!

His books should be her daily bread; She would run swiftly where he ran, And follow closely where he led.

XVIII.

Since time began, the perfect day Has robbed the morrow of its wealth, And squandered, in its lavish sway, The balm and beauty of the stealth, And left its golden throne in gray.

So when the Sunday light declined, A cold wind sprang and shut the flowers Then vagrant voices, undefined, Grew louder through the evening hours, Till the old chimney howled and whined

As if it were a frightened beast, That witnessed from its dizzy post The loathsome forms and grewsome feast And hideous mirth of ghoul and ghost, As on they crowded from the East.

The willow, gathered into sheaves Of scorpions by spectral arms, Swung to and fro, and whipped the eaves, And filled the house with weird alarms That hissed from all its tortured leaves.

And in the midnight came the rain;-- In spiteful needles at the first; But soon on roof and window-pane The slowly gathered fury burst In floods that came, and came again,