The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 10

Brave was Lord Arden--brave as ever be Thor's northern sons--the Island Chivalry; But in that hour strange terror froze his blood, Those fierce eyes mark'd him shiver as he stood; But oh! more awful than the living foe That frown'd beside--the Dead that smiled below!

That smile which greets the shadow-peopled sh.o.r.e, Which says to Sorrow--"Thou canst wound no more!"

Which says to Love that would rejoin--"Await!"

Which says to Wrong that would redeem--"Too late!"

That lingering halo of our closing skies Cold with the sunset never more to rise!

Though his gay conscience many a heavier crime Than this had borne, and drifted off to Time; Though this but sport with a fond heart which Fate Had given to master, but denied to mate, Yet seem'd it as in that least sin arose The shapes of all that Memory's deeps disclose; The general phantom of a life whose waste Had spoil'd each bloom by which its path was traced, Sporting at will, and moulding sport to art, With that sad holiness--the Human Heart!

Upon his lip the vain excuses died, In vain his manhood struggled for its pride; Up from the dead, with one convulsive throe, He turn'd his gaze, and voiceless faced his foe: Still, as if changed by horror into stone, He saw those eyes glare doom upon his own; Saw that remorseless hand glide sternly slow To the bright steel the robe half hid below,-- Near, and more near, he felt the fiery breath Breathe on his cheek; the air was hot with death, And yet he sought nor flight--nor strove for prayer, As one chance-led into a lion's lair, Who sees his fate, nor deems submission shame,-- Unarm'd to combat, and unskill'd to tame, What could this social world afford its child, Against the roused Nemaean of the wild!

A lifted arm--a gleaming steel--a cry Of savage vengeance!--swiftly--suddenly, As through two clouds a star--on the dread time Shone forth an angel face and check'd the startled crime!

She stood, the maiden guest, the plighted bride, The victim's daughter, by the madman's side; Her airy clasp upon the murtherous arm, Her pure eyes chaining with a solemn charm: Like some blest thought of mercy, on a soul Brooding on blood--the holy Image stole!

And, as a maniac in his fellest hour Lull'd by a look whose calmness is its power, Backward the Indian quail'd--and dropp'd the blade!-- To see the foeman kneeling to the maid; As with new awe and wilder, Arden cried, "Out from the grave, O com'st thou, injured bride!"

Then with a bound he reach'd the Indian-- "Lo!

I tempt thy fury, and invite thy blow; But, by man's rights o'er men,--oh, speak! whose eyes Ope, on life's brink, my youth's lost paradise?

The same--the same--(look, look!)--the same--lip, brow, Form, aspect,--all and each--fresh, fair as now, Bloom'd my heart's bride!"-- Silent the Indian heard, Nor seem'd to feel the grasp, nor heed the word!

As when some storm-beat argosy glides free From its vain wrath,--subsides a baffled sea,-- His heaving breast calm'd back--the tempest fell, And the smooth surface veil'd the inward h.e.l.l.

Yet his eye, resting on the wondering maid, Somewhat of woe, perchance remorse, betray'd, And grew to doubtful trouble--as it saw Her aspect brightening slowly from its awe, Gazing on Arden till shone out commix'd, Doubt, hope, and joy, in the sweet eyes thus fix'd;-- Till on her memory all the portrait smil'd, And voice came forth, "O Father, bless thy child!"

As from the rock the bright wave leaps to day, The mighty instinct forced its living way: No need of further words;--all clear--all told; A father's arms the happy child enfold: Nature alone was audible!--and air Stirr'd with the gush of tears, and gasps of murmur'd prayer!

Motionless stands the Indian; on his breast, As one the death-shaft pierces, droops his crest; His hands are clasp'd--one moment the sharp thrill Shakes his strong limbs;--then all once more is still; And form and aspect the firm calmness take Which clothes his kindred savage at the stake.

So--as she turn'd her looks--the woe behind That quiet mask, the girl's quick heart divined,-- "Father!" she cried--"Not all, not all on me Lavish thy blessings!--Him, who saved me, see!

Him who from want--from famine--from a doom, Frowning with terrors darker than the tomb, Preserved thy child!"

Before the Indian's feet } She fell, and murmur'd--"Bliss is incomplete } Unless thy heart can share--thy lips can greet!" } Again the firm frame quiver'd;--roused again, The bruised eagle struggled from the chain; Till words found way, and with the effort grew Man's crowning strength--Man's evil to subdue.

"Foeman--'tis past!--lo, in the strife between Thy world and mine, the eternal victory seen!

Thou, with light arts, my realm hast overthrown, And, see, revenge but threats to bless thine own!

My home is desolate--my hearth a grave-- The Heaven one hour that seem'd like justice gave, The arm is raised, the sacrifice prepared-- The altar kindles, and the victim's--spared!

Free as before to smite and to destroy, Thou com'st to slaughter to depart in joy!

"From the wayside yon drooping flower I bore; Warm'd at my heart--its root grew to the core, Dear as its kindred bloom seen through the bar By some long-thrall'd, and loneliest prisoner-- Now comes the garden's Lord, transplants the flower, And spoils the dungeon to enrich the bower?

"So be it, law--and the world's rights are thine Lost the stern comfort, Nature's law and mine!

She calls thee 'Father,' and the long deferr'd, Long-look'd for vengeance, withers at the word!

Take back thy child! Earth's G.o.ds to thee belong! } To me the iron of the sense of wrong } Heaven makes the heart which Earth oppresses--strong!" }

"Not so,--not so we part! O _husband_!" cried The Girl's full soul--"Divorce not thus thy bride!

Yes, Father, yes!--in woe thy Lucy won This generous heart; shall joy not leave us one?"

A moment Arden paused in mute surprise (How charm'd that outcast Beauty's blinded eyes?) Then, with the impulse of the human thought, Prompt to atonement for the evil wrought, "Hear her!" he said--"her words her father's heart Echoes.--Not so--nor ever, may ye part!

n.o.bly, hast thou an elder right than mine Won to this treasure;--still its care be thine; Withhold thy pardon if thou wilt,--but take The holiest offering wrong to man can make!"

Slowly the Indian lifts his joyless head, Pointing with slow hand to the present dead, And from slow lips comes heavily the breath: "Behold, between us evermore--is Death!"

"Maiden, recal my tale;--thou clasp'st the hand Which shuts the Exile from the promised land; Can the dead victim's brother, undefiled, From him who slew the sister take the child!"

With that, he bent him o'er the shuddering maid, On her fair looks a solemn hand he laid; Lifted eyes, tearless still--but dark with all The cloud, that not in _such_ soft dews can fall: "If to the Dead an offering still must be, All vengeance calls for be fulfill'd in me!

I make myself the victim!--Thou dread Power Guiding to guilt the slow chastising hour, Far from the injurer's hearth by her made pure, Let this lone roof thy thunder-stroke allure!--

"Go hence--(nay, near me not!) behold!--the kind Oblivion closes round her darken'd mind; If, when she wake, it be awhile for grief, Soon dries the rain-drop on the April leaf!"

He said, and vanish'd, with a noiseless tread, Within the folds which curtain'd round the dead!

So, the stern Dervish of the East inters His sullen soul with Death in sepulchres!

His new-found prize, while yet th' unconscious sense Sleeps in the mercy of the brief suspense, With gliding feet, the Father steals away.

Grief bends alone above the lonely clay; But over grief and death th' Eternal Eye Shines down,--and Hope lives ever in the sky.

[O] The perfumes from the island of Rhodes,--to which the roses that still bloom there gave the ancient name,--are wafted for miles over the surrounding seas.

[P] The Psyche of Naples, the most intellectual and (so to speak) the most _Christian_ of all the dreams of beauty which Grecian art has embodied in the marble.

[Q] Every one knows, through the version of Mrs. Tighe, the lovely allegory of Eros and Psyche, which Apuleius--the neglected original, to whom all later romance writers are unconsciously indebted--has bequeathed to the delight of poets and the recognition of Christians.

[R] The reader will bear in mind these lines, important to the clearness of the story; and remember that Calantha bore a different name from her half-brother--that her mother's unnatural prejudice or pride of race had forbidden her ever to mention that brother's name; and that, therefore, her relationship to Morvale, until he sought her out, was wholly unknown to all: the reader will remember, also, that during Calantha's subsequent residence in Morvale's house, she lived as woman lives in the East, and was consequently never seen by her brother's guests.

PART THE FOURTH.

I.

To Joy's brisk ear there's music in the throng; Glorious the life of cities to the strong!

What myriad charms, all differing, smile for all The hardier Masks in the Great Carnival!

Amidst the vast disguise, some sign betrays To each the appointed pleasure in the maze; Ambition, pleasure, love, applause, and gold, Allure the young, and baby[S] yet the old.

For here, the old, if nerves and stubborn will Defy Experience, linger, youthful still, Haunt the same rounds of idlesse, or of toil That lure the freshest footsteps to the soil, Still sway the Fashion or control the State, Gay at the ball, or fierce at the debate.

It is not youth, it is the zest of life } Surviving youth--in age itself as rife, } That fits the Babel and enjoys the strife; } But not for you _our_ world's bright tumults are, Soft natures, born beneath the Hesperus star,-- To us, the storm is but the native breath; To you, the quickening of the gale is death; Leave Strife to battle with its changeful clime, And seek the peace which saves the weak, in time!

Not Man's but Nature's world be yours!--The shade Where, all unseen, the cushat's nest is made, Less lone to you than pomps which but bestow The tinkling cymbal and the painted show.

The lights of revel flash from Arden's halls; There, throng the shapes that troop where Comus calls; But not Sabrina more apart and lone From the loud joy, on her pure coral throne, Than thou, sad maiden!--round the holy tide Swell the gay notes, the airy dancers glide; But o'er the shadowy grot the waters roll, And shut the revel from the unconscious soul!

What rank has n.o.blest, manhood's grace most fair, Bend low to her now hail'd as Arden's heir?

If rumour doubts the birthright to his name, The father's wealth redeems the mother's shame; And kindly thoughts o'er lordly pride prevail, "The Earl's best lands are not in the entail!"

How Arden loved his child!--how spoke that love Of those dead worlds the light herb waves above; Layer upon layer--those strata of the past, Those gone creations buried in the last!

Their bloom, their life, their glory past away, Speak in this relic of a vanish'd day.

There, in that guileless face, revived anew The visions glistening through life's morning dew, Fair Hope, pure Honour, undefiled Truth-- The young shape stood before him as his youth![T]

And in this love his chastis.e.m.e.nt was found-- The thorns he had planted, here enclosed him round; He, whom to see had been to love,--in vain Here loved; that heart no answer gave again-- It lived upon the past,--it dwelt afar, This new-found bond from what it loved the bar.

Her conscience chid, yet, while it chid, her thought Still the cold past, to freeze the present, brought; How love the sire round whom such shadows throng, The mother's death-bed and the lover's wrong?

The dazzling gifts, which had through life beguiled All other souls, are powerless with his child.

Vain the melodious tongue, and vain the mind, Sparkling and free as wavelets in the wind; The roseate wreath the handmaid Graces twine Round sternest hearts,--soft infant, breaks on thine; Child, candid, simple, frank, to her allied, Far more, the nature sever'd from her side, With its fresh instincts and wild verdure, fann'd By fragrant winds, from haunted Fable-land; Than all the garden graces which betray By the bough's riches the worn tree's decay.

What charms the ear of Childhood?--not the page Of that romance which wins the sober sage; Not the dark truths, like warning ghosts, which pa.s.s Along the pilgrim path of _Ra.s.selas_; Not wit's wrought crystal which, so coldly clear, Reflects, in _Zadig_, learning's icy sneer; Unreasoning, wondering, stronger far the thrall Of Aimee's cave,[U] or young Aladdin's hall; And so the childhood of the heart will find } Charms in the poem of a child-like mind, } To which the vision of the world is blind! } Ev'n as the savage, 'midst the desert's gloom, Sees, hid from us, the golden fruitage bloom, And, where the arid silence wraps us all, Lists the soft lapse of the glad waterfall!

So Lucy loved not Arden!--vainly yearn His moisten'd eyes;--Can softness be so stern?

That soul how gentle! but that smile how cold!

A marble shape the parent arms enfold!

No hurrying footstep bounds his own to meet, No joyous smiles with morning's welcome greet, Not him that heart--so bless'd with love--can bless, } Lost the pure Eden of a child's caress; } He saw--he felt, and suffer'd powerless! } Remorse seized on him;--his gay spirit quail'd; The cloud crept on,--it gather'd, it prevail'd.

The spectre of the past--the martyr bride, Sat at his board, and glided by his side; Sigh'd, "With the dead, Love the Consoler dies,"

And spoke his sentence in his child's cold eyes!

And now a strange and strong desire was born, } With the young instinct of life's credulous morn, } In that long sceptic-breast, so world-corrupt and worn. }