Chapter III: Part THE THIRD: I

Lord Arden's tale robb'd Morvale's couch of sleep,
The star still trembled on the troubled deep,
O'er the waste ocean gleam'd its chilling glance,
To make more dark the desolate expanse.

This contrast of a fate, but vex'd by gales
Faint with too full a balm from Rhodian Vales;[O]
This light of life all squander'd upon one
Round whom hearts moved, as planets round a sun,
Mocks the lone doom _his_ barren years endure,
As wasted treasure but insults the poor.
Back on his soul no faithful echoes cast
Those tones which make the music of the past.
No memories hallow, and no dreams restore
Love's lute, far heard from Youth's Hesperian shore;--
The flowers that Arden trampled on the sod,
Still left the odour where the step had trod;
Those flowers, so wasted!--had for _him_ but smiled
One bud,--its breath had perfumed all the wild!
He own'd the moral of the reveller's life,
So Christian warriors own the sin of strife,--
But, oh! how few can lift the soul above
Earth's twin-born rulers,--Fame and Woman's Love!

Just in that time, of all most drear, upon
Fate's barren hill-tops, gleam'd the coming sun;
From nature's face the veil of night withdrawn,
Earth smiled, and Heaven was open'd in the dawn!

How chanced this change?--how chances all below?
What sways the life the moment doth bestow:
An impulse, instinct, look, touch, word, or sigh--
Unlocks the Hades, or reveals the sky.

II.

'Twas eve; Calantha had resumed again
The wonted life, recaptured to its chain;
In the calm chamber, Morvale sat, and eyed
Lucy's lithe shape, that seem'd on air to glide;
Eyed with complacent, not impassion'd, gaze;
So Age looks on, where some fair Childhood plays:
Far as soars Childhood from dim Age's scope,
Beauty to him who links it not with hope!

"Sing me, sweet Lucy," said Calantha, "sing
Our favourite song--'_The Maiden and the King_.'
Brother, thou lov'st not music, or, at least,
But some wild war-song that recalls the East.
Who loves not music, still may pause to hark
Nature's free gladness hymning in the lark:
As sings the bird sings Lucy! all her art
A voice in which you listen to a heart."

A blush of fear, a coy reluctant "nay"
Avail her not--thus ran the simple lay:--

THE MAIDEN AND THE KING.

I.

"And far as sweep the seas below,
My sails are on the deep;
And far as yonder eagles go,
My flag on every keep.

"Why o'er the rebel world within
Extendeth not the chart?
No sail can reach--no arms can win
The kingdom of a heart!"

So sigh'd the king--the linden near;
A listener heard the sigh,
And thus the heart he did not hear,
Breathed back the soft reply:--

II.

"And far as sweep the seas below,
His sails are on the deep;
And far as yonder eagles go,
His flag on every keep;

"LOVE, _thou_ art not a king alone,
Both slave and king thou art!
Who seeks to sway, must stoop to own
The kingdom of a heart!"

So sigh'd the Maid, the linden near,
Beneath the lonely sky;
Oh, lonely _not_!--for angels hear
The humblest human sigh!

III.

His ships are vanish'd from the main,
His banners from the keep;
The carnage triumphs on the plain;
The tempest on the deep.

"The purple and the crown are mine"--
An Outlaw sigh'd--"no more;
But still as greenly grows the vine
Around the cottage door!

"Rest for the weary pilgrim, Maid,
And water from the spring!"
Before the humble cottage pray'd
The Man that was a King.

Oh, was the threshold that he cross'd
The gate to fairy ground?
He would not for the kingdom lost,
Have changed the kingdom found!

Divine interpreter thou art, O Song!
To thee all secrets of all hearts belong!
How had the lay, as in a mirror, glass'd
The sullen present and the joyless past,
Lock'd in the cloister of that lonely soul!--
Ere the song ceased, to Lucy's side he stole,
And, with the closing cadence, mournfully
Lifted his doubtful gaze:--so eye met eye.

If thou hast loved, re-ope the magic book;
Say, do its annals date not from a look?
In which two hearts, unguess'd perchance before,
Rush'd each to each, and were as two no more;
While all thy being--by some Power, above
Its will constrain'd--sigh'd, trembling, "This is Love."

A look! and lo! they knew themselves alone!
Calantha's place was void--the witness gone;
They had not mark'd her sad step glide away,
When in sweet silence sank, less sweet, the lay;
For unto both abruptly came the hour
When springs the rose-fence round the fairy bower;
When earth shut out, all life transferr'd to one,
Each _other_ life seems cloud before the sun;
It comes, it goes, we know if it depart
But by the warmer light and quicken'd heart.

And what then chanced? O, leave not told, but guess'd;
Is Love a god?--a temple, then, the breast!
Not to the crowd in cold detail allow
Its delicate worship, its mysterious vow!
Around the first sweet homage in the shrine
Let the veil fall, and but the Pure divine!
Coy as the violet shrinking from the sun,
The blush of Virgin Youth first woo'd and won;
And scarce less holy from the vulgar ear
The tone that trembles but with noble fear:
Near to God's throne the solemn stars that move
The proud to meekness, and the pure to love!

Let days pass on; nor count how many swell
The episode of Life's hack chronicle!
Changed the abode, of late so stern and drear,
How doth the change speak--"Love hath enter'd here!"
How lightly sounds the footfall on the floor!
How jocund rings sweet laughter, hush'd no more!
Wide from two hearts made happy, wide and far,
Circles the light in which they breathe and are;
Liberal as noontide streams the ambient ray,
And fills each crevice in the world with day.

And changed is Lucy! where the downcast eye,
And the meek fear, when that dark man was by?
Lo! as young Una thrall'd the forest-king,
She leads the savage in her silken string;
Plays with the strength to her in service shown,
And mounts with infant whim the woman's throne!
Charm'd from his lonely moods and brooding mind,
And bound by one to union with his kind,
No more the wild man thirsted for the waste;
No more, 'mid joy, a joyless one, misplaced;
His very form assumed unwonted grace,
And bliss gave more than beauty to his face:
Let but delighted thought from all things cull
Sweet food and fair--hiving the Beautiful,
And lo! the form shall brighten with the soul!
The gods bloom only by joy's nectar bowl.

Nor deem it strange that Lucy fail'd to trace }
In that dark brow, the birthright of disgrace, }
And Europe's ban on Earth's primeval race. }

Were she less pure, less harmless, less the child,
Not on the savage had the soft one smiled.
Ev'n as the young Venetian loved the Moor,
Love gains the shrine when Pity opes the door;
Love like the Poet, whom it teaches, where
Round it the Homely dwells, invents the Fair;
And takes a halo from the air it gilds
To crown a Seraph for the Heaven it builds.
And both were children in this world of ours,
Maiden and savage! the same mountain flowers,
Not trimm'd in gardens, not exchanged their hues,
Fresh from the natural sun and hardy dews,
For the faint fragrance and the sickly dyes
Which, Art calls forth by walling out the skies:
_So_ children both, each seem'd to have forgot
How poor the maid's--how rich the lover's lot;
Ne'er did the ignorant Indian pause in fear,
Lest friends should pity, and lest foes should sneer.
"What will the world say?"--question safe and sage;
The parrot's world should be his gilded cage;
But fly, frank wilding, with free wings unfurl'd,
Where thy mate carols--there, behold thy world!
And stranger still that no decorous pride
Warn'd her, the beggar, from the rich man's side.
Sneer, ye world-wise, and deem her ignorance art;
She saw her wealth (and blush'd not) in her heart!--
Saw through the glare of gold his lonely breast;
He had but gold, and hers was all the rest.

Pleased in the bliss to her, alas! denied, }
Calantha hail'd her brother's plighted bride: }
"Glad thou the heart which I made sad," she sigh'd. }
Since Arden's tale, but once the friends had met,
Nor known to one the other's rapture yet;
Some fancied clue, some hope awhile restored,
Had from the Babel lured the brilliant lord.
The wonted commune Morvale fail'd to miss,--
We want no confidant in happiness.

Baffled, and sick of hope, wealth, life, and all,
One night return'd the noble to his hall;
He found some lines, stern, brief, in Morvale's hand,--
Brief with dark meaning,--stern with rude command,--
Bidding his instant presence. Arden weigh'd }
Each word; some threat was in each word convey'd; }
A chill shot through his heart--foreboding he obey'd. }

III.

What caused the mandate?--wherefore do I shrink?
The stream runs on,--why tarry at the brink?
Nay, let us halt, and in the pause between
Sorrow and joy, behold the quiet scene;--
The chamber stately in that calm repose,
Which Time's serene, sweet conqueror, ART bestows;
There, in bright shapes which claim our homage still,
Live the grand exiles from the Olympian Hill;
Still the pale Queen Cithaeron forests know,
Turns the proud eye, and lifts the deathful bow;
Still on the vast brow of the father-god,
Hangs the hush'd thunder of the awful nod;
Still fair, as when on Ida's mountain seen,
By Troy's young shepherd, Beauty's bashful Queen;
Still Ind's divine Iacchus laughing weaves
His crown of clustering grapes and glossy leaves;
Still thou, Arch-type of Song, ordain'd to soothe
The rest of Heroes, and with deathless youth
Crown the Celestial Brotherhood--dost hold,
Brimm'd with the drink of gods, the urn of gold!

All live again! The Art which images
Man's noblest conquest, as it slowly frees
Thought out of matter, labouring patient on,
Till springs a god-world from reluctant stone,
Charm'd Morvale more than all the pomp and glow
With which the Painter limns a world we know.

'Twas noon, and broken by the gentle gloom
Of coolest draperies, through the shadowy room,
In moted shaft aslant, the curious ray
Forced lingering in, through tiers of flowers, its way,
Glanced on the lute (just hush'd, to leave behind
Elysian dreams, the music of the mind),
Play'd round the songstress, and with warmer flush
Steep'd the young cheek, unconscious of its blush,
And fell, as if in worship, at thy base,
O sculptured Psyche[P] of the soul-lit face,
Bending to earth resign'd the mournful eye,
Since earth must prove the pathway to the sky;
Doom'd here, below, Love's footprint to explore }
Till Jove relents, the destined wandering o'er, }
And in celestial halls, Soul meets with Love once more.[Q] }

And, side by side, the lovers sat,--their words
Low mix'd with notes from Lucy's joyous birds,
Sole witnesses and fit--those airy things,
That, 'midst the bars, can still unfold the wings,
And soothe the cell with language, learn'd above;
As the caged bird--so on the earth is love!
Their talk was of the future; from the height
Of Hope, they saw the landscape bathed in light,
And, where the golden dimness veil'd the gaze,
Guess'd out the spot, and mark'd the sites of happy days;
Till silence came, and the full sense and power
Of the blest Present,--the rich-laden Hour
That overshadow'd them, as some hush'd tree
With mellow fruitage bending heavily,--
What time, beneath the tender gloom reclined,
Dies on the lap of summer-noon the wind!

Roused from the lulling spell with startled blush
At such strange power in silence, to the hush
The maid restored the music, while she sought
Fresh banks for that sweet river--loving thought.

"Tell me," she said, "if not too near the gloom
Of some sad tale, the rash desire presume;
What severs so the chords that should entwine
With one warm bond our sister's heart and thine?
Why does she love yet dread thee? what the grief
That shrinks from utterance and disdains relief?
Hast thou not been too stern?--nay, pardon! nay,
Let thy words chide me,--not thy looks dismay!"
"Not unto thee, beneath whose starry eye
Each wild wave hushes, did my looks reply;
They were the answer to mine own dark thought,
Which back the grief, thy smile had banish'd, brought.

"Well--to the secrets of my soul thy love
Hath such sweet right, I lift the veil above
Home's shattered gods, and show what wounds belong
To writhing honour and revengeless wrong.--

"Rear'd in the desert, round its rugged child,
All we call life, group'd, menacing and wild;
But to man's soul there is an inner life;
_There_, one soft vision smiled away the strife!
A fairy shape, that seem'd afar to stand
On the lost shores of Youth--the Fairy land;
A voice that call'd me 'brother;'--years had fled
Since my rough breast had pillow'd that sweet head,
Yet still my heart throbb'd with the pressure; still
Tears, such as mothers know, my eyes would fill;
Prayers, such as fathers pray, my soul would breathe;
The oak were sere but for that jasmine-wreath!
At length, wealth came; my footsteps left the wild,--
Again we met:--to woman grown the child:
How did we meet?--that heart to me was dead!
The bird, far heard amidst the waste was fled!
With earthlier fires that breast had learn'd to burn;
And what yet left? but ashes in the urn:
Woo'd and abandon'd! all of love, hope, soul
Lavish'd--now lifeless!--well, were this the whole!
But the good name--the virgin's pure renown--
Woman's white robe, and Honour's starry crown,
Lost, lost, for ever!"

O'er his visage past
His trembling hand,--then, hurriedly and fast,
As one who from the knife of torture swerves,
Then spurns the pang, as pride the weakness nerves,
Resumed--"As yet _that_ secret was withheld,
All that I saw, was sorrow that repell'd,--
A dreary apathy, whose death-like chill
Froze back my heart and left us sever'd still.

"One night I fled that hard indifferent eye;
To crowds, the heart that Home rejects, will fly!--
Gay glides the dance, soft music fills the hall:
I fled, to find, the loneliness through all!
Thou know'st but half a brother's bond I claim,--
My mother's daughter bears her father's name;
My mother's heart had long denied her son,
And loath'd the tie that pride had taught to shun.
My sister's lips, forbid the bond to own,
Left the scorn'd life, a brother breathed, unknown.[R]
Not even yet the alien blood confest;
Who, in the swart hues of the Eastern guest
And unfamiliar name, could kindred trace
With the young Beauty of the Northern Race?--
Calm in the crowd I stood, when hark, a word
Smote on my ear, and stunn'd the soul that heard!
A sound, with withering laughter muttered o'er,
Blistering the name--O God!--a sister bore;
Nought clear, and nought defined, save scorn alone,--
Not heard the name scorn coupled with her own;
Somewhat of nuptials fix'd, of broken ties,
The foul cause hinted in the vile surmise,
The gallant's fame for conquests, lightly won,
For homes dishonour'd, and for hearts undone:
Not one alone on whom my wrath could seize,
From lip to lip the dizzying slander flees;
No single ribald separate from the herd,
Through the blent hum one stinging tumult stirr'd;
One felt, unseen, infection circling there
A bodiless venom in the common air,
And as the air impalpable!--so seem
The undistinguished terrors of a dream,
Now clear, now dim, transform'd from shape to shape,
The gibbering spectres scare us and escape.

"Fearful the commune, in that dismal night,
Between the souls which could no more unite,--
The lawful anger and the shaming fears,
Man's iron question, woman's burning tears;
All that, once utter'd, rend for aye the ties
Of the close bond God fashion'd in the skies.
I learn'd at last,--for 'midst my wrath, deep trust
In what I loved, left even passion just;
And I believed the word, the lip, the eye,
That to my horrid question flash'd reply;--
I learn'd at last that but the name was stain'd,
Honour was wreck'd, but Purity remain'd.
Oh pardon, pardon!--if a doubt that sears,
A word that stains, profane such holy ears!
So, oft amidst my loneliness, my heart
Hath communed with itself, and groan'd apart,--
Recall'd that night, and in its fierce despair,
Shaped some full vengeance from the desert air,--
That I forgot what angel, new from Heaven,
Sweet spotless listener, to my side was given!

"But who the recreant lover?--this, in vain
My question sought; that truth not hard to gain;
And my brow darken'd as I breathed the threat
Fierce in her shrinking ear, 'that wrath should reach him yet!'
I left her speechless; when the morning came, }
With the fierce pang, writhed the self-tortured frame, }
The poison hid by Woe, drain'd by despairing Shame. }

"Few words, half-blurr'd by shame, the motive clear'd,
For the false wooer, not herself, she feared;
'Accept,' she wrote 'O brother, sternly just,
The life I yield,--but holy be my dust!
Hear my last words, for, _them_ Death sanctify!
Forbear his life for whom it soothes to die.
And let my thought, the memory of old time,
The soul that flees the stain, nor knew the crime,
Strike down thine arm! and see me in the tomb,
Stand, like a ghost, between Revenge and Doom!'

"I bent, in agony and awe, above
The broken idol of my boyhood's love.
Echo'd each groan and writhed with every throe,
And cried, 'Live yet! O dove, but brood below,
Hide with thy wings the vengeance and the guilt,
And give my soul thy softness if thou wilt!'
And, as I spoke, the heavy eye unclosed,
The hand press'd mine, and in the clasp reposed,
The wan lip smiled, the weak frame seem'd to win
Strange power against the torture-fire within;
The leach's skill the heart's strong impulse sped,
She lived--she lived:--And my revenge was dead!

"She lived!--and, clasp'd within my arms, I vow'd
To leave the secret in its thunder-shroud,
To shun all question, to refuse all clue,
And close each hope that honour deems its due;
_But while she lived!_--the weak vow halted there,
Her life the shield to that it tainted mine to spare!

"But to have walk'd into the thronging street,
But to have sought the haunt where babblers meet,
But to have pluck'd one idler by the sleeve,
And asked, '_who_ woo'd yon fairhair'd bride, to leave?'
And street, and haunt, and every idler's tongue,
Had given the name with which the slander rung--
To me alone,--to _me_ of all the throng,
The unnatural silence mask'd the face of wrong.
But I had sworn! and, of myself in dread,
From the loath'd scene, from mine own wrath, I fled.

"We left the land, in this a home we find.
Home! by our hearth the cleaving curse is shrined!
Distrust in her--and shame in me; and all
The unspoken past cold present hours recal;
And unconfiding hearts, and smiles but rife
With the bland hollowness of formal life!
In vain my sacrifice, she fears me still!
Vain her reprieve;--grief barr'd from vent can kill.
And then, and then (O joy through agony!)
My oath absolves me, and my arm is free!
The lofty soul may oft forgive, I own,
The lighter wrong that smites itself alone;
But vile the nature, that when wrong hath marr'd
All the rich life it was our boast to guard
But weeps the broken heart and blasted name;--
Here the mean pardon were the manhood's shame;
And I were vilest of the vile, to live
To see Calantha's grave--and to forgive:
_Forgive!_"

There hung such hate upon that word,
The weeping listener shudder'd as she heard,
And sobb'd--

"Hush, hush! lest Man's eternal Foe }
Hear thee, and tempt! Oh, never may'st thou know }
Beside one deed of Guilt--how blest is guiltless Woe!" }
Then, close, and closer, clinging to his side,
Frank as the child, and tender as the bride,
Words--looks--and tears themselves combine the balm,
Lull the fierce pang, and steal the soul to calm!
As holy herbs (that rocks with verdure wreathe,
And fill with sweets the summer air they breathe,)
In winter wither, only to reveal
Diviner virtues--charged with powers to heal,
So are the thoughts of Love!--if Heaven is fair,
Blooms for the earth, and perfumes for the air;--
Is the Heaven dark?--doth sorrow sear the leaf?
They fade from joy to anodynes for grief!
From theme to theme she lures his thought afar,
From the dark haunt in which its demons are;
And with the gentle instinct which divines
Interest more strong than aught which Self entwines
With its own suffering--changed the course of tears,
And led him, child-like, through her own young years.
The silent sorrows of a patient mind--
Grief's loveliest poem, a soft soul resign'd,
Charm'd and aroused----
"O tell me more!" he cried;
"Ev'n from the infant let me trace the bride.
Of thy dear life I am a miser grown,
And grudge each smile that did not gild my own;
Look back--thy _Father?_ Canst thou not recal
_His_ kiss, _his_ voice? Fair orphan! tell me all."

"My Father? No!" sigh'd Lucy; "at that name
Still o'er my mother's cheek the fever came;
Thus, from the record of each earlier year,
That household tie moved less of love than fear;
Some wild mysterious awe, some undefined
Instinct of woe was with the name entwined.
Lived he?--I knew not; knew not till the last
Sad hours, when Memory struggled to the Past,
And she--my dying mother--to my breast
Clasp'd these twain relics--let them speak the rest!"
With that, for words no more she could command,
She placed a scroll--a portrait--in his hand;
And overcome by memories that could brook
Not ev'n love's comfort,--veil'd her troubled look,
And glided swiftly thence. Nor he detain'd:
Spell bound, his gaze upon the portrait strain'd:
That brow--those features! that bright lip, which smiled
Forth from the likeness!--Found Lord Arden's child!
The picture spoke as if from Mary's tomb,
Death in the smile and mockery in the bloom.
The scroll, unseal'd--address'd the obscurer name
That Arden bore, ere lands and lordship came;
And at the close, to which the Indian's eyes }
Hurried, these words:-- }
"In peace thy Mary dies; }
Forgive her sternness in her sacrifice! }
It had one merit--_that I loved!_ and till
Each pulse is hush'd shall love, yet fly, thee still.
Now take thy child! and when she clings with pride
To the strong shelter of a father's side,
Tell her, a mother bought the priceless right
To bless unblushing her she gave to light;
Bought it as those who would redeem a past
Must buy--by penance, faithful to the last.
Thorns in each path, a grave the only goal,
Glides mine, atoning, to my father's soul!"

What at this swift revealment--dark and fast
As fleets the cloud-wrack, o'er the Indian past?
No more is Lucy free with her sweet dower }
Of love and youth! Another has the power }
To bar the solemn rite, to blast the marriage bower. }
"Will this proud Saxon of the princely line
Yield his heart's gem to alien hands like mine?
What though the blot denies his rank its heir: }
The more his pride will bid his love repair }
By loftiest nuptials--O supreme despair! }
Shall I divulge the secret! shall I rear,
Myself, the barrier,--and the bliss so near?"

He scorn'd himself, and raised his drooping crest:
"Mine be Man's honour--leave to God the rest!"
As thus his high resolve, a sudden cry }
Startled his heart. He turn'd: Calantha by! }
Why on the portrait glares her haggard eye? }

"Whose likeness this? Thou know'st not, brother? speak!
What mean that clouded brow--that changing cheek?
Thou know'st not!"
"Yes!"
And as the answer came,
With Death's strong terror shook the sister's frame,
A bitterer pang, an icier shudder, ran
Through _his_ fierce nature--
"Dost _thou_ know the man?
Ha! his own tale! O dull and blinded! how,
Flash upon flash, descends the lightning now!
_Thou_, his forsaken--_his_! And I--who--nay!
Look up Calantha; for, befal what may,
He shall----"
The promise, or the threat, was said
To ears already deafen'd as the dead!
His arm but breaks the fall: the panting breast
Yet heaves convulsive through the stifling vest.
The robe, relax'd, bids doubt--if doubt yet be--
Merge the last gleam in starless certainty!
Lo there, the fatal gift of love and woe
Miming without the image graved below--
The same each likeness by each sufferer worn,
Or differing but as noonday from the morn.
In Lucy's portrait, manhood's earliest youth
Shone from the clear eye with a light like truth.
There, play'd that fearless smile with which we meet
The sward that hides the swamp before our feet;
The bright on-looking to the Future, ere
Our sins reflect their own dark shadows there:--
Calantha's portrait spoke of one in whom,
Young yet in years; the heart had lost its bloom;
The lip of joy the lip of pride had grown;
It smiled--the smile we love to trust had flown.
In the collected eye and lofty mien
The graver power experience brings was seen;
Beautiful both; and if the manlier face
Had lost youth's candid and luxuriant grace,
A charm as fatal as the first it wore,
Pleased less--and yet enchain'd and haunted more.

And this the man to whom his heart had moved!
Whose hand he had clasp'd, whose child he loved!--he loved!
This, out of all the universe--O Fate!
This, the dark orb, round which revolved his hate;
This, the swart star malign, whose baleful ray
Ruled in his House of Life; and day by day,
And hour by hour, upon the tortured past
One withering, ruthless, demon influence cast!
There writhes the victim--there, unmasking, now
The invoked Alecto frowns from Arden's brow.
O'er that fierce nature, roused so late from sleep,
Course the black thoughts, and lash to storm the deep.
Love flies dismay'd--the sweet delusions, drawn
By Hope, fade ghost-like in the lurid dawn;
As when along the parch'd Arabian gloom
Life prostrate falls before the dread Simoom,
No human mercy the strong whirlwind faced,
And its wrath reign'd sole monarch of the waste!

IV.

The Hours steal on. Like spectres, to and fro
Hurry hush'd footsteps through the house of woe.
That nameless chill, which tells of life that dies,
Broods o'er the chamber where Calantha lies.

The Hours steal on--and o'er the unquiet might
Of the great Babel--reigns, dishallow'd, Night.
Not, as o'er Nature's world, She comes, to keep
Beneath the stars her solemn tryst with Sleep,
When move the twin-born Genii side by side,
And steal from earth its demons where they glide;
Lull'd the spent Toil--seal'd Sorrow's heavy eyes,
And dreams restore the dews of Paradise;
But Night, discrown'd and sever'd from her twin,
No pause for Travail, no repose for Sin,
Vex'd by one chafed rebellion to her sway,
Flits o'er the lamp-lit streets--a phantom day!
Alone sat Morvale in the House of Gloom,
Alone--no! Death was in the darken'd room;
All hush'd save where, at distance faintly heard,
Lucy's low sob the depth of silence stirr'd;
Or where, without, the swift wheels hurrying by,
Bear those who live--as if life could not die.
Alone he sat! and in his breast began
Earth's deadliest strife--the Angel with the Man!
Not his the light war with its feeble rage
Which prudent scruples with faint passions wage,
(The small heart-conflicts which disturb the wise,
Whom reason succours when the anger tries,
Such as to this meek social ring belong,
In conscience weak, but in discretion strong;)
But that known only to man's franker state,
In love a demigod--a fiend in hate,
Him, not the reason but the instincts lead,
Prompt in the impulse, ruthless in the deed.

And if the wrong might seem too weak a cause
For the fell hate--not his were Europe's laws.--
Some think dishonour, if it halt at crime,
A stingless asp,--what injury in the slime?
As if but this poor clay--this crumbling coil
Of dust for graves--were all the foul can soil!
As if the form were not the type (nor more
Than the mere type) of what chaste souls adore!
That Woman-Royalty, a spotless name,
For sires to boast--for sons unborn to claim,
That heavenly purity of thought--as free
From shame as sin, the soul's virginity,
If these be lost--why what remains?--the form?
Has _that_ such worth?--Go, envy then the worm!

And well to him may such belief belong,
And India's memories blacken more the wrong;
In Eastern lands, by tritest tales convey'd,
How Honour guards from sight itself the maid;
Home's solemn mystery, jealous of a breath,
Screen'd by religion, and begirt with death:--
Again he cower'd beneath the hissing tongue,
Again the gibe of scurril laughter rung,
Again the Plague-breath air itself defiled,
And Mockery grinn'd upon his mother's child!
All the heart's chaste religion overthrown,
And slander scrawl'd upon the altar-stone!

And if that memory pause, what shapes succeed?
The martyr leaning on the broken reed!
The life slow-poison'd in the thoughts that shed
Shame o'er the joyless earth;--and there, the dead!
Marvel not ye, the soft, the fair, the young,
Whose thoughts are chords to Love's sweet music strung,
Whose life the sterner genius--Hate, has spared,
If on his soul no torch but Ate's glared!
If in the foe was lost to sight the bride,
The foe's meek child!--that memory was denied!
The face, the tale, the sorrow, and the love, }
All fled--all blotted from the breast: Above }
The Deluge not one refuge for the Dove! }
There is no Lethe like one guilty dream,
It drowns all life that nears the leaden stream;
And if the guilt seem sacred to the creed,
Between the stars and earth, but stands the Deed!
So in his breast the Titan feud began:
Which shall prevail--the Angel or the Man?

The Injurer comes! the lone light breaking o'er }
The gloom, waves flickering to the open door, }
And Arden's step is on the fatal floor! }
Around he gazed, and hush'd his breath,--for Fear
Cast its own shadow on the wall,--a drear
And ominous prescience of the Death-king there
Breathed its chill horror to the heavy air;
O'er yon recess--which bars with draperied pall
The baffled gaze--the unbroken shadows fall.
The lurid embers on the hearth burn low;
The clicking time-piece sounds distinct and slow;
And the roused instinct hate's suspense foreshows
In the pale Indian's lock'd and grim repose.

So Arden enter'd, and thus spoke; the while
His restless eye belied his ready smile:
"Return'd, I find thy mandate, and attend
To hear a mystery, or to serve a friend."
"Or front a foe!"
A stifled voice replied.
O'er Arden's temples flush'd the knightly pride.
"What means that word, which jars, not daunts, the ear?
I own no foe,--if foe there be, no fear."

"Pause and take heed--then with as firm a sound
Disdain the danger--when the foe is found!
What, if thou had'st a sister, whom the grave
To thy sole charge--a sacred orphan--gave--
What, if a traitor had, with mocking vows,
Won the warm heart, and woo'd the plighted spouse,
Then left--a scoff;--what, if his evil fame,
Alone sufficed to blast the virgin name,
What--hourly gazing on a life forlorn,
Amidst a solitude wall'd round with scorn,
Shame at the core--death gnawing at the cheek--
What, from the suitor, would the brother seek?"

"Wert _thou_ that brother," with unsteady voice,
Arden replied: "not doubtful were thy choice:
Were I that Suitor----"
"Ay?"
"I would prepare
To front the vengeance, or--the wrong repair."

"Yes"--hiss'd the Indian--"front that mimic strife,
That coward's die, which leaves to chance the life;
That mockery of all justice, framed to cheat
Right of its due--such vengeance thou wouldst meet!--
Be Europe's justice blind and insecure!
Stern Ind asks more--her son's revenge is sure!
'Repair the wrong!'--Ay, in the Grave be wed!
Hark! the Ghost calls thee to the bridal bed!
Come (nay, this once thy hand!)--come!--from the shrine
I draw the veil!--Calantha, he is thine!
Man, see thy victim!--dust!--Joy--Peace and Fame, }
_These_ murder'd first--the blow that smote the frame }
Was the most merciful!--at length it came. }
Here, by the corpse to which thy steps are led,
Beside thee, murderer, stands the brother of the Dead!"

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 shore,
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 hell.
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 gods 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!
Nobly, 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.