Blanche - Henry Abbey (free novels TXT) 📗

unutterable anguish,
And I cried out in my slumber till with my words I woke:
"How long, O Lord, must poverty bow down its head and languish,
While wrong, with wealth to garnish it, makes strong the heavy yoke?"

IX.

THE MISER.

'Tis said, that when he saw his child,
And saw the proof that she was his,
The first in many a year he smiled,
And pressed upon her brow a kiss.

In both his hands her hand he bound,
And led her gayly through his place.
He said the dead years circled round,
Hers was so like her mother's face.

He scarcely moves him from her side--
Her every hour with joy beguiles.
To make the gulf between us wide,
He acts the miser of her smiles.

He brings her presents rich and rare--
Wrought gold by cunning hands impearled,
Round opals that with scarlet glare,
The lightning of each mimic world.

X.

SHE PASSED ME BY.

She bowed, and smiled, and passed me by,
She passed me by!
O love, O lava breath that burns,
'Tis hard indeed to think she spurns
Such worshippers as you and I.
She smiled, and bowed, with stately pride;
The bow the frosty smile belied.
She passed me by.

She bowed, and smiled, and passed me by,
She passed me by.
What more could any maiden do?
It did not prove she was untrue.
My heart is tired, I know not why.
I only know I weep and pray.
Love has its night as well as day.
She passed me by.

XI.

MIND WITHOUT SOUL.

Some strange story I have read
Of a man without a soul.
Mind he had, though soul had fled;
Magic gave him gifts instead,
And the form of youth he stole.

Grows a rose-azalea white,
In my garden, near the way.
I who see it with delight,
Dream its soul of odor might,
In the past, have fled away.

Blanche (O, sweet, you are so fair,
So sweet, so fair, whate'er you do),
Twine no azalea in your hair,
Lest I think in my despair,
Heart and soul have left you too.

XII.

A BROKEN SWORD.

Deep in the night I saw the sea,
And overhead, the round moon white;
Its steel cold gleam lay on the lea,
And seemed my sword of life and light,
Broke in that war death waged with me.

I heard the dip of golden oars;
Twelve angels stranded in a boat;
We sailed away for other shores;
Though but an hour we were afloat,
We harbored under heavenly doors.

O, Blanche, if I had run my race,
And if I wore my winding sheet,
And mourners went about the place,
Would you so much as cross the street,
To kiss in death my white, cold face?

XIII.

A CHANCE FOR GAIN.

I met him in the busy mart;
His eyes are large, his lips are firm,
And on his temples, care or sin
Has left its claw prints hardened in;
His step is nervous and infirm;
I wondered if he had a heart.

He blandly smiled and took my hand.
He owed me such a debt, he thought,
He felt he never could repay;
Yet should I call on him that day,
He'd hand me what the papers brought,
For which I once had made demand.

Then added, turning grave from gay;
"But you must promise, if I give,
Your lover's office to resign,
And stand no more 'twixt me and mine."
His words were water in a sieve.
I turned my back and strode away.

XIV.

THE LIGHT-HOUSE.

At twilight, past the fountain,
I wandered in the park,
And saw a closed white lily
Sway on the liquid dark;
And a fire-fly, perched upon it,
Shone out its fitful spark.

I fancied it a light-house
Mooned on a sky-like sea,
To warn the fearless sailors
Of lurking treachery--
Of unseen reefs and shallows
That starved for wrecks to be.

O Blanche, O love that spurns me,
'Tis but a cheat thou art.
I would some friendly light-house
Had warned me to depart
From the secret reefs and shallows
That hide about your heart.

XV.

DARKNESS.

My hopes and my ambition all were down,
Like grass the mower turneth from its place;
The night's thick darkness was an angry frown,
And earth a tear upon the cheek of space.

The mighty fiend of storm in wild unrest,
By lightning stabbed, dragged slowly up the plain;
Great clots of light, like blood, dripped down his breast,
And from his open jaws fell foam in rain.

XVI.

IN THE CHURCH-YARD.

Where the sun shineth,
Through the willow trees,
And the church standeth,
'Mid the tomb-stones white,
Planting anemones
I saw my delight.

Her mother sleepeth
Beneath the green mound;
A white cross standeth
To show man the place.
Now close to the ground
Blanche bendeth her face.

She quickly riseth
As she hears my walk,
And sadly smileth
Through mists of tears;
We mournfully talk
Of departed years.

She downward droopeth
Her beautiful head,
And a blue-bell seemeth
That blossometh down;
Trembling with dread,
Lest the sky should frown.

She dearer seemeth
Than ever before.
She gently chideth
My more distant way.
At her heart's one door
I entered to-day.

No palace standeth
As happy as this.
Love ever ruleth
Its precincts alone--
His sceptre a kiss,
And a smile his throne.

There is one Blanche feareth--
She loves not deceit--
She only wisheth
To dazzle his heart.
We promise to meet.
And separate depart.

XVII.

COMPARISONS.

The moon is like a shepherd with a flock of starry lambkins,
The wind is like a whisper to the mountains from the sea,
The sun a gold moth browsing on a flower's pearl-dusted pollen;
But my words can scarcely utter what my love is like to me.

She is the sun in light's magnificence across my heart's day shining,
She's the moon when through the heavens of my heart flash meteor dreams;
Her voice is fragrant south wind a silvery sentence blowing;
She is sweeter than the sweetest, she is better than she seems.

XVIII.

AN INQUIRY OF THE SEXTON.

"Sexton, was she here to-day
Who has met me oft before?
Did she come and go away,
Tired of waiting any more?
For I fancy some mistake
Has occurred about the time;
Yet, the hour has not yet passed;
Hark! the bells begin to chime.

"In her hair two roses woo,
One a white, and one a red.
Azure silk her dress might be,
Though she oft wears white instead.
Here, beside this marble cross,
Oft she kneels in silent prayer;
Tell me, has she been to-day,
In the church-yard anywhere?"

"No, the lady that you seek
Has not passed the gate to-day:
I've been digging at a grave,
And if she had come this way
I'd have seen her from my work.
She may come to meet you yet.
I remember well her looks.
Names, not faces, I forget."

XIX.

A RIVAL.

It seems I have a rival
Domiciled over the way;
But Blanche, dear heart, dislikes him,
Whatever her father may say--
This gorgeously broadclothed fellow,
Good enough in his way.

To-day as I left the church-yard,
I met them taking a ride,
And my heart was pierced like a buckler
With a javelin of pride;
I only saw in my anger
They were sitting side by side.

To-night, in the purple twilight,
Blanche waited upon the walk,
And beckoned her white hand to me--
A lily swayed on its stalk.
Soon my jealous pride was foundered
In the maelstrom of talk.

'Twas useless to go to the church-yard,
For some one had played the spy;
She fancied it was the sexton--
We would let it all go by;
We now would have bolder meetings,
'Neath her father's very eye.

She took my arm as we idled,
And talked of our love once more,
And how, with her basket of flowers,
She had passed the street before;
We tarried long in the moonlight,
And kissed good-night at her door.

XX.

KISSES AND A RING.

I never behold the sea
Rush up to the hand of the shore,
And with its vehement lips
Kiss its down-dropt whiteness o'er,
But I think of that magic night,
When my lips, like waves on a coast,
Broke over the moonlit hand
Of her that I love the most.

I never behold the surf
Lit by the sun into gold,
Curl and glitter and gleam,
In a ring-like billow rolled,
But I think of another ring,
A simple, delicate band,
That in the night of our troth
I placed on a darling hand.

XXI.

AN ENEMY MAY BE SERVED, EVEN THROUGH MISTAKE, WITH PROFIT.

I was walking down the sidewalk,
When up, with flying mane,
Two iron-black steeds came spurning
The ground in wild disdain;
I caught them in an instant,
And held them by the rein.

It seems the man had fainted
In his elegant coupe;
I saw his face a moment,
And then I turned away,
Wishing my steps had led me
Through other streets that day.

Some one who saw the rescue
Afterward told him my name.
For the first in many a season,
Beneath our roof he came.
I said I was deserving
Little of praise or blame.

It was my uncle's face in the carriage;
He made regret of the past;
No more of my love or wishes
Would he be the iconoclast;
On a gala night at his mansion
We should learn to be friends at last.

XXII.

HELIOTROPE.

Let my soul and thine commune,
Heliotrope.
O'er the way I hear the swoon
Of the music; and the moon,
Like a moth above a bloom,
Shines upon the world below.
In God's hand the world we know,
Is but as a flower in mine.
Let me see thy heart divine
Heliotrope.

Thy rare odor is thy soul,
Heliotrope.
Could I save the golden bowl,
And yet change my soul to yours,
I would do so for a day,
Just to hear my neighbors say:
"Lo! the spirit he immures
Is as fragrant as a flower;
It will wither in an hour;
Surely he has stol'n the bliss,
For we know the odor is
Heliotrope."

Have you love and have you fear,
Heliotrope?
Has a dew-drop been thy tear?
Has the south-wind been thy sigh?
Let thy soul make mine reply,
By some sense, on brain or hand,
Let me know and understand,
Heliotrope.

In thy native land, Peru,
Heliotrope,
There are worshippers of light--
They might better worship you;
But they worship not as I.
You must tell her what I say,
When I take you 'cross the way,
For to-night your petals prove
The Devotion of my love,
Heliotrope.

'Tis time we go, breath o' bee,
Heliotrope.
All the house is lit for me;
Here's the room where we may dwell,
Filled with guests delectable.
Hark! I hear the silver bell
Ever tinkling at her throat.
I have thought it was a boat,
By the Graces put afloat,
On the billows of her heart.
I have thought it was a boat
With a bird in it, whose part
Was a solitary note.
Now I know 'tis Heliotrope
That the moonlight, bursting ope,
Changed to silver on her throat.
Let us watch the dancers go;
She is dancing in the row.
Sweetest flower that ever was,
I shall give you as I pass,
Heliotrope.


[The end]