LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Shelf ..'..H--^ /X3 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
PATRICE: 
 
 HER LOVE AND WORK. 
 
 A POEM IN FOUR PARTS. 
 
 EDWARD F. HAYWARD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " WILLOUGHBY," " ECCE SPIRITUS," ETC. 
 
 ' Sooner or later, that whicli is now life shall be poetry." — Emerson. 
 
 ■ - 6 ^^^33 i 
 BOSTON r^i^S^g^^^^^^ 
 
 CUPPLES, UPHAM, AND COMPANY 
 1883. 
 

 Copyright, 18S3, 
 By Edward F. Havward. 
 
 PRESS OF CEO. H. ELLIS, 141 FRANKLIN STREET. 
 
TO JESSIE. 
 
I. 
 
IV/w hath forgot his faith, and owns too late 
 
 Love comes to sorrow, walking on alone; 
 Or who hath ttever loved for want of fate 
 
 To fix affection ere the years have flown j 
 Or, finding love, hath known it early lost; — 
 
 If labor, too, is dead, without one lure, 
 Or end of earth that's worth the toil it cost, 
 
 What may he do but patiently endure, 
 Who hath no joy, no hope, and may not know 
 How service, love, make swift life's daily flow / 
 
A BUSY town beside a rushing stream, 
 
 That stirred to briskness such slow-moving 
 men 
 As late had left the ploughshare for the din 
 Of countless shuttles in the new-made mills ; 
 With local thrift and enterprise evolved 
 As in a night from village sluggishness ; 
 With' wants grown great with opportunity, 
 And sudden confidence that left small place 
 In all its scheme for failure. 
 
 Here men ruled 
 As rural nabobs, finding over-night 
 A new-fledged fortune in paternal fields ; 
 Familiar pathways turned to streets, where broke 
 Strange sounds upon the ear, and hammers stirred 
 
8 FA TRICE 
 
 The ancient stillness with the din of work ; 
 
 Till very rustling of the leaves rehearsed 
 
 The universal rise of property. 
 
 Young men from out-grown acres came, to pit 
 
 Their wind-blown vigors 'gainst the wealth of 
 
 towns ; 
 While old men, mourning losses, sought new homes 
 On peaceful outskirts of this clamorous life. 
 
 Here, from the quiet of a neighbor town, 
 A young man, master in mechanic arts. 
 Had come and settled. Thriving at his toil, 
 He found home shelter 'neath a friendly roof; 
 A widow, left with children, making place, — 
 Needing to keep her home by lending it, — 
 At board and fire. Daughters three at school, 
 At home, Minette, the eldest, halved her life 
 'Twixt helpfulness and sport ; now village belle. 
 And precedent in dance and repartee ; 
 
PA TRICE g 
 
 Now turned domestic, with quick hand to store 
 House comfort 'gainst his coming ; till she'd grown, 
 Ere well he knew it, native to his life, 
 And part of home's unconscious fixity. 
 
 And when with ampler earnings he spoke out, 
 
 — Sometime the silent lover of Minette, — 
 
 His mind was hers ; and, midst a mother's tears, 
 They married, found a quiet nook, and soon 
 Grew used to wedded happiness. 
 
 These two 
 Made one. Rex Morris and his bride Minette, 
 
 — In gossip of the town as happy pair 
 
 As ever ran Fate's gauntlet, — knew each day 
 A deeper wonder in love's young delight ; 
 She, glad with newness of her name and home 
 To wear them gayly ; he, as one in port. 
 After youth's stormy passage put to rest. 
 
lO PATRICE 
 
 Friends, confidants, she had to speed the day, 
 Rex going early, and so late at home 
 Work sometimes seemed a rival to Minette ; 
 Though all too brief it left him happy space 
 For rest and her. With habit of her youth. 
 She measured evening's worth in terms of wit 
 And merriment, and planned such fresh surprise 
 To make it move more freely, Rex felt wronged, 
 Who would the rather have been still with her. 
 
 Some late wed couples like themselves, Kate Bland, 
 Lance Lavolette, and Molly Dix, and more, — 
 These made a circle that was life of town, 
 A merry membership, where Rex was one 
 Ere well he knew it. And if so there crept 
 A new strange something 'twixt their lives, to hurt 
 Of peace and happiness, they neither spoke. 
 But watched it growing plainer. 
 
PA TRICE 1 1 
 
 '"Tis not I," 
 Rex, thinking long and doubting much, declared, 
 " I am not other than I was, who want 
 But her and quiet." While Minette would say. 
 Troubling in silence o'er it, "'Tis not I, 
 Who still pay wifely duty unto Rex, 
 And am the same." 
 
 So winter rolled away ; 
 And summer came, with plans to break the heat, 
 And temper village dullness with a change. 
 A sea coast forty miles away had salt 
 To season sameness, and they thither went, 
 She and the circle of her friends ; but Rex 
 Kept house at home. Here rest and revel held, 
 Wherein thought sometimes failed her she was wife 
 In such swift pleasure. Or, if once she said, 
 " Were Rex but with us ! " some discordant word 
 Broke lightly on the wish ere well 'twas born. 
 
12 PATRICE 
 
 So finding her, laughed Molly Dix one day : 
 " Dream not of man ungrateful ! He at home 
 Thinks only of his work, and finds an eve 
 With books and quiet fitter to his mood 
 Than half a score of merry wives like you ! 
 How our Minette wed such a sober man 
 Is puzzle of her friends ! " 
 
 Yes, Rex loved work, 
 And loved it well enough to sacrifice 
 All lesser ends ; but could it be that now, 
 Freed from her presence, he found heart to live 
 Near to some purpose never named to her, 
 That held him unregretting ? 
 
 Well she knew 
 The words belied him ; yet she treasured them 
 'Gainst his next coming, when, as ne'er before. 
 She noted quiet of the man, and said : 
 
PATRICE 12 
 
 " I half believe you happier, left alone, 
 Full master of your mood, and with no wife 
 To mar your purpose. Now confess it. Rex, 
 You would not have it other than it is." 
 
 Reproving, he replied : " Miss you, Minette } 
 The question needs no answer. This I think, 
 ' She's happy ' ; and I, looking back, divine 
 How much I've still to bless me." 
 
 "But," she said, 
 " May not loss equal gain in looking back .'' 
 And may not sporting by the shallow shore 
 Have virtue, though rare swimmers dare the deep, 
 To drown sometimes, and sometimes to return 
 Big with a vision no one sees beside .■' " 
 
 Rex laughed her answer ; and then forth they 
 went, 
 
14 
 
 PA TRICE 
 
 To keep appointment for an evening sail , 
 
 Rex sitting in the shadow of the mast, 
 
 Half happy to be near her, half in doubt 
 
 Of deeper blessing that had else been theirs ; 
 
 With Lance for sailor ; who, on many seas. 
 
 Had learned the cunning of the wind and course, 
 
 And could of wide world knowledge tell a tale 
 
 That taxed their faith in listening. Till they rode 
 
 Out of a flood of moonlight into cloud ; 
 
 A low wind whistled round them, and Lance bore 
 
 In silence shoreward, where, confessing fears, 
 
 And praising fortune, they dispersed for sleep. 
 
 So in his absence Rex could see Minette, 
 And think 'twas well with her, who needed more 
 Than village dullness and domestic round ; 
 And work the harder, that she might one day 
 Have larger scope and freedom. 
 
PATRICE I^ 
 
 But Minette, 
 Mistaking patience in him for reproof, 
 Walked freer for his going, and would cry, 
 Half dazzled by adventure when Lance talked, 
 " I'd break the slavery of a factory bell, 
 Be no more drudge, and round the merry world 
 I'd circle with the sun — were I a man!" 
 
 Once boy among them, and then six years gone, 
 Lance had come back a stranger, bearded, bronzed; 
 The master, rumor said, of many tongues, 
 And plainest master of an ease unknown 
 In village manners. Rumor said again, 
 He'd mined a fortune in far eastern fields, 
 And well might idle, if he would. At least. 
 He so took lavish right, and lived his will. 
 
 With all he walked, talked, trifled ; with Minette 
 No oftener than the rest, yet oft enough 
 
1 6 PATRICE 
 
 To speed the summer, and make thought of home 
 Oppressive in its stillness. This seemed life, 
 The daily freedom of a new-found joy ; 
 While there was duty, routine, and such rest 
 As wearied her to think of. 
 
 Though Rex loved, 
 His love lacked piquant flavor, once she plumbed 
 Its placid depths ; and meaningless it seemed 
 To be reflected in so still a sea ; 
 With men like Lance, whose happy art could say 
 A graceful nothing gracefully, and pass. 
 
 And so, returning home, a shadow fell 
 
 Still, stern around her. Nothing seemed to mind, 
 
 And naught made good the light and motion gone 
 
 Of that swift pleasure ; though to social call, 
 
 — A helpless village waiting on her wit, — 
 
 She still cried yes, ere frowning Rex said no ; 
 
PATRICE ly 
 
 And to occasion lent herself so oft 
 He fain must follow, helpless. 
 
 Lance still came, 
 A frequent visitor ; and, having learned 
 Her need of him in loneliness, declared, 
 The want so graceful in her must be met. 
 And came the oftener. Till diverted ways 
 Made home as restless as the mart or street. 
 And, if Rex played the critic, — less afraid 
 What men might say than of some threatening 
 
 fact, — 
 She cried, "And would you narrow woman's way, 
 As if God spoke in gossip, and bound men 
 To listen, when good wives make common cause 
 Against the general doing .-•" 
 
 So, toward ill 
 That vaguely threatened him. Rex held his peace, 
 
1 8 PATRICE 
 
 Still feeling wrong, but, as against a wife, 
 The rather doubting doubt than one so dear. 
 Accusing self, for her he found excuse ; 
 And thought how woman lengthens her still lot 
 To sameness, wanting contact with the world. 
 To lighten with new phase familiar care ; 
 While man meets rivals in a world of change. 
 Is dared, outdone, and evermore spurred on 
 To ampler undertaking. So was just, 
 And so turned jealousy to larger trust. 
 
 And when she met him, clinging with new warmth, 
 And making him confession of the life 
 She bore within her bosom, — his and hers, — 
 He took her to his heart, forgetting blame. 
 And meeting with man's strength her doubts and 
 fears. 
 
 It happened so that one day in a heat 
 Of talk between a man rebellious, — bid 
 
PATRICE ig 
 
 A quick departure, — and himself, Rex threw 
 Aspersion on his life, neglected home, 
 And self-abasement in the mire of drink ; 
 Then kindlier caution, that on conduct hung 
 All future favors, — when he caught the taunt 
 To throw it back, and at the open door 
 Dealt such a blow as staggers strongest men, 
 And wakes the pride in them to torture : — 
 
 "He! 
 The open panderer to a low man's lust. 
 The blear-eyed dupe of women such as his, 
 The easy host, and pity of the town ! " 
 
 Enough! The door by force of its ejectment 
 Shut out the hateful words. Work still went on ; 
 But thro' the silent room, and 'neath grave looks, 
 Low bent on busy benches. Rex could feel 
 What measured misery may be in words. 
 
20 PATRICE 
 
 From man to man, he gazed and found no eye 
 To answer, — silence seeming their consent, 
 Confession if they dared, they well might say, 
 "The charge is true," 
 
 He wrestled with himself, 
 To force denial from his craven fear. 
 And right himself and her to all the world ; 
 But could not by a breath break up this weight 
 So world-like on him, though he wear the wrong 
 Unrighted by a word till Judgment Day. 
 
 Then turned he on himself ; to stand, a man. 
 Halting 'twixt swift denial and such words ! 
 The falsehood bruited to the world, and he 
 As silent as a liar when the truth 
 Comes home, unconscious of his rectitude. 
 Yet shame self as he would, he was not brave. 
 Bitterer than all, the coward in him rose. 
 
PATRICE 
 
 21 
 
 The outgrown doubt of her, the hate of self 
 That, false or true, such things should ever be. 
 
 The long day, weary and o'ercast, gave place 
 To early darkness. On the wall, the lights 
 Flickered and mocked him as from hope to hate 
 The better mood within him fell to worse. 
 Till maddened by the stillness of the room, 
 And eyes that hid a laugh behind their work. 
 He threw aside toil's implements, and broke 
 Into the night. 
 
 Should he seek Minette, 
 To challenge honor in a new-made wife.-' 
 Nay, homeward, but undoubting, he would go ; 
 Ripe questions on his lips, though known before 
 How honest woman fronts the hint of wrong ; 
 Light playful questions, doubts he hardly felt. 
 And fears that were not his, confessing them. 
 
22 PA TRICE 
 
 What trust soever failed, Minette was true ! 
 He, bowed and brooding, said : Minette was true, 
 Though falseness honeycombed the heart of things. 
 And all men, raving, hid 'neath such a lie 
 The lie their life had been ! Minette was true ! 
 The lamp set for his coming said ; the sign 
 That, too, had failed him, if her love had failed. 
 But this night shone as brightly as the best. 
 So, eager leaping as a boy, he brushed. 
 Half prostrate in the dark, a reeling form, 
 That fell and cursed him. Stopping to restore, 
 The man rebuffed him, and with drunken leer 
 Laughed him defiance. 
 
 " How the rich forget. 
 And carry shame as lightly as the poor ! 
 No, let me be ; and hasten where she waits ; 
 Fair wife, fond husband ! Hasten, ere you lose 
 Fine proof to point a drunken fool's revenge. 
 
PA TRICE 
 
 23 
 
 Go, go!" And laughed, as with no lagging pace 
 His victim darted from him. Haunting laugh, 
 Rex could not distance, flee it as he would ! 
 While echoes of it in the woods and winds 
 With mournful iteration kept the theme ; 
 Till this fair serious world of but a day 
 Mocked, at him as he passed. 
 
 And then the door, 
 That faced his fears with dreaded certainty. 
 And latch that lay so heavy to his hand ! 
 Within he heard low tones, protesting ; prayers 
 Smothered in tears ; then, laughing its reply. 
 The voice familiar of Lance Lavolette, 
 — When, leaping the low threshold, he stepped in. 
 
 Lance turned and faced him ; even gave a hand, 
 
 As friend will offer greeting to a friend. 
 
 To speak the pleasant evening; while Minette, 
 
24 PA TRICE 
 
 Now crimsoned with reproach, now pale with fear, 
 Uplifted changeful face from each to each ; 
 Defiant, yet so apt at artifice, 
 All had been covered, had Rex willed it so. 
 
 Not so he willed it. Pitiful but stern, 
 He stood intent upon his wrong. Lance passed, 
 Politely bowing, but he saw him not ; 
 Thinking alone how deeply he had loved, 
 And with what measure love had meted out 
 Its bitter fruit. 
 
 Ah, to a patient ear 
 How, prettily confessing, she had struck 
 Some ancient chords of music, with excuse 
 Widened to fill the gaping place of fact, 
 And aptest penitence to meet the need ! 
 Save that he would not hear her, turned away 
 Repellent, shuddering, with his deep, fixed eyes. 
 
PA TRTCE 
 
 2$ 
 
 That would not lighten on her misery ; 
 
 But weighed her and was just, and would not speak. 
 
 Once had he sworn, if such a lie could be, 
 
 To force confession of it ; or, in doubt, 
 
 Had framed light questions, to assure his trust, 
 
 For playful utterance. Nothing helped him now : 
 
 So little virtue hath a faithless wife 
 
 He could not speak nor listen. 
 
 Round him reeled 
 The memory haunted room, with pictured walls, 
 — The hanging of a thousand happy hopes, — 
 As blank as he at love's last masquerade. 
 While fearful less of accusation than 
 This silent horror of his haunting eyes, 
 Minette found words to weary him, and prayers 
 Thrust back upon her answerless ; till she, 
 Resentful, lapsed as silent as himself. 
 And saw him gco unfed into the nisrht. 
 
26 
 
 PA TRICE 
 
 The dull round of a woe that lives and hath 
 No buried beauty, woke with him at morn, 
 And walked a shadow with him, whispering low 
 In all the rumbling of the wheels of work. 
 Only at night, with late-bound, lagging step. 
 He sought home's worn-out welcome; open doors, 
 That said, " Who enters, finds the hearth-stone cold ; 
 Who sups, sups lightly, for the guests are gone; 
 And love waits here for no one ; " sleeping still 
 And waking, fellow to the general want. 
 One night the more. 
 
 Indifferent to his ways, 
 Minette gave meagre service ; came and went 
 At impulse 'twixt a mother's home and his ; 
 Keeping the quarrel from the world's wide eyes, 
 — A prudent mother's caution: Social might 
 Still makes the weakest suffer, and men dare 
 The comment woman ne'er found pitiful ; 
 
PATRICE 27 
 
 And she had best hope that the breach would heal, 
 And old needs, waking up in absence, force 
 His frigid silence to a late return. 
 
 So calming conscience where no eye accused, 
 She kept from daily slight her self-respect ; 
 Confiding fears of wakening motherhood 
 In ears maternal, till her weakness stood 
 Reproach between them of such plain neglect. 
 
 A mother hath late ears for light report 
 In filial conduct; can, with single faith, 
 Outweigh the bristling doubt of multitudes. 
 And ease with words of trust the troubled sleep 
 Of injured innocence. Minette was ill, 
 And had so suffered at unfeeling hands 
 She needs must find a shelter, coming home. 
 So they together watched Rex come and go. 
 'Twas plain he cared not for his own nor her; 
 
28 >°^ TRICE 
 
 Within, around him, lay so dead a world, 
 Hope sprang not from the ashes. Day but spread 
 Another span his life must wear away ; 
 While red night, sinking weary in the west, 
 Brought but a slight reprieve of pressing care. 
 
 Days, weeks, he kept familiar walls, the while. 
 
 Unnoted, round him rolled the world away. 
 
 He knew not how to live. The sportive sense 
 
 Of blessedness in action, zest in toil. 
 
 And breathing deep the bounty of the air. 
 
 Seemed things remembered, faint and far away. 
 
 Like boyish memories 'midst a later care. 
 
 Nor e'en when, later, they light pressed his arms 
 
 With burden of a boy, born over night, 
 
 — Smiling unconscious on this troubled world, — 
 
 Dared he rejoice; but wept, not knowing why; 
 
 So full earth seemed of helpless, eager life, 
 
 So rich in promise under-girt with pain. 
 
 He hardly dared love e'en so pure a thing. 
 
PATRICE 29 
 
 'Must child of such a mother needs be his! 
 His child so damned at threshold of its days, 
 He could not, would not, own it ! ' 
 
 Till a throb 
 Of late found pity spared the double guilt 
 Of father's faithlessness and mother's wrong. 
 
 In better hours, he loved and blessed the babe ; 
 Broke truce with bitterness, and owned his smile 
 A solace; lengthening idle hours in play. 
 With dimpled fingers clinging in his hair. 
 And baby laughter loosening the great weight 
 So world-like on him. Till in lifted eyes. 
 That loved a knotted frown, a likeness fell 
 Of Lance, half caught, yet never wholly lost, 
 That drove Rex from him; — guilty mother's 
 
 thought, 
 Left like a shadow on the boy's bright face, 
 
30 
 
 FA TRICE 
 
 So mixing fatherhood with loathsome thoughts, 
 He thrust him in another's arms, and fled. 
 House-weary, hateful of his kind, to wastes 
 Where nature matched with her still solitude 
 The solitudes of self. 
 
 The mill below 
 Made noisy answers to the narrow stream. 
 Tumbling and talking down its rocky bed ; 
 The smoke, puffed idly in the passing gale, 
 Rose to his feet, and round him cldudlike lay ; 
 While hum of men, the traffic of the street, 
 A mimic murmur on faint senses fell. . 
 No answer had he for the bell that broke 
 Morn's stillness with its summons, or at night 
 With homeward footsteps stirred the drowsy street. 
 Oppressive to him seemed the passing throng, 
 With servile strain in laughter, and close air 
 Left hot with murmurs as he passed along. 
 
PA TRICE 
 
 31 
 
 No resource for him but the hills and fields, 
 Where, facing self in loneliness, his fears. 
 Arms distant from him, took their rightful shape, 
 And trouble stood to him for what it was ; 
 Testing her love and his, to find at last 
 What hope still lay between them. 
 
 Last of all 
 Rose baby eyes against her, taunting him 
 With many a likeness to Lance Lavolette ; 
 His child by every tie of fatherhood. 
 Yet half another's in the fatal light 
 Of her most recreant thinking. 
 
 Then he ceased, 
 Battling no more with his rebellious self ; 
 And he who once walked proudly, giving all 
 An open, fearless greeting, walked again, 
 And sunk his trouble in a great resolve : 
 
32 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 To break all bonds of service, own no ties, 
 Not e'en what bound him to the boy, — his own, 
 Yet his, he swore, at too great sacrifice; 
 To share no roof with infamy, nor yield 
 Consent of silence to so great a sin. 
 Decreed it so ; and, saying no farewell, 
 Walked on a half-score miles ere well he knew 
 What cost was in the step ; but turned not back, 
 So dark behind, before him, lay the world. 
 He knew, he cared not, whither ; broke a path. 
 Careless and blind, without one faring friend. 
 To dare the world's great emptiness ; and glad 
 To be forgotten, might he, too, forget. 
 
11. 
 
Who hath a palsied hand, and knows no rest. 
 
 Since, wattting action, he fnust stand and wait. 
 Or watch from far the battWs bitter zest, 
 
 A nd wield no weapon of opposing fate; 
 Who prays at patietit altars midst the press 
 
 Of toils and passions, — all his wants taunet, — 
 If love be his, a bootless life to bless. 
 
 He still to Fortune stattds in the deepest debt j 
 Where fulness of life's finer half reveals 
 The fitting answer for each want he feels. 
 
' I ''WO sated years of compromise and sin, 
 
 Without a thought of struggle, Rex declined ; 
 Caring alone, amid this wreck of things. 
 To think no more, and, losing what had been, 
 Sink all that might be in a dreamless sleep. 
 And since men strain too high their tensioned 
 
 love, 
 Love overmuch, and to uncertain hands 
 Intrust their all, 'twere better not to feel. 
 Nor own one tie that more than serves the day 
 With passing comfort. 
 
 Yet, while hating life, 
 Of death he had no hope ; and could not die. 
 Though sick unto the heart of daily use, 
 The round and service of unmeaninsr care. 
 
36 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 So far he drifted from himself, he found 
 No inward protest, heard no warning voice, 
 Insistent in him once of right and truth. 
 While men at moorings hugged the shore and 
 
 said, 
 Passing a ready judgment as he swept to sea, 
 "A braver man had matched a crime not his 
 With courage, and with patience lived it down, 
 Till tenfold blessing topped the time of wrong." 
 
 So some, late mourners, freshly wed ; who soon, 
 
 Trifling a twelvemonth with fair condolence, 
 
 Had learned the goodness of God's ways with 
 
 men ; 
 While none were found to judge him, so bereft 
 A grave denied its verdure to the needs of grief. 
 With living loss to meet them everywhere. 
 And all men hushed before such gaping wounds 
 As shrunk from human pity. 
 
37 
 
 PA TRICE 
 
 No one soothed 
 With rite or priestly unction aching sense ; 
 None gently said, " God loves the early lost, 
 And keeps a treasure 'gainst our future need;" 
 But passed a shadowed sorrow with the hint 
 They could not help it. 
 
 "Faith in men," Rex cried, 
 "'Tis but a mirror where we see ourselves; 
 A trick of temperament, a nerve of rest, 
 That blinds us to life-broken harmonies ! 
 And virtue, social savior though it be, 
 Is not one thing for all men. Native now, 
 'Tis but a colder current in the blood ; 
 And now one takes it captive, but to find 
 His best may turn against him at abuse, 
 Recoil upon itself, and grow a vice, 
 Till hating hollow Right that rings so loud ; 
 Since good so often comes to ill, he fain 
 Loves ill the better that forgets the good." 
 
38 PATRICE 
 
 Faithless of men and women, deep Rex drained 
 The dregs so sluggish in the cup of life ; 
 Looked on the wasting hurry of the world 
 As sport for idle jesters ; its sham worth 
 The costly setting of a well-placed play ; 
 Devotion making but a poor pretence 
 In earth's inherent nothingness. 
 
 Sometimes, 
 Sense shrinking in him from the depths of sense, 
 He drew back satiate ; laid a desperate hand 
 To labor; hurled himself midway the flood 
 Of some great undertaking, and scarce slept 
 To strike the day's first note of service. 
 
 Life, 
 So fanned to sudden flame, found undreamed points 
 Of human sympathy. With men he toiled, 
 And, sharing weariness and rest, renewed 
 
PA TRICE 39 
 
 His faith in fellowship ; and had been firm 
 To stand 'gainst all temptation, but for days 
 That came at intervals with nought to do, 
 And former friends in misery, fierce to claim 
 So rare a comrade, — one who had no fear. 
 And much forgetting, could make swift the day. 
 
 That honor had been dear, dishonor told ; 
 While hate stood witness love had once been strong. 
 So much, above the weakness of the man. 
 The man, the coward, clung to ; as he slaked 
 Accusing conscience with the sop of wrong 
 Thrown to him in the troubled streets of life. 
 And still he had been loyal to his faith. 
 By none outdone in kindly words and deeds. 
 But that his faith had failed him. Then by hate 
 He steadied his weak feet to stand alone 
 In life's unequal contest. Till his will, 
 In losing fight between himself and fat^, 
 
40 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 In sockets of indulgence burnt so low, 
 
 He let chance have full play, and stood aside 
 
 Indifferent to the issue. 
 
 Cynic thought 
 Succeeded in his mind the mood of shame ; 
 He held himself the peer of any man, 
 No worse, no better; worse alone than they 
 Of blinder eyes or readier acquiescence ; 
 Since, having well outgrown his dreams, he found 
 With later eyes of fact no happy homes ; 
 No women true, if tempters did not fail; 
 No honest men eiiougJi gold would not buy ; 
 Nor love that lasts to more than use the love 
 That's fickle like itself. 
 
 So ran his creed : 
 The statement of his wrongs read into things. 
 And meeting him in nature everywhere. 
 
PATRICE 41 
 
 Scales fell in chance recovery from his eyes, 
 And he, as others, saw the poor pretence, 
 And knew his weak life for the thing it was. 
 No speech he had with women, neither place 
 With men, — reproach and protest meeting him 
 In very air he tainted ; while within 
 A memory rose against his sanity, 
 Minette, once his, and evermore a part 
 Of his unequal courage, came to turn 
 His late repentance to a laugh, and say, 
 He could not other be than what he was, 
 Dragged to the level of a common shame, 
 And sharing her light stigma. 
 
 Far from men. 
 And torment of a mind so ill at ease. 
 He fled, in hope of places to supply 
 The lacking peace of self. There was no rest. 
 How far soe'er he wandered, for a heart 
 That thorned itself in living. 
 
42 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 Yet in one, 
 A city well beyond its teens, and sure 
 By all the local prophecy of growth, 
 Not over large for finding self at times, 
 But large enough for cover, he found home, 
 And said it pleased him well to live and die. 
 
 Where one day rumor found him, and a friend 
 Asked him in passing, "Had he heard the worst? 
 Minette, abandoned, at her mother's house 
 Lay dying; and the child this two months dead!" 
 
 He broke in grimly, 'Twas not worst, but best ! 
 Since death takes little from a life so lost 
 It dying could not even leave him free, 
 Who might not trust a friend in all the world, 
 So much of faith died with her ' 
 
 And the boy ! 
 He set his heart in stoic gratitude 
 
PATRICE 
 
 43 
 
 To say 'twas well, since men may come to worse ; 
 And would not, could not weep him. Better so, 
 Than live to shudder at a mother's name ! 
 
 Then fresh distrust he spread thro' all his talk ; 
 Shocking e'en callous ears of infidels. 
 While good men wondered at a wound so deep 
 It left him propless. 
 
 What in earth or heaven 
 Could whiten such a soul, they asked. And Rex, 
 Passing a knot of righteous men in talk, 
 Both heard and kept the query : — 
 
 What, indeed, 
 Still asked the mocking echo as he went ! 
 While, laughing back, he questioned o'er and o'er 
 What worth could whiten such a soul as his ! 
 Now threw it on the air in scorn, or flung 
 Its flippant challenge to the street. 
 
44 PATRICE 
 
 Such words, 
 And harped on such a string, a woman heard ; 
 And, pausing at so young a man's despair, 
 Made answer : — 
 
 "What, indeed?" she smiled and said, 
 " Unless the worth heaven put in every soul 
 To be and save itself!" So standing there, 
 With gentle front to face expected scorn, 
 — The street's cold laughter of deep unbelief. 
 That never fell. Rex had no oaths for her. 
 And hate rejectant of her words he hushed. 
 And on the instant half believing stood, 
 And wondered, questioned, doubted most of all. 
 
 A still face fair and sunny, with late youth 
 Ripening amidst its years, and latent force 
 In calmness; one to trust. Rex thought, and said, 
 " Though it were as you say, I might not stop ; 
 
PA TRICE 
 
 45 
 
 Street currency with me is at the risk 
 Of woman's reputation," — touching hat 
 To pass her and be gone. 
 
 " The risk is mine, 
 Who most should fear it, and do not," she said ; 
 " And greater need, so all you charge be true. 
 To match the danger with a woman's faith. 
 I surely had lived twice your years in vain. 
 If, dull to your young hurt, I passed it by, 
 As if I'd never known one of my own. 
 Believe that every hurt has help ; and yours 
 One day of need shall find it." 
 
 First words these, 
 That, breaking up his sorrow, strangely fell 
 On unfamiliar ears. And were they true .'' 
 And dared he trust a woman's pity .'* 
 
46 PATRICE 
 
 Nay, 
 He shrank within him from such help ; and, 
 
 backed 
 By schooling of his long indifference, 
 Stood by the lesser risk of steadfast doubt ; 
 And thanked her, — as one might a seeming saint 
 He knew for what she was, a gilded lie, — 
 And passed ; not noting how she wore the slight. 
 And pitied more than blamed him. 
 
 Passing years 
 Had made familiar to her such a strain. 
 The man was needy, and the need would prove 
 Her own words worthy. So she patient turned 
 To schooling of a score of girls at home. 
 An orphan household, gathered whence she might. 
 And mothered, till, to wives or workers grown. 
 They filled more useful stations, and went forth 
 Blessing her name, and leaving place for more. 
 
PATRICE .y 
 
 So much she gave to stem what part she might 
 The rising tide of social evil ; toiled, 
 Indifferent to rebuff or ridicule, 
 In street or brothel, some slight good to bring; 
 Where woman's ribald laugh, man's drunken leer. 
 The fumy wit of street facetiousness, 
 .Fell harmless on her, so 'mong many needs 
 One welcomed her to help it. 
 
 Once as poor 
 As poorest of her pensioners, she loved, 
 And lived ten honored years as wife of one 
 Rich, honored, noble. When, his work undone. 
 He, dying, left her wealth, it seemed not hers. 
 But his, through weaker hands to work, and be 
 The later crown of his accomplishment. 
 She held her days in payment of a debt; 
 And, having seconded each living wish, 
 Foresaw his wise intentions, being dead, 
 And toiled as in his presence. 
 
g PATRICE 
 
 Hers the work 
 And his, she joined no noisy charities, 
 Believing heart to heart one voice that speaks 
 Outweighs the chorused pity of a crowd; 
 Till some declared aloofness gave the lie 
 To all her work ; nor was that charity 
 Which works outside the chartered lines of sect. 
 
 So said a sisterhood, that dinned the streets, 
 This strong drink rampant, with their prayers and 
 
 tears ; 
 And would not own a steadfast purpose, which 
 Though waiving local spasms kept on its way ; 
 So much with men do methods outweigh deeds 
 That e'en in service Margaret Worth had sinned. 
 
 'Twixt two such fevers the town's life was parched ; 
 These women waking very stones to prayer 
 For sottish men; while good wives, standing by, 
 
PA TRICE 49 
 
 Too well knew value of heaven's richest word 
 Before a tortured nerve that cries for drink ; 
 And laughed at this fine leisure for reform, 
 This strength to hate the sin, no sinners theirs 
 To follow and defend. 
 
 Still moved the work : 
 One door most haunted, where a knot of men 
 Staked fortunes of the day on fickle dice ; 
 And, filling cups defiant of the world, 
 Drank to the death of Care. 
 
 Here fell a peace. 
 Oft ending in a fray that barred the door 
 'Gainst pious meddling; where, in this free air. 
 To hush his thoughtful clamors. Rex would come ; 
 Hang listless on the scene, and frown at wit, 
 Or laugh at maudlin tears, as one by one 
 He watched the fickle humors of despair. 
 
-Q PATRICE 
 
 Here were rare friends for one who hates his kind : 
 Strong men and weak; some weak from very 
 
 strength, 
 And some by nature mocking man's estate; 
 Those stripped in panics, and the giddy poor 
 Beggared by wealth too sudden; and limp souls. 
 With drunkard currents in the blood, that lacked 
 But one light draught to nerve them 'gainst the 
 
 world. 
 Here lovers sunk their woes, and wide-eyed men, 
 Thinking too deeply, found lost arts of sleep ; 
 While shuddering Wrong this side the flaming lights 
 Shook off grim Conscience. 
 
 One there was Rex watched, 
 An old man, gray and trembling, whose bent head 
 Straightened above his cups, and dreamy eyes 
 Caught through the steaming mists the light of yore; 
 Whose brow unknotted and weak hands grew firm. 
 
PATRICE 
 
 51 
 
 As languid comfort overlay his limbs, 
 Creeping from eye and lip to final length 
 Of his light figure on the sanded floor. 
 
 So taking measure of an old man's joy, 
 The cynic in him said : — 
 
 " To this we come ! 
 How restful must life's ripened memories be ! 
 How sweet above all blessing to call back 
 The faded dreams, that waken at a dram, 
 And sleep with it so soon ! These years set ill 
 On his shrunk shoulders, who at threescore kills, 
 As I at thirty, hopeless days and nights ; 
 And finds nought better in this world than sleep." 
 
 Old Seth Penhallow slumbered; on the wall 
 Late lights grew dimmer, while the din of oaths 
 Sank to a maudlin murmur. Then Rex rose. 
 And, sick to heart with useless fancies, fled. 
 
52 
 
 PA TRICE 
 
 One night, across the threshold, as one dead. 
 The old man dropped ; the nightwind floated in. 
 With shrill notes of the women lifting prayer, 
 Met by a cursing chorus from within. 
 Rex started. 
 
 Had the man no home, no wife .-* 
 Unanswered while he held the helpless form. 
 And waited. 
 
 " Follow me," said Margaret Worth, 
 Unnoted 'mongst the silenced worshippers. 
 "A daughter keeps her nightly watch hard by. 
 Who'll suffer some the less for what you do. 
 And thank you for it." 
 
 Staggering on, a light 
 Streamed o'er his path, and, peering into night, 
 A fair face, startled, met them. 
 
PATRICE 
 
 53 
 
 Was he dead ? 
 No, no, thank heaven ! " And you, sir ? " Rex 
 
 drew back. 
 " An hour ago we drank together ; nay, 
 You should not thank me, since we're of a sort. 
 And needs must help each other now and then." 
 
 One lustrous look of pity full she turned. 
 Facing him as he fled, as one would say, 
 " I see you suffer ; take a woman's wish. 
 Well used to burdens, yours may haply lift." 
 
 The truth unstudied in that look so stung 
 Him to the doubt of all his faithlessness, 
 He trusted her. One woman's heart was true; 
 One patient life and pure, without reproach. 
 Had pitied him his share in common shame ; 
 And he who had withstood a tide of scorn 
 Was helpless at compassion. 
 
54 PATRICE 
 
 Where he went, 
 Went with him kindness in a fair young face, 
 A troubled face that yet could smile on him ; 
 Till cynic night laughed at the charity ! 
 
 He helped of woman, who but now had risen 
 Weighted with woman's tenderness ! " Nay, nay ; 
 He happiest is who hangs not on the freak 
 Of fickle virtue, and, by false or true 
 Untroubled, fearless, hopeless, keeps his way ! " 
 
 Then, meeting Margaret Worth, he spoke his doubt, 
 And laughed to hear her eulogy. Such faith 
 Were rarest honor e'en 'mong rogues, he thought ; 
 And dwelling on the cost of his experience. 
 Remembered it and cried, " Pain is a price, 
 Men pay for something, and if wise hold fast 
 For treasures of experience. It seems 
 Life leaves most faithless him who most has lived ; 
 And I've believed too much to more believe," 
 
PATRICE 
 
 55 
 
 "Yet nothing speaks as life," she said. "To ask 
 The children whom she teaches more would tell 
 Than one poor life 'gainst what a life should be 
 Opposed in doubt so sweeping. See her life; 
 A daily toil for shelter, his and hers ; 
 A nightly watch when, wrestling with her pride. 
 Her pity triumphs, and she smiles on him, 
 And shields from neighbor eyes their shadowed 
 
 home. 
 And surely manly men will not deny 
 Patrice Penhallow's due at hands of men." 
 
 Oft as he met her 'midst the clinging brood 
 That bore her company, he wistful looked, 
 And passed, not speaking. 
 
 Teachers walk the town 
 'Neath jealous batteries of parental eyes ; 
 And towns and teachers well might disagree 
 
56 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 To see him keeping step. Yet very sight 
 And very passing of her seemed to say, 
 Mark how a truthful woman bears herself ! 
 
 In evening walks she questioned Margaret Worth: 
 "The man was plainly honest, told the worst, 
 And might be bettered, blest with one to say 
 The battle's worth the fighting." 
 
 Till agreed 
 In pity, they made place at sight of him 
 To walk beside them. 
 
 ' Men will say,' he thought, 
 'The elder airs her newest charity. 
 And spare Patrice their censure.' So he walked, 
 With still lips drinking in the murmurous flow 
 Of speech and laughter, till the dusk came down, 
 And left them at her door. 
 
PATRICE 57 
 
 And sometimes then, 
 She asking, he consented to go in, 
 And wait an hour with her, talking low. 
 Or sitting still and shadowed till Jie came ; 
 When, cursing helplessness, he went his way. 
 
 Some meaning, missed in later reticence, 
 
 That first swift glance of pity gave, which now 
 
 It piqued him to renew, to know it true, 
 
 Or test it for a sham ; till, trifling so, 
 
 He failed first impulse of self-sacrifice; 
 
 And, when he would have spared her, rather spoke 
 
 As one who hates the truth, and laughs with laugh 
 
 Inconstant to the heart of merriment. 
 
 She trusted still, and ever, as he played 
 In light sarcastic round her serious mood. 
 Met doubting words with sweet sincerity. 
 The falseness patent to him everywhere 
 
58 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 She matched with poise and fixedness ; and saw 
 A better world than seemed, and happier things 
 Than stand in proverbs credited to men. 
 He held her false ; yet such the certainty- 
 She deepened in him with each new delight 
 Of chastened intercourse, from out the wreck 
 Hope sprang for him, and conscience spake anew 
 Creation's fiat 'twixt the right and wrong. 
 
 In hate of this low fever of his life. 
 
 And strange new love of sunshine, Rex rose up, 
 
 And smiled a welcome to the day ; walked forth 
 
 As with the wonder of a child, to find 
 
 Fresh meaning in the fields, a braver air, 
 
 And world grown happy these new days of spring. 
 
 What challenge Nature flung his unbelief ! 
 And with what purpose rolled the patient suns 
 To hope of fruitage ! Everywhere was life, 
 
PATRICE 
 
 59 
 
 A plenty seen in promise, where mischance 
 Seemed never to have place in this great Whole. 
 
 Doubt left him. Though a thousand lives be false, 
 Her life was true ; and by the subtle sum 
 Of all she thought and wished, — an atmosphere 
 And gracious presence wheresoe'er she came, — 
 He knew she was not feigning, and declared. 
 Faith, though it might be false, diviner seemed 
 Than facts safe hoarded 'gainst our hopefulness. 
 And had not his past life come ghost-like in 
 To mar the peaceful moment, faith had held ; 
 But now, once thinking how Minette had been 
 Best of all things believed in to a time 
 That most believes, he lost late sanity. 
 And said, not so he'd cheapen fortitude, 
 And rather would he stand a life alone 
 Than, trifling with so grave a doubt, hope on. 
 
6o ^A TRICE 
 
 So sometimes, careless whether false or true, 
 He'd pledge himself to see her face no more ; 
 Till, happening on her, he forgot resolve, 
 And all as by an impulse, cheating self 
 To think he had not meant it, sought her door. 
 
 Seeing his self-distrust, Patrice divined 
 That wrong had been, in others or himself. 
 And held his hopelessness a sign of hope ; 
 And, still believing in him, forced his faith 
 In something yet left possible ; though pain 
 Was in the goodness that so raised him up. 
 And made his worthless life seem poor and small. 
 
 Till at his best he could have spared her love, 
 And loved her less, had she but like the rest 
 Hated and shunned him ; helpless, so she shot 
 A ray of her fine faith thro' his despair, 
 And yielded blame to pity. 
 
PATRICE 6 1 
 
 How, he asked, 
 Could one so shielded read his life of shame ? 
 Whife open story of her life replied : 
 So many sorrows had she hid in smiles. 
 So oft with tears had taught her eyes to see 
 The griefs of others, that at last she learned, 
 By meeting evil on familiar terms, 
 To find the hidden good, and to its best 
 With gift of humor hold the passing hour. 
 
 To bear a burden where the young should lean. 
 To doubt what childish innocence believes. 
 To hide a secret and to shield a home, 
 When most are making mimicry with dolls. 
 Life's schooling first had taught her. Then she 
 
 learned 
 To weigh the chances in repentant oaths, 
 To clothe the years in pity where they loomed 
 Unsightly in the retrospect, and hold 
 Each fresh-made promise for a hope of good. 
 
62 PA TRICE 
 
 A father may be worthless, yet she held 
 As daughters reckon he's a father still ; 
 Too late to break love's loyal habit then, 
 Too early, though she suffered, to live on 
 Alone. 
 
 Excuses woven fine of love 
 She threw around him, hiding from him hurt. 
 And thrusting pity from her in her pride. 
 She found some talents, wasted, which still claimed 
 Her late respect, and, but for bitter fate, 
 Had come to fruit in countless ends of good. 
 He told them to her when his fevers lulled, 
 And would have credence, while he feigned regret, 
 And lifting hands of protest swore anew 
 She should have cause to love him ; all the time 
 Returning fever in him cried for drink. 
 
 A man without an enemy save self; 
 
 So wrought for pleasing and for love to please 
 
PA TRICE 63 
 
 He fell a social victim, knew no bounds 
 When passed from lip to lip the cup of cheer, 
 And mirth made light of many a brave resolve. 
 Till second selfhood rose against his will, 
 Hope kneeled to habit, and with broken sway 
 Distracted purpose in him came to nought. 
 
 So had her mother loved him ; trusting oaths 
 And weeping failure, till the short years seemed 
 A lifetime of defeat, and death a boon. 
 She married him — a household saying nay — 
 At cost of other love, as if reform 
 But hung on such deep vows and need of her. 
 It pleased his fancy to be saved with love ; 
 Such generous ardor and fresh faith a sign 
 With happier portents he might still be free ; 
 Till, firm in three months' soberness, he said, 
 Since time enough was left him to be good, 
 He might be happy yet a little while, 
 
64 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 And so fell back on former ways of ill. 
 So, by the past and present bound, Patrice 
 Walked in a shadow that Rex could not know. 
 
 But when a day came bringing sudden death, — 
 The old house hushed in sorrow, and Patrice 
 Bereft of e'en care's dear companionship, — 
 He straightway staked his faith upon her need. 
 And held her sacred in the light of grief 
 From longer buffet of belief and doubt ; 
 As one who might be trusted, loved, and helped, 
 Whose fineness all the world would prey upon. 
 
 And when she came to share a common roof, 
 — A public board between them, — smiling still, 
 She moved his pity with mock cheerfulness. 
 'Twas plain she bravely covered wounds, and bore 
 A silent burden in these unused ways. 
 The home light gone, and stranger tones to rasp 
 
PATRICE 65 
 
 An ear attuned to household harmony. 
 
 He grudged this table intercourse, these smiles, 
 
 These words for all, — till Conscience cried: "Too 
 
 fast! 
 None more than you may compromise the way 
 Of woman's helplessness ; and such a friend 
 Well might, to prove him friendly, leave her free 
 To mate with foes." 
 
 Till, listening, he gave heed; 
 And schooled himself to speak a light farewell 
 Some careless hour, and see her face no more. 
 And lest love might betray him at the last. 
 He practised formal phrase and ready hand 
 To make the parting easy, and so chill 
 The heart that might have loved him to forget. 
 
 In public parlors whence the guests had gone. 
 Rex found Patrice at evening, paced the floor, 
 
66 PATRICE 
 
 While she with nimble fingers knit a skein 
 To keep the routine of a Christmas gift, 
 With bent brows on the work, or lifted eyes 
 To question his quick passing. 
 
 His she was ; 
 By every law of being bound, as one 
 Who might for honest asking be his wife. 
 Not caring to be happy at such cost, 
 He swore to shield her from herself and him ; 
 With hardness ill assumed and hurried hand, 
 Said distant duty called him, and he, — well, — 
 He'd say good-bye, since business breaks all ties, 
 And supersedes excuses. 
 
 Then she turned 
 Protestant on him, with a woman's plea 
 For rights in friendship, price the friendly pay, 
 Who will not drop their faith as, on a stage 
 
67 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 When dips the curtain, lovers fall apart, 
 To put wide room 'twixt such limp ecstasies. 
 So friend to friend he should not pass and say, 
 ' My compliments that we may meet again. 
 And God be with you, so you let me go, 
 And ask no questions ! ' 
 
 So he would have gone, 
 Had coward reason in him had its way ; 
 But frank appealing moved a speech as frank. 
 
 "Daily I've fought my faith, each day the more 
 Trusting and lov'ng you. You cannot know 
 What past embitters, blinds me, to all worth ; 
 Till now, to save you, I would leave you so. 
 And spare us both this loving. Even yet 
 Doubt struggles with devotion, but to end 
 In surer confidence you better are 
 Than best love holds you. Let me go, as cold 
 
58 PATRICE 
 
 As erst I was, and lately willed to be ; 
 
 And, henceforth strangers, let us think no more, 
 
 Or think 'twas but a fancy. I grow strong 
 
 To hurt you with abruptness, so the sUght 
 
 May wean you from the thought of such a friend." 
 
 She seized the fine intent; such worth thrown out 
 From degradation, and in worst despite 
 Held him above a thousand conscious saints ; 
 And, putting woman's estimate on love, 
 BeUeved him saved already, needing her. 
 
 This downcast humor of the man, the hurt 
 Familiar to her in his trembling hand, 
 The self repentant of itself, forsworn 
 In brow hung heavy and weak coward eyes. 
 Woke half-forgotten memories. Habit leaped 
 Impulsive to the call, and ancient care 
 Came back to meet the newness of this need. 
 
PA TRICE 
 
 69 
 
 She answered want with want and faith with faith, 
 And, saying nothing, yet so gave her eyes, 
 With hands outstretched to help and answer him, 
 He could not doubt her. 
 
 Then his battle came 
 In Armageddon straits, rebellious self 
 By duty beaten back from her wide arms ; 
 Now strong in very knowledge that she loved, 
 To take no treasure where plain loss was hers ; 
 Now weak, so weak he turned from her and fled ; 
 And pledging self to see her face no more, 
 A moment paused, to fix the shape and hue 
 Of what she had been to him 'gainst the time 
 Of futile recollection. 
 
 Then her cry, 
 So low love only heard it, forced him back ; 
 And seeing each in each the woe they dared, 
 
70 
 
 FA TRICE 
 
 They fell in tumult in each other's arms, 
 Lay locked in wonder and wild throbbing fear; 
 Till stillness of their blessing grew a pain 
 That must have utterance. 
 
 " Patrice," he said. 
 Remorse still lingering in the cup he drained, 
 " If love like yours be heaven, mine, too, is hell ! 
 I hurt you in this joy, and drag you down. 
 Who should lift up, and, as God gave to man, 
 Be somewhat king and helper. 
 
 " Yet you bend. 
 As to a beggar, and with pity say, 
 To save me by your woman's faith, — ' I love.' " 
 
 Her trembling lips denied him this reproach, 
 And would have spoken, had his full heart stayed 
 Its tide of feeling ; 
 
PATRICE 71 
 
 " Nay, you suffer wrong, 
 A wrong undreamed of and so unforgiven ; 
 Nor do I wonder that you seem to shrink 
 From such a love as mine. 
 
 Well, let it be! 
 Arms are not always honest, though they clasp 
 Close as the frosts of winter gird the stream ; 
 And kisses lie. 
 
 Your hot hands burn with doubt. 
 While mine are cold. I yield them back, and say. 
 It could not be, and should not, as you see. 
 Truth mates with truth, and what is false forgets ; 
 And I — I must not love you, and will go." 
 
 Breaking the clasp that held them hand to hand. 
 And holding her arms distant from his eyes, 
 He probed her lifted protest ; while she wept. 
 And would not let him go. Then said, 
 
72 
 
 FA TRICE 
 
 " Patrice, 
 Forgive this wrong I read in your deep eyes : 
 You love me, love me truly, and would give 
 Your woman's purity to match the lie 
 My life has been. I feel it in the hold 
 You yield me of these fever-heated hands, 
 And in the witchery that veils your eyes : 
 You love, — I keep the iteration, — love ; 
 And, feeling it, I live, and dare the hope 
 One day to wear it worthily." 
 
 She gave 
 Eyes, hands, and lips to seal the happy promise ; 
 So wrapping him in wonder of her faith, 
 He found new worth in all men, and a peace 
 That had been stranger to him many a day. 
 
III. 
 
Most happy he to whom, ?'« well-earned rest. 
 
 Love brings its blessing ; ivho hath toiled and striven 
 For far-off ends J and, having done his best, 
 
 Knows all his failures are by love foigiven. 
 And every triumph stands by love confessed j 
 
 Life hath no want ; with vision rounding out 
 To larger fact, it finds perpetual zest j 
 
 All issues for him kept fro7n fatal doubt. 
 He moves harmonious, and by nature" s plan 
 Fulfils the ojitward in the inward man. 
 
TTAVING in mind an almost single thought, — 
 To work some work more worthy in men's 
 eyes, 
 The lover of a maiden like Patrice, — 
 Rex wrought and studied. 
 
 Useful it must be, 
 And near enough the general need to stand 
 When time makes light of trifles ; witness, too, 
 Of woman's work, who, calling out the man, 
 Moves in his slumbering talents, and in touch 
 So made creative puts the world in debt ; 
 Showing her worth to others, and himself 
 So reaching nearer to it. 
 
 Dreaming still, 
 And toiling at the dream when day had come, 
 
76 PA TRICE 
 
 His finer purpose shamed each poor attempt, 
 And would not own the product. What he 
 
 wrought — 
 Devise, invention — hinted not her worth, 
 Nor showed to others what she'd been to him ; 
 Nor stood for proof to her of how he loved. 
 It seemed some weightier task, impending, called 
 His hands to labor, where with conscious gift. 
 For want of inward measurement, he failed ; 
 Not ripe enough to anticipate the need 
 Which, holding back occasion, turned to waste 
 His ample powers. 
 
 Yet work must be, he said. 
 Some roughness wanting shape in things, — blind 
 
 force. 
 That holds a blessing, would man make it his ; 
 Some law in nature waiting human skill. 
 Whose secret as he sought it seemed his own. 
 Just as it faded from him. 
 
PATRICE 77 
 
 Lingering late, 
 And toiling early at his task, the end 
 That held and haunted him so long delayed, 
 His mind, with wants unmet, preyed on itself ; 
 And hands unsatisfied, that thrilled to act. 
 And know the action happy, idle hung, 
 Without a fitting work in all the world. 
 
 Patrice kept evening quiet when he came ; 
 Cooling the fever of the day's unrest 
 With wise and tender words, and even urged, 
 When effort pressed his mind too heavily, 
 The yielding of his quest : 
 
 " To worthy men. 
 Worth is not long denied ; and work will come." 
 
 He felt it as she spoke, and with her near 
 Could shake from love-pressed shoulders all his 
 care. 
 
78 
 
 FA TRICE 
 
 She held his weakness — might she call it strength, 
 This stress to stand in better stead with men? — 
 A latent force of fibred character, 
 Whereon as debtor some great cause might hang; 
 Knew he but waited chance, which comes to all, 
 And saves him who will seize it ; speaking so, 
 And soothing fancy with so light a touch. 
 He found fresh heart in failure. 
 
 Late one day. 
 Ere lighting of the lamps, at early dusk. 
 Half-hearted at the little done, he threw 
 Work from him, broke the hateful place, and fled, 
 Patrice in all his thoughts. The busy streets 
 Hurt him with careless life, that least of all 
 Counted a young man's effort worthy note 
 In this great world of fact. Half-way he'd gone, 
 Unmet by Fortune's favor ; none could more. 
 And nought was left him but to cease from strife ; 
 
PATRICE 
 
 79 
 
 When high upon a neighbor block he saw 
 
 Swift hands of men at labor ; paused and thought, 
 
 And said : " How haste must compass slow returns, 
 
 And man be little better than the brute, 
 
 So by his hands alone he works and lives ! 
 
 To man the thinker God bequeathed the world ; 
 
 Midst this dead substance set him, not as brawn, 
 
 To serve it clay with clay, — but mind to thrill 
 
 With life the latent purpose left in things." 
 
 So standing there, with lifted eye and thought, 
 
 That noted not the stare of passing men, 
 
 He swept Toil's history; saw the hardened hand 
 
 That met the rigors of man's earliest need. 
 
 Ere beasts had bent the back to serve him, or 
 
 His brow had broadened to full destiny ; 
 
 Then, man that should be, whom dull matter 
 
 serves ; 
 Who by his thought, not sweat of brow, eats bread. 
 
go PA TRICE 
 
 And, threading earth with finer purpose, thinks 
 The things God thought to being, into use ; 
 And wins by mental blows, not manual. 
 
 For this the world has waited, till one speaks, 
 
 " From bedded mines let light, heat, force, appear ! " 
 
 Creation's fiat in mechanic law, 
 
 Repeated by the man ! Nay, there he stood 
 
 As one transfigured ; on inventive mount, 
 
 He saw the later vision of a law 
 
 That's writ on steely tablets, not in stone, 
 
 Whereby man walks emancipate, with limbs 
 
 That do but sport in matter. 
 
 Hastening home. 
 He wrestled over night with thought, and rose 
 Straightened and pale at morn to face life's work. 
 
 Henceforth, one purpose held him nought could 
 turn, — 
 
< FA TRICE 8 1 
 
 No passing weakness in his mood, nor laugh 
 
 Of men experience makes too wise. Delay, 
 
 That sapped the early interest of a few, 
 
 But deeper wore his own determined plan. 
 
 As his first glimpse more fully grasped the law, 
 
 And impulse strengthened to a steadfast will. 
 
 And when, from months, the lingering process 
 
 claimed 
 Consumption of two tardy years, and all, 
 Barring a half-score friends, had failed in faith, 
 He felt but on the threshold of the task. 
 That magnified, and hardly owned the thought 
 That brought it into being. 
 
 Common haste, 
 That calls for quick returns and ready gold, 
 He slighted, being patient in pursuit. 
 And blest in doing, though the end delayed. 
 And yet, so weak is very strength in man, 
 
82 PATRICE . 
 
 A hundred times, without her, heart had failed 
 In laggard course of conquest. 
 
 She it was 
 Kept council of his secret care, to know 
 What thing he feared, and how he faced the way 
 That led him blind and wondering to his end. 
 All but the toil of toil she shared with him : 
 She could not save the weariness and pain 
 Of ever-present thoughts demanding shape 
 At his weak hands. 
 
 "Still work one must," he cried: 
 "Who once invites the modern Demon, dies 
 As he lives, a slave. Electrical with haste, 
 And thin with tension, very air he breathes 
 Adds to the burden of his daily bread. 
 To force some opposition, fight a wrong, 
 Or push a surplus 'gainst death's last display ; 
 Till that which brings him keenest pulse of life 
 
PATRICE '^T^ 
 
 Stands 'curse of labor' in the general speech. 
 
 The man, still fed at costly sacrifice, 
 
 A whole day labors that beyond the day 
 
 One breath he may call his, and breathe it free ; 
 
 Not often knowing in it end more near 
 
 Than rounding circle of the animal 
 
 With food and sleep. Ah ! this is labor's curse, — 
 
 Not loving what we do, to still toil on. 
 
 With nought that makes of loveless drudgery 
 
 An end divine." 
 
 Nay, with what zest he woke, 
 Glad of another day to gain and do, 
 And blest in thinking work by one step more 
 Should near its ending. Weeks unnoted flew, — 
 All days as one, and nights succeeding days ; 
 Save for the evening's solace, when Patrice 
 Rose to his changing need with love's swift play. 
 And laughed a lighter strain in dullness. Then 
 
84 
 
 PA TRICE 
 
 He blessed her in his going, and declared 
 Love made another day seem possible. 
 
 Yet rest she gave Rex was denied herself, 
 Who lacked the poise and fixedness of one 
 Less eager for the heart of things, and armed 
 With present firmness 'gainst the fear of ill. 
 Nor could she shield self with a smile serene 
 From sense oppressive of life's mystery, 
 That haunted every movement. Mirthfulness 
 She kept a resource from pathetic ill, 
 So quick to feel the fluent life of things, 
 She loved light pleasures, — music of the waltz, 
 And swift forgetfulness of martial strains. 
 
 From sweet to sweet, bee-like, her spirit swung ; 
 A stress upon her lest too long she stay 
 This side the changeful humor of her dream. 
 Restless, she beat her life 'gainst bars of Fate, 
 
PA TRICE 
 
 85 
 
 Unconscious of cool places, where some souls 
 Had dipped life's fever heat in forest dew, 
 And slipped a noon-tide dreamfulness between 
 The dawn and dusk. 
 
 A heart more miserly 
 Had hoarded grains of strength she threw away ; 
 Not anxious to be over-rich in years ; 
 And prone to lavish life on passing things ; 
 As one who, in the freehold of God's gift, 
 Might laugh at science. 
 
 So the world was well ; 
 And all life's pulses of potential good 
 Well worth the taking, — and no more to one 
 Conscious of nothing less and sure of more, — 
 But for this want of something high and real 
 Beyond life's low economies, some Heart 
 Of Fixity in change, and restfulness 
 To calm the fever of love's hopes and fears. 
 
85 PA TRICE 
 
 Two years and yet another two years passed, 
 
 Full to the bitter brim with such delay 
 
 As waits on every great endeavor. Plans, 
 
 Once plain and simple, in progressive need 
 
 Widened to undreamed issues ; till the work 
 
 One day completed, next in ruins lay. 
 
 He well had borne it, but for doubts and fears 
 
 Of blindfold Capital. He, grasping law, 
 
 Could trust the issue to a Principle ; 
 
 While they, who only backed the cause with gold, 
 
 The cause deserted when defeat first fell. 
 
 He bound loose-working elements in one ; 
 Turned opposition to a later help, 
 And even jealousy and fancied wrong 
 Shaped to subservience of the general end ; 
 Stepped smiling in to quell each muttered fear ; 
 Or, when at empty treasuries men drew back, 
 Columbus-like, stood midst them all, 
 
PA TRICE 
 
 87 
 
 And fixed his limit where, in Heu of land, 
 He'd own himself mistaken, and yield all. 
 
 A score of partners, crazed with early hope. 
 Put heart and resource in the work, for which 
 Such hasty purpose failed them. One by one, 
 They tested market value of the man ; 
 Confessed his readiness to read God's laws. 
 And make them useful ; but for poet strain. 
 That babbled in him sickly sentiment. 
 And mixed great Business with the dreams of 
 
 boys, 
 They laughed, repeating his pet follies ! 
 
 "So, 
 
 To lose a point for progress of the race 
 Is latest fashion of the street, — to talk 
 Of ease to ancient burdens, and mankind 
 Henceforth emancipate from menial toil ! 
 
88 PA TRICE 
 
 "Let genius have its dreams: for them, the purse! 
 And, Heaven be thanked, when such slight bau- 
 bles please, 
 One still may trust the ruling sanity. 
 But now, the surer to grasp future fruit, 
 They eased a weak man's confidence, and broke 
 As loud as any into praise of work 
 That helped the race a day's march nearer home ; — 
 The while they plotted such fine faith to use, 
 And wrest from him his rights of ownership. 
 
 But at demand of his far-seeing bond, — 
 Such terms and such for each, or voided claims, — 
 They swore indeed wit from the prudent held 
 Had been revealed to babes ; and, bearing loss. 
 With bitter fancies took themselves away. 
 
 Another came to meet his need with gold. 
 Binding himself in forfeiture to stand 
 
PA TKICE 8g 
 
 And see the work complete, — a gentleman, 
 Familiar with a college course of books, 
 And born exclusive on the town's best side, 
 Who wished beyond the incidental gain 
 The prestige of the work. 
 
 A crisis held. 
 Which taxed the utmost of Rex' failing strength 
 To match inventive need with daily care 
 For daily bread. He must have rest, change 
 
 scene, 
 And think no more a half-score peaceful weeks, — 
 As well he now might do with Dexter Ray 
 To stand in absence leader of the work. 
 
 Far southward, to a land of constant sun 
 He sailed a fugitive, with fifty more 
 Care-weighted men of business. Summer fell, 
 A second summer of ripe tropic fruits 
 
90 
 
 PA TRICE 
 
 And slumberous quiet midst the birds and flowers, 
 Where, one day waking as from pleasant dreams, 
 He knew himself alive, with native pulse. 
 And heart as eager as a boy's for work ; 
 Saying, "Let come what will, I now, in strength 
 Made equal to my day, fear no more ill." 
 So, hastening homeward to his own, he found 
 His own locked fast against him. 
 
 Dexter Ray, 
 A burly watchman at the door, and Law, — 
 Elastic to fit needs of saints and devils, — 
 To help him, answered his demands with, " Nay." 
 He could not enter ; rights he there had none ; 
 And best it were, accepting what must be, 
 To keep the public peace and make no cry. 
 
 Rex turned and said, " So long as Justice 
 
 reigns " — 
 The other stopped him, laughing : " 'Tis too late 
 
PATRICE 91 
 
 To mix the fact of law with sentiment. 
 I beg you note how simple are its terms : 
 One holds, the other yields ; nor is there more 
 In law or justice for the best of men. 
 Go, if you will, rehearse so old a strain ! 
 The street will shrug its shoulders, and resent 
 The foolish iteration. I, meanwhile, 
 Somewhat the loser, would regain my own." 
 
 Rex found no lawyers brave enough to take 
 A case so hopeless ; though the right were his, 
 There were none certain that the right would win. 
 Since Justice waits on money, law, they said. 
 Takes sides with capital ; and who fights gold 
 Has tenfold odds against him, and goes down. 
 Yet one there was gave feeble hint of way, — 
 One not more wise, but kinder than the rest, — 
 Which he, much thinking, turned to strategy. 
 And gained by brandishing injunctive writ. 
 
Q2 PATRICE 
 
 Backed by a pistol gleaming in the dusk, 
 Foothold among his treasures. Then, once there, 
 Alert to prestige which possession gives. 
 He so unhinged the work, took piece from piece, 
 None lived to make it whole. God's right he 
 
 seized, 
 Whereby creative genius dares the world 
 To bind or loose where its fine touch has been. 
 
 Nay, then was time for gathering in of friends, 
 Late lukewarm doubters, who once said the game 
 Had gone against him and he best had yield ; 
 But now from first had known his cause must win. 
 And now would back the venture with their gold, — 
 But for a pressing need. Then critics came ; 
 And craftsmen, fearful Progress still might mean 
 More burdens for the poor, for wealth more ease; — 
 A crowd to test and testify the worth 
 Of work so fought for, let who would be right. 
 
FA TRICE 
 
 93 
 
 After a day so full of friendly praise, 
 
 And running comment capped with proof for all, 
 
 Rex sat at evening with Patrice, and said, — 
 
 " And what above the tumult says Patrice ? 
 
 No height without her had been gained, nor end 
 
 Had seemed worth seeking where her faith had 
 
 failed ; 
 So often have I cried, 'I cannot yield 
 With her strong heart to help me.' " 
 
 Near she pressed, 
 To prove her love in silence. Yet he cried, — 
 
 " You have been far these four years from my 
 
 life; 
 To answer eyes that sought you, lips that called, 
 And heart that in the chill of empty rooms 
 Grew cold without you. Patience proves her work ; 
 
94 PA TRICE 
 
 And I, who've waited long and patiently, 
 Fain would not live another day alone." 
 
 She nestled closer, and with clinging hands 
 Gave and withheld his asking; soothing him, 
 And saying : — 
 
 " Can I come, indeed, dear Rex ? 
 Divide your bounty when the work needs all, 
 And add another to the weights you bear ? 
 All cares save wifehood's loving wives can lay ; 
 And now I bless you with free gift, and now — 
 Forgive my fear — I would not give you less, 
 And least would be your wife at loss to you." 
 
 Still strong to bear with her. Rex left the lie 
 Of coward logic to her woman's heart, 
 And said : " I cannot longer work the work 
 That is not mine, but ours, unless you come. 
 
PA TRICE 95 
 
 You gave it once, and must forever give. 
 See, now I yield it back, a sacred trust, 
 And with it life, force, heart, and all I have, 
 To toil no more alone." 
 
 How swift she flew. 
 Askance at distance in so deep a need. 
 To find assurance in his sheltering arms 
 Love makes at last its own economy. 
 And he, divining with how fine a fear 
 Love tests itself, forgave the long delay, 
 And fell with her to laying happy plans, 
 Prospective of a speedy marriage day. 
 
 It came at last, a smiling summer morn. 
 
 The faint clouds, threatening rain, all brushed 
 
 away, 
 And brightest omens in the air and sky ; 
 A worthy preacher making them take oath 
 
96 
 
 PA TRICE 
 
 Of sacrifice and service ; naming love, — 
 Having outlived it by a score of years, — ^ 
 With lips so cold they shuddered forth reply. 
 
 So married, found themselves a home, and drew 
 Round humble household altars such slight gods 
 As keep the company of struggling men ; 
 Lighted a frugal fire, and heaped the board 
 With plenty of their gladness each in each ; 
 Hiding home's meagre outlines with the art 
 That shines most happy miJst the simplest things. 
 And here ten eager months flew by, till Rex 
 Brought home first trouble, so to consecrate 
 The life each had in each. 
 
 The well-worn tale ! 
 Again work had deceived him. How it moved, 
 Instinct with elemental certainty, 
 Swift ordered to result, and part for part 
 
PA TRICE Q-, 
 
 As perfect as God's law ! When, lo, a jar 
 
 That hushed them with a nameless dread, — a crash, 
 
 Then chaos ! 
 
 Hearts of twelve strong men stood there 
 Heavy and helpless. How like death it seemed ! 
 This stillness, where of late such force had been ; 
 And not a voice courageous to declare 
 The cause of so great failure ! 
 
 Threatening doubt 
 And open hint of rupture round him fell. 
 Men's faces said, "A trust has been betrayed," 
 Their fierce eyes turning from him where alone 
 He fronted all. With firm lips for his fears. 
 He lay quick strokes about him, till light broke 
 Upon the mystery. 
 
 More remained to do : 
 Delay and weariness and wasted means 
 
98 
 
 PA TRICE 
 
 All faced him, heavier in the moment's dread 
 Than heart could bear. And, deepest pain of all, 
 Patrice must share the trouble. 
 
 Till no more 
 He could endure these doubting eyes of men, 
 That looked so coldly on his misery ; 
 And, breaking from the place, he sought Patrice. 
 
 Of all late happy days, the morn had dawned 
 Most bright and hopeful. What a lure had work ! 
 And how with springy step he trode the street, 
 Thinking of wife and home ! — these early airs, 
 A rosy edge of health on tingling cheek, 
 And friends to greet him friendly. Now one seen, 
 A twelvemonth absent, with a boyish glee ; 
 And now one met with habit's soberer use ; 
 Till, ste{Dping threshold of the shop, the work 
 Stood forth a steely wonder in the sun. 
 Flashing its patient promise made complete. 
 
FA TRICE 
 
 99 
 
 So, by a day's delusion, did his heart 
 
 Prepare itself for torture. And so now 
 
 The burden had no helper but Patrice. 
 
 She, more than others, staked life on the work ; 
 
 With fortune of her hopes and fears endowed 
 
 Each day's slow progress, till it seemed her own, — 
 
 Wondering, so patiently at every step, 
 
 How fared it with him, while she stayed at home. 
 
 This morning brought a fear that weighted her 
 To have him go ; and when at window-sill 
 She saw him coming, two hours short of noon, 
 The shadow of her fear was in his face, 
 And would not lift ; he, sitting silent there, 
 With sudden pity that had spared the truth, 
 But that his silence hurt her. 
 
 Then he spoke, 
 And haply at the worst Patrice could smile ; 
 
lOO 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 And, brushing tears away, she broke a plan 
 
 To wrest the day from bitter memories. 
 
 At sailing of a summer boat hard by, 
 
 They would take passage, and forget their care, 
 
 And trust this passing fever to a breath 
 
 Of nature's wholesomeness. 
 
 Then Rex spoke out, 
 Lowering in shadow of the hearth, and said : 
 " Money, Patrice, and whence will money flow 
 To ease a poor man's failure ? 
 
 " Since with hopes 
 Our scant purse long has filled itself, how now. 
 When hopes prove counterfeit, can we pay way 
 To common pleasures ? Neither faith of men, 
 Nor credit of my courage now avails ; 
 Nor have I heart to sport with circumstance, 
 Playing the reveller, while men sneer and say. 
 He trifles with us, where a better man 
 Had saved his pleasures 'gainst our deficit." 
 
PATRICE lOI 
 
 Gently she smiled, and forthwith brought a store 
 From chamber resource, — she, with woman's thrift, 
 Had saved in secret from his lavishment, — 
 And forced it on him, though pride first refused. 
 And would not own the gift. 
 
 Till she grew stern, 
 Assailing his false front with homely saws 
 And late learned maxims from a pious book : — 
 
 " We pave our way to victory with defeat ; 
 Worst failure no misfortune, so we rise 
 Oft as we fall ; nor yield self to the doubt 
 Earth offers all men till their cause be won." 
 
 And so bestirring him, she forced her plan. 
 With haste of action keeping him from care. 
 A little hamper plump with edibles, 
 A late brewed book-poems, sent to mark 
 Remembrance of her birthday by a friend ; 
 
I02 PATRICE 
 
 And, midst her laughing strictures, they made start : 
 The day was hers, and from regrets and fears 
 She held it sacred. 'Twas a day to trust 
 In native blessedness, — believe the best 
 Man ever hoped or worked for. 
 
 " See," she said, 
 " How all things work him good who loves the 
 
 good ! 
 And man is beggared, so he will not sport. 
 Or work as bees and blackbirds in the sun." 
 
 Parting the waters of the stream, where wide 
 
 It opened to the sea, the steamer hung. 
 
 With quivering prow that turned and hugged the 
 
 shore, 
 From shadowy heights emerging ; till, at last. 
 It paused in peaceful reaches of still farms, 
 Where at late noon they landed, found a grove. 
 
PA TRICE 
 
 103 
 
 Soft with the silk of pines, and, spreading fare, — 
 A pine-tree stump extemporized to yield 
 A Christian symbol, — laughed across the board, 
 Binding themselves by every happy thought 
 The need, the hour, vouchsafed them : 
 
 Help them, Heaven, 
 This courage holding, no defeat should be ! 
 Patrice decreed, and sealed it with a smile, 
 Unyielding as the knotted brow of braves 
 Who grasp their weapons at the brink of death. 
 She made his atmosphere that sunny day ; 
 Played round him in cool currents of her faith. 
 Bracing faint heart within him where he feared, 
 And keeping doubts anticipative down. 
 
 Later, she held him with the book. It proved 
 A pressed flower from the field of life, wind- 
 blown, 
 
I04 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 Sun-scorched, but still i^reserving scent, — a thing 
 That out of bitterness evolved a sweet, 
 Invincible with that stern earnestness 
 There is in life, — a book the crowd, with ears 
 As deaf as mile-stones to a traveller's cry. 
 Would leave as soon as glanced at ; one they, too, 
 Some happier summer day perchance had passed, 
 Though welcomed now, as word that searched a 
 
 need, 
 And, finding, probed it, and prescribed a cure. 
 They sat in shadow of this ancient law, 
 That man do battle at the gates of good. 
 Winning, what win he may, by blows, nor given 
 One unearned glory that outlasts the day. 
 
 Breathing the book's deep atmosphere of peace, 
 They sunk life's sodden struggle in a sense 
 Of coming blessedness ; 'midst wind-stirred trees, 
 The distant dripping of a spent mill-wheel. 
 
PA TRICE 
 
 105 
 
 The dip and whir of Hght birds overhead, 
 And this still echo of their own content ; 
 Each blest in each, and Nature clasping all ; — 
 To point the moral of a passing tale. 
 
 Ah, rare, sweet wifehood, that so gave the day 
 A brightness wanting in the sun, so wrapped 
 In atmospheres of hope his heart of gray. 
 He, standing in the light, forgot the sun ! 
 Fixing a thought against all after-time, 
 Where every pictured by-way spoke of her ; 
 Brave heart in bitterness, so fitly framed 
 In all the verdure of this land of farms! 
 
 So after one day's softening of the blow. 
 He lifted his full front to turn defeat 
 Into late triumph ; meeting each new need 
 With finer methods, and himself made strong 
 In battling forces of an unknown law 
 To save the present with prospective good. 
 
I06 PATRICE 
 
 They well could wait together, — they, whose faith 
 Had grown to be a vision of the end, 
 Whose love, so lavished on its weak estate, 
 The dearer found the work, until it seemed 
 More as a child between them every day ; 
 She matching man's endurance with the heart 
 To suffer for it, as a woman will. 
 
 Rex never knew what sacrifice she lay 
 
 Upon its altars, with what precious script 
 
 She lighted fires of daily usefulness. 
 
 Hiding reproach of woman's weariness 
 
 With woman's smiles, — if sometimes tears would 
 
 come ; 
 Not overstrong, of late, to bear hope's strain. 
 Manlike, he took for granted much she gave ; 
 And, centred on his work, forgot to ask 
 What lay beneath it. 
 
 Was not her life his 1 
 So near, he overlooked what others saw, 
 
PATRICE 107 
 
 And, sure he loved her, doubted nothing else ; 
 Till one day, stumbling on a little act, 
 No bigger than the rest, but brought to light, 
 He broke in grateful wonder into words. 
 
 So fine her nature was for confidence, — 
 Not flippant at detail, nor made afraid 
 If friendly interest found some work to do, — 
 Trust came with every trial, and through all 
 They only nearer to each other grew. 
 
 Friends one by one dropped from them, changes 
 
 fell 
 In ever narrowing circle of the known ; 
 And e'en the contemplation of the few 
 Who still watched with them darker grew with 
 
 doubt 
 If certain issue could so long delay ; 
 Faith still unequal to the wavering view 
 Vouchsafed to most men. 
 
J08 PATRICE 
 
 Only brave Patrice 
 And braver Rex, bearing the brunt of storms, 
 Believed in ■ certainties of sun, and held 
 In common hopefulness an unchanged way. 
 They wove their lives, their youth, into the work ; 
 Finding in it such mingled recompense 
 As comes by right of life to mortal men ; 
 Hoping one day, when it should fill high place, 
 Useful and honored 'mongst earth's agencies, 
 To rest a space in thought of work well done ; 
 And, holding each to each in memory 
 Of outgrown days of trouble, die in peace. 
 
IV. 
 
To whofn love once was all, and now remains 
 
 Nought but a nieinory of ofte who strives, 
 Vet knows no wealth amid his growing gains. 
 
 And, hungry at the heart of being, thrives j 
 If Toil be his, some Purpose high and strong. 
 
 Forgetting all in grandettr of pursuit. 
 He still tnay wrest a blessing from lovers wrong, 
 
 And out of winter bring a time of fruit j 
 Still pressing patient on, to fitid at last 
 Who loses most most holds his treasure fast. 
 
/^VER the years of waiting, and false hope 
 
 Of intermittent triumph, crept a mood 
 Of languor and distrust, that from Patrice 
 Stole out the heart in living. Passing faith. 
 And sense of some good ever near at hand 
 She kept in weariness ; when Rex came home. 
 Eager with pictured blessings, could declare. 
 With all soft words in answer, faith like his. 
 So labored, waited for, must come to fruit ; 
 Yet scarce had kindled to his mood, ere lips 
 Betrayed by pallor what it cost to share 
 A hope so great. 
 
 And when Rex would know why, 
 She smiled, and smoothed the trouble from his 
 
 face : 
 Had not been ill, and was not, — though depressed, 
 
112 PA TRICE 
 
 And sometimes tearful, having nought for cause. 
 Till now, so radiant she rebuked his fears. 
 He fain forgot them, and laughed light as she. 
 
 Meanwhile the work, with ampler means, and way 
 Smoothed for success by failure, swiftly sped 
 To late completion. Daily, Rex brought home. 
 In larger measure than she oft could bear, 
 His urgent hopefulness ; was now so sure. 
 He cared not for the doubt of all the world ; 
 And could not know, in stress of his great joy, 
 It only brought a sadness to her heart, 
 That failed all hopeful futures. 
 
 Straining point. 
 To save some better part of hope for him. 
 She hid her weakness and was brave, — till words 
 Fell suddenly to tears, and Rex again 
 With anxious queries begged to know the worst, 
 If worst could be beneath a life so calm. 
 
PA 7 RICE 
 
 "3 
 
 "And where," she asked, to soothe his grave un- 
 rest, 
 "May one find hearty women nowadays? 
 And is not weakness half a woman's charm, — 
 To lean and languish, and with soft appeal 
 Refine a beauty from man's cruder strength?" 
 So laughed him to good humor; and e'en said. 
 Knowing he needed to be six weeks gone 
 For perfecting the work, he well might go. 
 And she would spare him, and be none the 
 worse. 
 
 Rex never knew how dragged her patient life. 
 Waiting the slow days wearing one by one. 
 And sending little letters, writ with hope 
 And resignation, when, 'twixt troubled hours, 
 Her mind caught movement, and fresh courage 
 
 came 
 To make it easy he should stay away. 
 
114 PATRICE 
 
 Yet silence and repression could not hide 
 Her need of him. Nay, by his need of her 
 He knew it, hastening to her when he might. 
 To find what distance time and suffering wrought 
 Between them. Pallid, trembling, on his breast 
 She hid the burden of her joy, and wept, 
 And would not hear reproaches, saying " Nay " 
 To all save present blessedness. Enough, 
 They loved, and, loving, had no cause for blame. 
 
 Yet this first bitterness, unshared by her, — 
 The trouble that he felt, but could not speak, — 
 Fell like a shadow 'twixt them, with the fear 
 They soon should know no common joy and pain. 
 And life between them should be twain again. 
 Till, rousing self to help him bear his cross, 
 She broke the silence with glad, grateful words. 
 And telling him of pains, now haply past, 
 Shortened with hopefulness the time to be 
 
FA 7 RICE I J ^ 
 
 Ere work should find full honors. 
 
 So she thought, 
 Since death comes slowly, and hath daily stage 
 Of weakness scarce perceptible, 'twere well 
 He should have daily schooling in his loss. 
 And learn to bear it ere it well had come. 
 
 Something of this he felt, but would not own ; 
 Patrice was hiding weakness ; though she grew 
 Each day more shadowlike, and suffered more. 
 She had no part in death and could not die. 
 That man should pay the debt of nature stood 
 Both right and natural ; and well it was. 
 Having by years of living tested earth. 
 To pass on hopeful ; — 
 
 Ah, but not Patrice ! 
 Not her of all men ! 
 
 Hers it was to live ; 
 So near she seemed the quick of conscious life, 
 
Il5 PATRICE 
 
 He could not think the world without her. 
 
 Death ! 
 The fine equipment of her life left room 
 For no such thought in its economy. 
 
 Yet something dreaded would not lift at will, 
 But weighted lighter motions of the day ; 
 Was with him at his work, and pressed at eve 
 Imperative with question : ' Passed the day 
 By aught more easy than the rest .'' ' 
 
 She clung 
 By every faint insistence to the best, 
 And braved it out that blessing in it all 
 Was coming to them both, could they but know ; 
 Though each day's hold of life grew less, and 
 
 hopes, 
 Once lightly worn, had now become a weight. 
 And even happiness was less to her 
 Than rest. 
 
FA TKICB 1 1 7 
 
 In such brave moments, she would say, 
 "You will be happy, Rex, with joy as deep 
 As all past trouble ; deep as is desert. 
 And sweet as fruitage is to patient lips." 
 So adding, when he would not smile, — 
 
 " One day. 
 You'll trust love's prophecies when mine come 
 
 true ; 
 And think, ' It made her happy to foresee 
 My good.' " 
 
 "And you," he said, "you leave the soul 
 From your sweet prophecy, forgetting self. 
 You are my future. 'Tis not mine ; since we 
 In coming good, as in the troubled past, 
 Are one. 
 
 You weary in the work whereto 
 I harden coarser hands, and faint heart fails 
 The end I wait on firm for victory. 
 
I 1 8 ^^ TRICE 
 
 I say 'tis yours ; and, precious thro* much pain, 
 You will not leave the good that looms so near." 
 
 " Yes, nearer even than it seems," she said, 
 "The well-earned blessing waits, and will be ours. 
 We may not miss our own ; and nought shall fail 
 We wait on faithful to our strength. 'Tis ours, 
 E'en though late finding of it seem a loss." 
 
 She rested, breathing faintly, till his tears 
 Troubled her stillness, and he turned away. 
 
 O rare, sweet spirit ! brave Patrice and true ! 
 
 So willing to be nought, if loss to her 
 
 Might be his gain ! So thoughtful in her love. 
 
 Reminding him of many a little act. 
 
 And all the daily blessing of his love, 
 
 To guard his future 'gainst regret, and thought 
 
 Of what, had death been kinder, he had done. 
 
PA TRICE 
 
 119 
 
 Dumbly he felt the kind intent, and turned, 
 Conscious of something warring with her words, 
 And something sadder than all else he knew ; 
 With that great shadow 'twixt Patrice and him, 
 And silence all around him. 
 
 Worth, meanwhile, 
 The final stages of his work confessed 
 To all men. Now the slow mechanic creep 
 Had issued in a stride ; till swift it flew, 
 A wheel within a wheel more intricate 
 Than that in vision rapt Ezekiel saw ! 
 Fair order from confusion, and from death 
 Of unwaked matter this new life of steel ! 
 
 Here was plain wonder, thronging men declared ; 
 Here something new for bated public breath ; 
 A touch of miracle to challenge doubt, 
 And stir the social sameness. 
 
I20 PATRICE 
 
 Near and far 
 Men flocked to test it. Some had seen it tried ; 
 Knew fifty years of failure's history, 
 And would believe it done when they should see. 
 While others, with full purses, wanting more, 
 The better to invest, now cried it down. 
 
 Yet doubt and praise found equal want of words ; — 
 To stand before the marvel when it moved. 
 See how far causes brought the sure result. 
 And how to perfect issue every part 
 Played haply in. Until for contrast. Rex 
 Put hand upon the belt, and all was still. 
 
 Then muttered wonder, echoing applause. 
 And outstretched hands of greeting ! While a few. 
 With taste for reading riddles, sought the law, 
 Nor would have wonder with a cause unknown. 
 
PATRICE 121 
 
 And in it all none more unmoved than Rex. 
 What gall and noisy bitterness this talk ! 
 Patrice so silent, — she, who most had given. 
 So shadowlike in this wide warmth of praise ! 
 He could not bear it, and broke from the crowd. 
 
 Days came and went wherein he shunned the place ; 
 Oppressed and stifled in the niggard air 
 That pained him with so poor a flattery ; 
 The future that it hinted but a hurt. 
 And fear in all this promise. 
 
 Then Patrice, 
 Brightening with interventions of disease. 
 Forced him from tendence, — work more fit, she 
 
 said. 
 Than sick room fancies for the man's quick wit, — 
 And would have way, howe'er his feet held back 
 For some last service. 
 
122 PATRICE 
 
 Then he stood again 
 Midst empty treasures, bending to a toil 
 He had no heart in, and at length laid down, — 
 So little lure an unshared fortune threw 
 In these vast waters of his discontent. 
 
 The shop in comment passed a pitying look, 
 That spoke from each to each : " The heart of work 
 Has failed an ancient purpose, and the man 
 With weak hand trifles with his leadership. 
 No fire is in his motions, and again 
 The hope of speedy consummation fails ; 
 And patience waits again its fruit of gold." 
 Yet, loyal to him, latent mutiny 
 They quelled at first appearing. 
 
 Since he toiled 
 As one who fights, not finds himself in work, 
 They needs must speak unselfishly, or fall 
 In silence round him when his words were few. 
 
PATRICE 123 
 
 Rex rushed with impulse blind and beaten out 
 Of dull endurance of a single thought, 
 To find in field or street forgetfulness, 
 And cool his aching temples in the wind, — 
 He cared not whither, ways alike to him ; 
 Fate fronting all, and through all his weak feet 
 Too tender for the thorns. 
 
 He tried to pray; 
 Had heard of loss that, lifted high to heaven, 
 Seemed like a gain, — and strained so far his hands, 
 So loud demanded a deliverance. 
 He only blinded self with tears, and woke 
 A mocking echo. 
 
 Once he'd doubted God, 
 To find him in late motions of his love ; 
 And this discordant scheme of things, wherein 
 He once had walked, Patrice had harmonized. 
 
124 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 'Twas she enlarged the borders of the day, 
 Swept heart of meaning into passing things, 
 By love revealing fixedness in change, 
 And light in darkness. Knowing her, he found 
 New faith in human nature, and the key 
 Unlocking treasures of companionship; 
 Restoring warmth and steadiness of way 
 To one long stumbling. 
 
 She, who had been all, 
 Took all in passing. 
 
 Men who brushed him by, 
 With dreamful motions walked, and were not men, 
 While ghost-like round him sounds of labor fell. 
 To work for work's own sake he held for cant 
 Of words without a meaning. 
 
 Nought was real 
 In rock, cloud, atom, or the electric thrill 
 
PATRICE 
 
 125 
 
 Within a folded brain that thinks and dies ; 
 Nor learned he facile resignation ; since 
 His all hung in the balance, could not ask 
 The will that robbed him of her might be done ; 
 But wandered, dull and blind • till, as one dead. 
 He dropped before her. 
 
 Then Patrice divined 
 What depth of woe he could not smile away 
 Was in the loss of her, and with him wept. 
 And suffered with him. Till, at length, she spoke, 
 Her spirit passing in a prayer to his. 
 With something more and deeper than a prayer, — 
 Assurance in the very air she breathed 
 Of comfort found, and light in her distress. 
 
 "They say life's short; yet three and thirty years. 
 And years of blessing, too, I've known, dear Rex. 
 It seems a long time, — does it not .-* — to live, 
 
126 PATRICE 
 
 When some die young, some hardly Hve at all, 
 And some with too stern mixture drain the cup 
 To bitter dregs. 
 
 And life, they say, is sad ; 
 So many baffled souls, whose finer mould 
 Men trifle with ; and women most of all 
 Martyred in faith, — till love bears up a world 
 Of miseries. 
 
 Yet who so happy, Rex, 
 So blest in living, dying, as Patrice ? 
 How fills the measure of her woman's lot 
 With love's best treasure ; how in varied need 
 It has been well with her this many a day, 
 And will be — God will help us — to the end!" 
 
 He broke the stillness by no word of his ; 
 
 With bowed head listening, his hot tears held back, 
 
 And sad heart hushed and heavy. 
 
FA TRICE 
 
 127 
 
 Round them fell 
 Soft snows of winter ; frost was in the air, 
 And icy to the touch the great world lay ; 
 Save where her pane caught from the scanty sun 
 Faint hints of spring. There, resting eyes, she 
 
 slept, 
 And dreamed of summer rising from the snow. 
 
 Then darkened days of pain, when death drew near. 
 
 Flinging grim challenge to the finer faith 
 
 That nerved her heart with courage. Not as sleep 
 
 Of tired nature, kindly lapped to rest. 
 
 Nor dream of something strangely sad and sweet, 
 
 Death came to her ; but torture underlay 
 
 Its ministry ; so black it seemed, no edge 
 
 Of silver lightened its economy. 
 
 And when at length it passed, and Rex drew 
 
 breath, 
 Blessing the moment of such plain relief, 
 
128 PATRICE 
 
 She, too, had passed, — Patrice and her great pain 
 Together going; and himself left there 
 Helpless, alone, and silent as herself. 
 
 In wonder ever waking to the truth, 
 He schooled himself, as one who knows the worst, 
 Yet something hopes for from familiar things, 
 And walks expectant everywhere. 
 
 She dead! 
 Patrice not here ; and he alive to know 
 The world without her, — as if aught remained 
 Beyond her going ! 
 
 Still she came not back ; 
 Though, dallying with the truth, he said the dream 
 Some finer morning should dissolve, and day 
 Restore the blessing of the things that were. 
 
 He lived, or lengthened aimless days of life ; 
 Turning, as sick men on their pillows turn, 
 
PATRICE 
 
 129 
 
 With heavy motions, till the blank gave way 
 To dull approaches of the sense of pain, 
 And he by suffering knew himself alive. 
 
 Again he moved in duty's treadmill round; 
 Toiling as in a sleep toward once loved ends 
 These later days remembered. Till his work 
 Saved him from self with what he yet must do. 
 On him some world's work waited, but for him 
 Undone, demanding that he still should live. 
 
 Laying what ghosts first met him in the work, — 
 Dead beauteous times of a once common care, 
 Now taunting every triumph with her loss, — 
 He loved it with the later love that bears 
 And suffers ; finding presence in it too, 
 A shadowy something like Patrice, that shared 
 Each late found conquest. Still it spoke of her ; 
 And, as she once inspired it, so she now 
 Found witness in it of her life, her love. 
 
I30 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 Once had he, standing where its wonder fell, 
 With each part aptly joined to bring the whole, — 
 Turned, held her close to heart, and called it hers! 
 Hers, — since without her work had never been, 
 Nor faith for him in any end of earth, 
 Nor heart to struggle ; hers, since day by day. 
 Sustained with strength not his, he had been strong 
 To work with her and bring the lagging end. 
 
 With deeper import fell confession now : 
 She lived in it, and in life's seeming wrong 
 Was righted thro' it, though her scanty years 
 Knew not full measure of accomplishment ; 
 And men, who noted how her life went out 
 At threshold of a well-earned good declared, 
 " A tragedy ! " 
 
 Rex echoed, Tragedy, 
 A thousand times repeated ! 
 
PA TRICE 
 
 131 
 
 What more plain ? 
 A young life balked of promise at the goal ; 
 A patient lip life's fruitage never passed, 
 And palm uncrossed by payment's tardy gold ; 
 While strength failed every prophecy of faith, 
 To wait the tardy ending. 
 
 Tragedy ! 
 It rang its changes on a treasured woe ; 
 As if life, language, loved a tragedy ! 
 And well he knew men never have outgrown 
 In constant nimbleness to grasp the new. 
 The tragic names of story. 
 
 Sophocles 
 Is classic, when he so sings ancient woe 
 It weeps in us, and is as if our own. 
 Though laughter lack immortal chroniclers. 
 And wit, a thing of fashion, write itself 
 
132 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 In air, men give them household sacredness 
 Who, having suffered, harden their soft hands 
 To carve a sorrow or give grief a form. 
 
 Into the sacred calendar of those 
 Whose life-work is the world's, and who by loss 
 Have compassed common ends of good, he would 
 Patrice should enter. 
 
 Such her right ; yet far 
 And near he found no fitting monument ; 
 The cold insistence of the chiseled stone 
 More dead than she, who, living in the work. 
 Had still expressions all the world might see. 
 
 So built at last a pile, with row on row 
 Of windows, where at quiet noon the men. 
 In toil's remittance, lingered in the sun ; 
 Tuning it tier on tier to music wrung 
 From loyal service of a thousand hearts. 
 
PA TRICE 
 
 133 
 
 And in the arch below, where strangers paused 
 Ere full they faced the wonder, he displayed 
 The tint and tracing of a face, that smiled 
 On the great doing, as of old she beamed 
 On feeble motions of its infancy. 
 
 No name was there, yet somehow all divined 
 
 The deep intent, and lowered brusquer tones 
 
 Than suited well such sacred atmospheres. 
 
 Her smile was on the whole. The workmen felt 
 
 A kindlier heart in service, gave and took 
 
 As at an altar, where devotion lent 
 
 Heroic impulse to the dullest toil. 
 
 Generous and just. Rex ruled this little world 
 
 With hand of steady kindness ; held each one 
 
 Up to his best, and, asking nothing more, 
 
 Gave in return. 
 
 None harder toiled than he, 
 
 None less than he found fulness in their toil. 
 
134 
 
 PA TRICE 
 
 Yet something in it, like a rock that yields 
 Unpitying foothold, stayed him in his work. 
 By it he steadied life, nor stumbled now, 
 Helpless and blind, in unattended ways ; 
 But held himself as in a dream, and stood • 
 Reverent of something sacred in the past, 
 And heart expectant of the far-off good. 
 
 So toiled and waited ; wearing honors due. 
 
 And wreaths that pricked him, thorny with the 
 
 thought 
 Of how she failed him in a rightful gain ; 
 Making it seem a loss, and this new wealth 
 A beggary. 
 
 Yet ever on him fell 
 A secret force that drew him centreward 
 To heart of some great mystery ; as if. 
 Still present, she filled all his life anew. 
 A lifting arm of subtle influence 
 
PATRICE 
 
 135 
 
 Lay soft beneath him, and a cushioned sense 
 
 Of ease and future blessing in the fight. 
 
 Life's struggle waned ; and peace, that never came, 
 
 Hovered so near, he knew it by the sight 
 
 Of what should be, and firmly held to faith 
 
 Of righteous issue in the end. 
 
 The good 
 Men seek in happiness he found in hope, — 
 That good which clings unconquered in our wants, 
 Like undertone unconsciously divined 
 In things we do and suffer. Once a zest, 
 As keen as frosty edge of days in new 
 November, he now knew life's later pulse ; 
 In measured ways responsive to him found 
 The world's deep motion ; so much larger saw 
 Heaven's sweep than circuit of his mightiest 
 
 plans, — 
 All plans discarded ; waiting with the world 
 
136 PATRICE 
 
 The patient process of the days and years, 
 To round his partialness to perfect whole. 
 
 The drift of systems and the march of man 
 
 He felt himself a part of, — nay, had share 
 
 In finer Nature's infusoriae ; 
 
 One universe too vast for him to see. 
 
 One too minute; — and he alive in all; 
 
 God infinitely great and small ; as far 
 
 In nature's might as near in need of man. 
 
 Life was not what his earlier dreams had held, 
 Though some faint hint of meaning in it fell 
 Athwart his still acceptance. 
 
 Treasures sought 
 Had failed him ; hardly one prayer of his life 
 His life had answered. Yet, in every loss, 
 Life ivas, and, deepening daily, grew more calm, 
 To mirror such high truth as takes no shape 
 
FA TRICE 
 
 137 
 
 In troubled shallows of disquietude. 
 Work was, next best God's choicest gift to man, 
 Save that it thrives in soil of sacrifice, 
 Demanding in the man who lives for men 
 His life and all. 
 
 With his ends unattained, 
 The long work of the race, the good not his, 
 That helps mankind a slow step nearer home 
 Of its perfection, prospered ; and to peace 
 Set waves discordant of unruly will. 
 
 Earth keeps thro' frequent failure steadfast gain ; 
 And will have fruit, tho' scant life mock the 
 
 wish 
 That's nearest to us. To the world there falls 
 No lack of riches in our poverty. 
 With it 'tis well ; and well with us, so hands 
 Can come to fulness when the world is fed ; 
 
138 PATRICE 
 
 And warm themselves at hearth-fires of the race, 
 To find the good of each in good of all. 
 
 He was not happy. Nay, who dares be so } 
 Would flaunt a pigmy fulness in the face 
 Of earth's unequal blessing ; or so mock 
 Time's changeful phases with eternal smiles ! 
 He was not happy ; yet could learn to say, 
 What boots the blessing one may do without ! 
 The man still man, will manhood not suffice! 
 And shall heaven serve him in no finer need 
 Than thro' such want of force to fall on ease .'' 
 
 What prophet, false to heaven, first tricked man's 
 
 ear. 
 To temper ancient sternness to the sound 
 Of such a word .'* Or what from Nature stole 
 The stuff once patient to God's purposes ; 
 Mocking with fatal hopes the sober day. 
 
PATRICE 
 
 139 
 
 And making life a sport, that with all wants 
 Were yet well worth the conquering mind of man ? 
 
 No longer listening to the siren voice, 
 
 He blessed life as it is, accepting it 
 
 At God's high estimate, and not as men. 
 
 Who will not round a blessing from their loss. 
 
 And, since there's evil in it, say 'tis bad. 
 
 Wide fellowship he had of good and great. 
 
 Who, watching human progress, hail from far 
 
 The work of genius. Young men eager came 
 
 To ask his council in confided cares ; 
 
 While many a household welcome made him free 
 
 To silent thoughtfulness or fearless speech ; 
 
 The children round him, and a treasured place 
 
 His coming by consent alone could fill. 
 
 Till 'twas as if the great world grew his home, 
 
 The wider hearth-stone of the race his warmth, 
 
 And all men brothers. 
 
I40 
 
 PATRICE 
 
 Ever as he walked, 
 Patrice walked with him, a remembered good. 
 And blessing held in prospect, that still seemed 
 The nearer to him as the world grew dim. 
 
 So rounding out a memory, his life 
 
 Drew near its peaceful ending ; and his work, 
 
 The work that was not his, but theirs, was done. 
 
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