Si W. H. SMITH & SON'S SUBSCRIPTION LIBRARY, 186, STRAND, LONDON, AND AT THE RAILWAY BOOKSTALLS. NOVELS are issued to and received from Subscribers in SETS only. TERMS. FOR SUBSCRIBERS OBTAINING THEIR BOOKS FROM A COUNTRY BOOKSTALL : 6 Months. 12 Months. For ONE Volume at a time - - £0 12 O - 1 1 O ( Novels in more than One Volume are not available for this class of Subscription. ) For TWO Volumes ,, - - - O 17 6-1 11 6 (Novels in more than Two Volumes are not available for this class of Subscription. ) For THREE „ „ - - - 1 3 O -2 2 O For FOUR „ „ --- 180-2100 For SIX „ „ --- 1 15 O - 3 3 O ^ For TWELVE 3 O O — fr £to0 Hmmatic looms TWO DRAMATIC POEMS BY V MENELLA BUTE SMEDLEY it AUTHOR OF 'LADY GRACE' 'QUEEN ISABEL' ETC. 32 |Tonbon MACMILLAN AND CO. 1874 All rights reserved 5b a; 3 LONDON : PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE AND PARLIAMENT STREET CONTENTS. PAGE Blind Love : A Dramatic Poem in Five Acts . i Cyril : Four Scenes from a Life . . . 197 Sonnet : Love for the Young . . . -337 Sonnet: Bishop Patteson 338 A Face from the Past 339 Lines on the Greek Massacre .... 341 He Preached to the Spirits in Prison ' . . 345 BLIND LOVE : A DRAMATIC POEM, IN FIVE ACTS. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Damer Grey. Raymond, his son, blind for many years (engaged to Hope). Vernon, in love with Hope. Carlton, a Surgeon. f Damer Grey's orphan nieces ; Hope having been HOPE, I brought up in his house, but AviCE, the daughter of AviCE I a ^ter who married beneath her, liaving only lately L come to reside in his family. ACT I. Scene I. — A Garden. Enter Raymond, conducted by Hope. hope Will you rest here ? RAYMOND A little further on ; I want to feel the green beneath my feet, To reach yon lilies if I stretch my hand, To be quite sure that where I turn my face The steady sunbeams walk across the lake ; Are we right now? HOPE Aye, to an inch. How well Your fancy measures ! B 2 4 BLIND LOVE. act i. RAYMOND O, my certainty ! My grasp is stronger than your glance. I work Like a poor prisoner, scanning through and through His little stock of unfamiliar words Till they become a language. Step by step, Testing remembrances, collecting facts, Resolving doubts, I pass, slow, tranquil, sad, And undisturbed by beauty or by fear, Regions of wonder and appeal, where you, Beset, enchanted, tempted, checked, compelled, Gaze, linger, and learn nothing. HOPE Say it not ! RAYMOND How? Tears in that true voice {touches her cheek). And in those eyes ! O, how should eyes that see shed any tears ! What ails you ? HOPE Nothing but the pang of words. You break my heart, not meaning it. I know scene i. BLIND LOVE. \ All that you lose and all that I possess ; There's not an hour of our unequal day When I forget that hard comparison ; The thought lies patient in my soul ; the word Wounds like a weapon. RAYMOND This my pain, in you Becomes my healing. When you weep for me You draw my tears away — my selfish heart Beholds and comforts its reflected grief And then forgets it for a little while As if it were another's. Therefore, sweet, Grudge not your gentle remedy, but give Like a flower, drawing raindrops to its root And giving blossoms to the sky. HOPE I give Myself, you know it. Whatsoe'er in me Has force or help, being mine must needs be yours ; Would it were better ! Take me as I am, A trinket for your neck, not even a gem, Only a keepsake ! 6 BLIND LOVE. act i. RAYMOND Thus you play for ' no ' And win it ; ah, no trinket for my neck, Staff for my hand — a blind man's metaphor With twice the truth of fact ! Come, change the strain And tell me of the day. HOPE The day is fresh As the first made — a new experiment That wonders at itself — this early sky Is vague and tender as an infant's love When it cries c father ; to each face it meets : There may be clouds to come ; methinks they lurk Under the fields of primrose light, not showing Their grey crests to the sun ; biding their time With that slow air which trembles in the woods Full of such whispered threats and promises ' Trust me ' and ' trust me not ' that no man knows Which shall achieve fulfilment; all things wait Upon the lips of Time, till he pronounce The sentence of the day, < be fair or foul/ scene i. BLIND LOVE. So severing in a moment dark from light ; Meantime the hues of heaven and earth put on A passion and a sweetness, as of those Who think they shall die young, and so are set To do their utmost with their little span ; I did not know suspense was beautiful Till now. RAYMOND You paint me nothing. Try again, The weather is not vaguer than your talk ; I want no poem, but a catalogue. HOPE Thus then again. Just at your feet, the grass Hides yet some scattered dewdrops and is bright ; I read the landscape by this key, and trace A dew-perspective to its farthest bound In silvered lights and blue transparent shades Sprinkled with morning ; and the rounded edge Of woods, and all the melting downward lines Which prove the tender haze I cannot see. On every branch of these near pines, the light Lies like a stroke of frost ; black underneath • 8 BLIND LOVE. act i. Between, the warm tree-colour burns its way, But all the gathered sheaves of leafage keep A strange moon-lustre of their own ; the lake Is a blank tremulous glitter, touched and flecked With shadows of invisible reeds ; beyond, Stretches the folded distance, lucent, pale, And tranquil as the breadths of holy thought Whereon a saint reposes ere he dies. RAYMOND Right — in the distance only dwells Repose, Near us we count the changes. No events ? Has the day's work begun for us alone ? Is all the world asleep ? HOPE Yon watchful spire . Rings out its hymn scarce audible for us, And tangled in the murmur of the wheel Where the deft mill spins water Raymond {interrupting) Nay, no sounds ! I am your teacher there. In every note I hear a hundred shades and feel them all, scene i. BLIND LOVE. 9 Divining whence they rise and what they mean, And how they blend themselves for general ears, Rough unisons to them, to me a store Of possible symphonies ; a plot, a web, With all its threadlets separate in my hand. What else ? HOPE Upon the lake a speck — dark — definite, No shadow but a coming boat. It cuts The sunshine like a new resistless thought Passing through severed day dreams to its goal. Now could I fancy, love, that you and I Were two poor prisoners, watching anxiously A freight of doom or freedom. Shall we say That if it pass the stair it carries doom, But if it pause there, freedom? RAYMOND As you will. {Aside) She treads on truth, not knowing. {Aloud) Give account ; Where is this destiny ? HOPE Beneath the limes ; Her prow is to the stair ; nay, but she turns ; io BLIND LOVE. act i. She mocked us with a brittle chance, which fell Before we grasped it. We must set ourselves To face the worst — she passes. RAYMOND By heaven's light, Which I may never see, she shall not pass ! Look and be sure ! HOPE Why, what a voice of fire ! You play too fiercely. RAYMOND Has she passed the stair ? HOPE I told you — no, she cheats, — she tacks again ; Love, you are right — she lands ! Raymond {clasping her) Freedom and Hope ! scene II. BLIND LOVE. n Scene II. Raymond — Hope — Avice. Enter Avice. avice I came to summon you to breakfast, friends, And I trod softly, not to break your dreams Of ceaseless interchange of endless vows ; I find you shouting like a populace. What is the matter ? RAYMOND O, vast ignorance ! We change our vows with ' tumult of acclaim ' As if we were in Paradise. AVICE You mock me As is your custom. Why not say at once You will not tell me what you shouted for ? 12 BLIND LOVE. act i. RAYMOND Unreasoning goddess ! Said you not on Tuesday You did not, would not, could not, know one phrase Or fragment of Love's grammar? Can you judge Whether I mock or not, explaining it ? AVICE Why ( goddess,' sir RAYMOND Because you cannot reason : Women, we know, are reasoning animals. AVICE The worse for them since they consort with men. RAYMOND A good retort ! Say it again. AVICE I know You must hear oft before you understand. RAYMOND Ah, for that cause you are so sweetly zealous In talking to me always. Now I see ! scene II. BLIND LOVE. 13 avice {angry) I am sure I never wish to talk to you. RAYMOND Martyr, how nobly you deny yourself. HOPE O, Raymond, do not teaze her ! AVICE Let it pass. He has no power to teaze me. Raymond (imitating her voice) to Hope Let him talk, He knows how much I like it ; (in his own voice) why I told you Only last night how thoroughly she likes me ! AVICE Did he say so ? Did he ? I charge you, tell me ! Hope, did he say so when I was not by ? And did you suffer it ? 14 BLIND LOVE. act i. HOPE Indeed, dear cousin, We would not hurt you by a word. AVICE Be honest And face my question, do not fence with it ; If this be how you spend your tete-a-tetes I'm near to scorning you. Why should you care, You who would have us think you all the world Each to the other, what another thinks Of either ? Does your sentiment grow flat And must you spice it with a slander ? Fie ! You flourish forth your banners of romance, Devotion, grandeur, high bewilderment, And in their shelter, when we think you sitting Like angels, smoothing down each other's plumes, You are but pecking at a poor girl's name Like very common sparrows. I am proud To be a dunce, below the elements Of such a science. HOPE Will you listen ? scene II. BLIND LOVE. 15 RAYMOND Tut ! She cannot. Take it not so gravely, Hope ; Make life a jest, a battle, or a dream, Never a sermon ! I can hear the laugh Under this rage. HOPE It is a pain to me That she should think we spoke of her unkindly. AVICE Why do you speak of me at all ? RAYMOND The theme Is tempting. Teach us (since you know so well What lovers should not say), teach us our rules ; How should we talk ? AVICE O, I can criticise What I would never practise. Love should talk Oi nothing but itself, because, being blind, It reaches only that which it can feel, 1 6 BLIND LOVE. act i. And should discuss no further. (To Hope.) Why do you touch me ? I said no harm. HOPE 'Tis nothing. Let it pass. RAYMOND I know her meaning and will read it to you. HOPE Nay, do not. RAYMOND But I will. (To Avice.) She's such a despot As would maim languages, and sweep from all That dreadful word which means the thing I am. You said that Love was blind, and so have sinned Scaring me with an image of myself — Ah, silly Hope ! Ere I can be reminded I must forget. HOPE O, if but for one hour I could beguile you to forget your grief No victor on his birthday, sunned and wreathed scene ii. BLIND LOVE. 17 With a land's homage, were so satisfied With glory as my heart. AVICE I am here too long ; I can encounter mockery with scorn And do it sweetly; when you lecture me, I can be gay and talk of something else, As birds would, if a choir sang psalms to them ; But when you come to turns of sentiment, To ploughing up with sighs your tender souls And bandying mutual sugarplums — I'm gone. Sweet friends, enjoy yourselves, for Time is short, And Love is lengthy as an Indian calm To ships which fain would be at home. Farewell, Joy keep you both ! [Exit Avice. RAYMOND There goes a little shrew ! And yet you say that all men flock to her, Prizing her frown above a wealth of smiles. HOPE Her words are harder than her heart. c iS BLIND LOVE. act i. RAYMOND They need be, Else were her heart a nut to crack the steel ; I would not try it HOPE She is beautiful With more than woman's beauty. Every line True as cold marble, clothed upon with light Flushing with change and colour that would charm In common lineaments ; she moves before us And we believe her not, but every day Learn her anew, so far her actual face Exceeds remembrance or conception. RAYMOND Pshaw ! Say't not to me. I know a little face As far before hers as your speech is. Hark, I'll tell you fairy tales. Say that a wand Should wake these sleepers (touching his eyes), and give back the dawn To this forgetful darkness, setting me Once more a man among the multitudes scene ii. BLIND LOVE, 19 And capable as they ; if then a host Of ranged aspects like a theatre Watched my first flash of sight, I, with that flash, Would seize your face among them, recognised By its own lovely meaning. HOPE No, revealed By love to love. I do not doubt you, dear, Yet is she as far fairer than myself, As some vast lily than the thready moss Under your foot unseen ; and yet I'll trust you ; You could not miss me, for your heart knows mine Familiarly, as friends that live together Know the least accent of each other's tones Ere they discern a word. I am sure of you. RAYMOND Now go, you meek supremacy — the day Speeds, and our father chides. HOPE Will not you come ? RAYMOND I'll follow. C2 20 BLIND LOVE. act i. HOPE But I cannot leave you here. RAYMOND What — here — where every grass-blade knows my foot ! Come, I am fixed. HOPE Dear Raymond, let me stay. RAYMOND Not a new minute ! Such poor drifts of freedom, And purpose , as my sorrow leaves to me I'll hoard and use — you would not grudge me them If you could count their fewness. I am bent To find my way alone, and please myself With hollow fancies that I know as much As men with eyes. You linger? HOPE Nay, I am gone. \Exit Hope* She remains close by the entrance, watching. scene ii. BLIND LOVE. 21 RAYMOND Now, stay ! I hardly trust her. All her life Is full of tender frauds that cheat her friends Out of their right to suffer. If she went Fairly, she should be out of call — I'll try. What! Hope! Re-e?iter Hope instantly. HOPE Here Raymond — are you hurt ? RAYMOND Ah, traitress ! You meant to lurk and watch about my steps Like a deceitful angel. You shall promise ; I know you will not break your word — a woman Lies seldom with her tongue. Give me your word That you'll go thoroughly. HOPE Well— if I must. RAYMOND And put that foolish trouble from your voice. 22 BLIND LOVE, act i. Do not be angry. HOPE RAYMOND Do not make me so. HOPE Not for a world. RAYMOND You do it for a whim. Now would you welcome some swift accident To teach me my dependence. HOPE O, for shame ! Tis a man's charity to spare the fear Which he despises. Only for myself I lingered ; now I leave you faithfully, Be kind and follow soon — I shall scarce breathe Till I receive you safe. \Exit Hope. RAYMOND So then at last The moment ripens to my grasp ! I hear The ruffled shingle and the parting fern As that quick foot springs upward. Are you there? scene in. BLIND LOVE, 33 Scene III. Raymond — to him Carlton. carlton {taking Raymond's hand and looking earnestly at him) How fare you? Am I welcome? RAYMOND I am as one Who having pined across the long bare sea Comes passionate and homesick to the shore But dares not set his foot there lest he hear That some dear place is empty, and for him The fair familiar pleasantness of earth Become a desolation. CARLTON You do well To face the worst beforehand, trying thus The strength of weapons which you may not need. 24 BLIND LOVE. ACT I. RAYMOND I know their strength. There is no worst for him Who has not seen the sun for twenty years. Say that you fail — your time, your skill, your hope Are wasted, and your wreath must lose a rose ; Full bitter are the tears of baffled men Though shameless their defeat. Pity yourself ! But if you say to me those dreadful words 6 Be blind for ever ! I can do no more !' You do not thrust me to that outer dark, You leave me only where I was before, Where I am quite at home. CARLTON So would I have you ; Strong, tranquil, ready. I may tell you now All things are ripe for our experiment Time, practice, place. If you can go with me To-day RAYMOND I am ready now. CARLTON Why, so am I. scene in. BLIND LOVE. 25 RAYMOND But, Carlton, when we talked of this before You told me of a man, blind like myself For twenty years, and by the same disease, Whose case at every point so matched with mine That if you tried your remedy on him And after came to me, we might be likened To vessels measured in one mould, and you Filling the first with hesitating hand Can estimate the second to a drop. Did you not tell me this ? CARLTON TIs true. I did. RAYMOND And have you tried this remedy on him ? CARLTON I tried it. RAYMOND The result ? To tell you. CARLTON Almost I fear 26 BLIND LOVE. act i. RAYMOND You have told it. He has heard That sentence of irrevocable doom. Tell me it was a chance, that prizes come Most surely after blanks, that difference Lurks undetected in the likest things, And I, despairing not from his mishap, May find a fairer close — but, tell the truth, He shall be blind for ever. CARLTON Man, he sees ! [Raymond starts and covers his face with his hands. Why have you forced it from me ? I was bent To hold you from excess of confidence. Men die of overfulness as of want. Besides, that small invisible difference May (mark, I do not say it will !) may lead To different issues. Be not over-bold. What, Raymond, what ? You weep. Raymond {recovering himself) No! scene in. BLIND LOVE, 27 CARLTON Yet be calm ; Your health demands it. RAYMOND Why do you handle me As if I were a woman, or a drug In your laboratory, to be tempered And analysed at will? You are to blame : You should have told the truth at once. I feel (Not for myself — I am calm about myself)] But for the Heaven which fell upon that man Whom I have always likened to myself, In one tremendous moment. Did it crush him ? How did he bear it ? CARLTON Reasonably, friend ; J Tis distance that enlarges hope or fear ; They dwindle as they reach us ; like the clouds Which cover half a sky, but at our feet Break into trivial raindrops. He was calm ; Men should be calm 28 BLIND LOVE. act i RAYMOND O, then he was a fool Not worth a question. Talk of him no more. Stupidity is calmness out of place. There's no sublimity in sitting still While the house burns ; and that philosopher Who sees the world created, and is calm, Is capable of nothing. Out upon him ! I'd have the first half inch of visible green Choke him with ecstasy ! Come, will you lead me ? We should be going. CARLTON Does your father know ? RAYMOND Nothing. I am a prudent man, and hold Suspense when shared is doubled. CARLTON Say you so ? Yet should your prudence be compassionate. Your father loves you and is old — 'tis hard To leave him in this blank. scene in. BLIND LOVE. 29 RAYMOND You check me well. The burden of my hope disables me From care for others. Will you write for me ? carlton {takes out his tablets) What shall I write ? Raymond (dictating) i My dear friends. Do not be uneasy about me. I am gone on a good errand and under good care, and you shall hear from me very soon. I am safe and content.' CARLTON ; Tis done — and here your name ! RAYMOND I pray you guide my fingers to the place. I have a secret sign, whereby they know The words are mine. Is this below the name ? [Carlton places a pen in his hand. So, 'tis authenticated. To reach them ? BLIND LOVE. act i. CARLTON But, the way RAYMOND On the right, some yards away, There stands a rustic seat. CARLTON 'Tis found. RAYMOND There place it; She left me there — lay it beneath a stone For safety. carlton {laughing) Your instructions are minute, Nothing escapes you. RAYMOND No. It is my pride To see with others' eyes effectively. [Exeunt Carlton and Raymond. scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 31 Scene IV. E?iter Damer Grey and Hope, followed by Avice. grey (speaking as he enters) Safe here ? A pretty tale ! Safe anywhere ! Did you forget that he was blind ? For shame ! You thought to meet him as we came ? You thought ! I'll wager that you did not think at all ! Is this your care ? HOPE O, father, chide me not ! He sent me from him. GREY Sent ? Why did you go ? You should have made believe to go, and stayed To watch his dangerous steps. HOPE Why, so I did, But he suspected me. 32 BLIND LOVE. act i. GREY You are so fine You cannot brook suspicion ; you would rather See such a man whom you profess to love Fall from a precipice, than stretch your hand To save him, if he bids you not. Come now, Do you know where you left him ? HOPE Here. GREY Oh, well, Very well — knowing that you left him here You are content, although you find him not ; He was here — and he should be here — triads all — And you are satisfied. But I, his father, Only his father, am less rational. Prove to me by a hundred arguments That on this square of earth he ought to stand, [Striking the ground with his stick. Must stand, has no escape from standing here, Yet, if I stand here too, and see him not, I feel a fault i' the logic. Raymond ! Ho ! Answer ! What, Raymond ! Raymond I scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 33 hope {wringing her hands) Not a sound ! The path lies straight — that treacherous brink of fern. Was far behind — he could not face that way, And darkness is familiar to his feet, O ! he's not lost, but gone ! GREY This is mad talk. Where? how? with whom? Would gipsies kidnap him, Like some gay-snooded babe ? You cannot think To stay my hunger with such hollow trash ; Devise some better fancy. [Hope weeps. avice {to Hope) Why do you bear it ? You should not weep ; you have no cause to weep ; No momentary speck of doubtful blame Can touch you. hope O ! I think not of myself, The woe is here— it nothing comforts me D 34 BLIND LOVE. act i. To say I did not bring it. If I knew him Unhurt and happy, I could be content To give him up for ever. AVICE Is that love ? I'd rather have the thing I love dead here [touching her breast Than crpwned in Germany. HOPE With that you prove You never loved at all. What shall we do ? In this mere blank we breathe not. He has . c unk As a ship sinks, with all her moving freight Of work, thought, hope, where the split water shuts, A waste without a mark ; he has ceased like sound Which in the sudden silence leaves no trace. We must go out and search the world for him, Or wait at home and die for want of him ; We are so cloaked and fettered by despair We cannot stir. Let us sit down awhile And tell each other how we love him, tell How noble and how tender was his soul, scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 35 How his blind life made music in our home We would give all our eyes to hear again \ The dumb compulsion of such love as ours May wring him back from the veiled destiny Which holds him from us. Here I touched him last; I will beseech the ground to give him back Or gape and cover me. [She throws he?' self on the ground. GREY Why, Hope — why, child — Look up — he may be safe — break not my heart For your sake also. I was all amazed And knew not what I said. HOPE You said but truth • I should have clung about his knees, and saved him Against his will. AVICE Saved him from what ? Heaven help us ! The creature's gone ten minutes, and you talk As if you had the knife-hilt at your palm Wherewith he slew himself. I'll lay my life ',6 BLIND LOVE. act i. (Dearer than his) there's nought amiss with him. I lose my patience ; are you one of those Who moan and make not ? Here ! [Discovering the letter. hope {taking it with trembling hands) O read it to me, For I am blind as he is. GREY Let me have it. [He reads the letter aloud. And here his secret sign ! Safe and content ! Too hard a nut for me ! And how content Knowing we could not know that he was safe ? Is that his love and duty? I am ashamed Of all this wasted agony. HOPE Rejoice That it is wasted — do not judge him yet ; We shall hear all ere long. Let us go in And muse together of this mystery, Which, till he speaks again, we cannot pierce. SCENE IV. 1 1LIXD LC WE. 3i I'll not forgive him. GREY HOPE Father ! GREY Nay, I will not. [Exeunt Grey and Hope , Jianging on him. avice {alone, Iooki?ig after them) Aye, muse together, one in childish wrath That beats it knows not what, and one in faith As childish, trusting where it cannot know. Well for them that one disentangled soul Stands by, to smooth their web ! Now, if I knew Where he is gone ! Why, Hope, who watches him So closely that the germs of ungrown thought Should not escape her, rests in ignorance ! What worth is Love that cannot read the heart But stirs like a vague wind about the woods Which, ceasing, leaves the shaken stems to feel That proper life and movement of the sap Which it affected not. I am full of words 38 BLIND LOVE. act i. Like philosophic preachers who make plain The doctrine, though they never do the works ; I know the shape and trouble of this Love Too well to trust my heart in reach of it. But see, here comes my dream-fed boy, who waits Through patient ages for a smile from Hope And, winning it, is sadder than before Because no blush goes with it. I'll stand by And hear his murmurs. (She draws back.) Enter Vernon, with a rose. VERNON Three times she passed \ three times I lacked the force To give her this poor rose I plucked for her ; O fool ! She heeds thee not enough to spurn thee ; The placid toleration of her smile Grinds me to dust ! Yet will I shrine her now Above me, where she is, and gird her round With homage and obeisance, such as maids Pay to the limned image of their saint, Nor seek return, except by miracle. Alas, a weary life, that dwarfs the soul Until it dies by wasting. scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 39 avice (advancing) Are you there ? O, you are sad to-day. VERNON You read my face As the cliff-watchman reads the passing sail, Named in a moment. AVICE Truly I am glad When sympathy can do the work of knowledge. VERNON Since you discern my sorrow, tell its cause. AVICE Tis a strange sorrow, if it springs from Hope, Should not Hope cure it? VERNON Do not play with me. Reveal me such a cure, and I — no, no, I must be thankless for a boon so vast That it leaves room for nothing but itself. 40 BLIJSTD LOVE. act i. AVICE Alas, poor Hope, I would she saw your heart Beside that one she dotes on ! VERNON Can it be That having won the queen of all the world He is but half her servant ? AVICE We are seekers, And what we have, we heed not. She's not wise. Will she take counsel? She is at his neck Hanging so closely that he sees her not ; She stands not in the picture of -his life Noted by light, or veiled by tempting shade, But, if he find a flower, and stretch his hand To pluck it, then he feels her; so his jewel Becomes an obstacle. You shrink — I wound you Against my will. VERNON That she should love him so Hurts more than that he so should scorn her love. scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 41 AVICE Hush, hush, you must not say I spoke of scorn ; He loves her with a brother's temperance, Less than himself ; and she is satisfied. So would I be if I were sure of him, But VERNON Tell me how to help her ! AVICE Do not hold me So close. You hurt my hands. VERNON O pardon me. You have such vivid speech, you show the brink With her upon it, and I thought I saved her. "What can I do ? AVICE Am I so poor a thing That only by mistake my hand is pressed ? Tut ! he perceives not. 42 BLIND LOVE. act i. VERNON Hear me AVICE Not a word \ I meant it not. Let us agree to watch ; Be this our compact — thoughts may strike aside, And judgments fail, but let us watch for facts Which cannot err. You that are Raymond's friend — (Men show themselves to men) lead him to talk, Keep back your heart and feel for his, and find How he regards her ; test him for her sake, That when we know the truth with certainty We may take counsel and devise for her How she shall bear it. VERNON I'll be led by you. AVICE Take him alone, and touch him to the quick. Match her with others, tempt him till he says He wearies in the everlasting light Which shows him all. 'Tis right that we should know. scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 43 Or if, thus catechized, his creed comes out Immaculate (it will not) let us know it ; Herein we are Hope's servants in her sleep, And when she wakes she thanks us. VERNON In that service I cast away the life I value not, And thank you that you show me how to give it. [Exeunt. 44 BLIND LOVE. act 11. ACT II. Scene I.— A Room in Carlton's House. E?iter Grey and Vernon, meeting. GREY I did not think to see you here. VERNON I hope I am not unwelcome. This excuses me — [He gives a letter. This, and a friendship more than brotherhood. grey '{reading) ' Raymond Grey entreats your presence at the Fair Lawns, at twelve o'clock on Tuesday the 7th of July, scene i. BLIND LOVE. 45 to hear the result of an operation, from which he hopes for the recovery of sight. (Signed) George Carlton.' Mine, to a comma ! More than brother, friend, You scarce are less than father. I must yield My natural precedence. Tell me then (You keep the keys of caskets which mine eyes Saw never open) did you look for this ? Have you perceived the budding of a hope ? How long — and with how £ound a prophecy Of fair conclusion ? You shall break no seal To tell me now. VERNON Nay, sir, I am dark as you : He told me nothing. I have ever found him Ready with feeling, reticent of fact \ Feeling, he says, is rounded with a word, You know its end and outset ; 'tis an air Which, passing, stirs the leaves, but, having passed, Affects not their resumed tranquillity ; But facts are living things — let them not loose ; You know not where they run, nor what they do, 46 BLIND LOVE. act ii. Nor with what freight they come to you again ; And so he holds them prisoner. GREY So he talks, But such philosophy is doublefaced. — The invisible air is full of life and death ; We know not which we breathe, till the touched heart, Quickening or pausing, tells, perchance too late, What power has grazed its vital mystery. Why, common speech proclaims it — deeds are done, But each intangible immortal thought May cause a million deeds, and sweep through Time, Strewing its future harvests till the end When the strong reapers garner all the fruit And reckon all the seeds. VERNON You speak as one Who knows the future. GREY I am near enough To see it plainly. Every tract of Time scene i. BLIND LOVE. 47 Swings like a ship with all its souls aboard Across the next horizon ; but the crew See not their fate alike ; some stand aloft And from the watchful summit of their years Scan all the field — some only see the sky, Some, only the cleft water — dangerous guides Wrecked by the details which they overlook Or overestimate. I pile my words Merely to smother time. Must we sit still ? VERNON What should we do ? GREY It is a sin, I know, To wrest grasped secrets from the coming hour And crush them ere they open — but such sins Precede temptation, and are done and rued Before we know they court us. Shall we talk Of our conjectures ? I have noted him Full of those starts and pauses which bewray A brooding soul. I let them pass. I knew He bore a heavy load. The moods and mists Of one who suffers should be questionless ; 48 BLIND LOVE. act ii. He may pass through them into purer air. But none can show him how. He stumbled on, Crutched by a girl's unmeaning sympathy, Which men will welcome when they turn from men. She knew no more than I. Ha ! here she comes With her wise ignorance. Enter Hope, followed by Avice. hope Father ! GREY Why, what now ? Was there a ghost in your path? HOPE O no, an angel Setting Heaven open. But I fear, I fear, If, having seen what may be, I return Only to keep what was, I should be found Not strong enough to comfort him. O father, Will you not tell me what you hope ? Tell nothing ! [Stopping her ears I will not hear you if you speak. O, peace ! You shall not — nay, you must not ! scene i. BLIND LOVE. 49 GREY So, SO, SO ! This is our heroine — take away your hands, I am not one to play the headsman's part Without commission. Child, be satisfied, I too await the dawn. HOPE What can we do ? Methinks my soul is faithless. I should pray, But I so quake and totter on this edge That not a thought has room to shape itself. Now God forgive me. Enter Avice. avice Amen for us all. Come, you white penitent, and show your sins : They must be dreadful since you hide them so That none can guess their names. GREY Are you come too ? 50 BLIND LOVE. act ii. AVICE I know I have no place here — let me stay — I'll hide in a teacup. hope (taking her hand) You shall stay by me. I know you are as earnest in your smiles As we, with all our weeping. AVICE Truly spoken ; A woman I, amazed with gratitude If I find merely justice. Enter Carlton. CARLTON Welcome all. GREY No man says welcome to a funeral ; What is your news ? CARLTON The best. scene i. BLIND LOVE. 51 grey {shouting) He sees ! HOPE Where is he? [As she rushes to the door Carlton interposes. Hope, starting back, falls on her knees. Avice goes to her. AVICE Quick, or she faints ! HOPE No, no — no word of me — Tell me, or take me to him ! I forgot To give God thanks. CARLTON A moment's patience, friends, Before you greet him. You shall understand That all is as you wish ; he sees ; he is well ; He is here — nay, gently ! I have got a charge To speak to you from him. HOPE O for a leap Across this wordy chasm ! I have no sense Until I reach him. 52 BLIND LOVE. act ii. GREY Nay, we'll listen for you And teach you afterwards. (To Carlton.) Say on. CARLTON Tis thus. This lady holds the measure of his wish [showing Hope. And can discern my failures. He has vowed More to himself than her, that her fair face Shall be his sunrise ; and so jealously Hath he maintained his vow, that with bound eyes In voluntary darkness, like a man Reprieved not pardoned, he awaits the look Which shall proclaim his freedom. grey (to Hope, who is still on her knees) Stay you there ; We lack the time to contradict this whim — We'll stand aside. Now, doctor, lead him in ; We are all marshalled. {Exit Carlton. hope (who has been hidi?7g her face, looking up) I know not why I am afraid to see Until he sees me. While his eyes were dark scene i. BLIND LOVE. 53 Mine were his weapons — they seem useless now Except for tears of joy. AVICE A sorry welcome ! You should laugh out, like sunshine. HOPE I might fear, Being so weak, to be nothing to him now, But in the strength and sureness of his love I am armoured from all doubts. GREY Peace ! peace ! he comes. Scene II. Re-enter Carlton, leading Raymond, whose eyes are bandaged. He places him opposite to Hope, who still kneels ; the others draw back a little. RAYMOND Hush ! not a word. Respect this mimic sleep Which I prolong because I need not Hark ! 54 BLIND LOVE. act II. You think me blind — I say it is a mask : Behind this kerchief are the eyes of a man ; I'll loose it in a moment. Is it not grand To hold the great bright universe of God Thus in my leash, and slip it when I will, Not till my soul is ready for it ! Skies, Trees, waters, wonders, dead and living things, Musical Day that from its first faint note Swells to a chorus and then sinks again, Films of far lustre wandering among clouds, Fine blooms of fragile grass about my feet, Upgathered wealth of hue and lineament Shining since Chaos, making through blind Space Vast preparation for the Man who comes To take his heritage— all are in this knot, [touching the bandage And lo ! the Man is come ! [As he takes off the bandage Avice makes a step forward — Raymond, after an instanfs pause, passes Hope,, rushes to Avice, and clasps her in his arms, RAYMOND My own ! my love ! Better than all my dreams scene ii. BLIND LOVE. 55 AVICE Alas, you err. O, this was not my fault ! [She draws away from him. GREY No fault at ail \ The whim was sure to bear a blunder. Come, [touching Hope Speak you and make it right. Hope (clasping Raymond's knees) O, these new eyes, The heart must learn to see with them. Look down, And when you have beheld me well, forgive me For that I am not fairer. RAYMOND Fair enough For me. I know you now ; come close and teach me My alphabet of beauty. Here are brows Pure as a sculptor's wish ; eyes like deep flowers Wherein the dew stays long ; cheeks that do lack Part of their natural bloom, pale, as I think With habit of some pity ; aye, and lips — 56 BLIND LOVE. act ii. When I have touched them, I shall understand The sweetness of their wisdom. [Kisses her. GREY We have here A ready pupil ; check him, lest he prove A Wrangler out of school. What ! are you blind Because he sees ? Show him your face again Lest he forget his lesson. HOPE I was never Ashamed till now. RAYMOND And never had less cause. GREY Am I forgotten ? Not a word for me ? RAYMOND 0, sir, my long Bastile is hardly down, 1, tottering into freedom lose myself With memory of my vast familiar blank, Making a haze about the multitudes scene ii. BLIND LOVE. 57 Through whom I walk, till I distinguish not The faces I most honour. You must pardon My unfelt failures. CARLTON Let me claim you now : My work is done, yet must I press upon you That safe prescription of a tranquil mmd Which is the seed and atmosphere of health. Will you go in and rest ? GREY The doctor speaks And we obey. Yet hold ! we are but churls, Snatching our new-found treasure greedily And turning from the giver. Was there found Not one to thank you ? HOPE O, to bless you rather With every moment of our joyful days And sweet un-haunted nights ! CARLTON Enough, enough ; We labour for these silent sights of praise 58 BLIND LOVE, act ii. And they reward us. Take him, gentle nurse ; You that have soothed and charmed his helplessness Must win him to forget his power awhile, Lest over-use make vain the time of growth. Now, no farewells. RAYMOND Submission is my thanks. [As he is about to leave the room with Hope, he pauses and addresses Avice. For you, my fair dumb enemy of old — (Not dumb then, but most vocal), have you not So much as a smile to welcome me to life ? avice (hanging her head) I am as glad as others. RAYMOND And no more ? Not a word for yourself? GREY Let it pass now ; You shall have time hereafter. scene II. BLIND LOVE. 59 RAYMOND I shall claim My debt ere long, foregone but not forgotten. HOPE Ah, love, misjudge her not, speech comes not soon To sudden joy ; her heart is full of words. RAYMOND Are you so sure of that, my tender Hope ? Come and reveal to me that secret tongue That I may read it. I am fain to learn All my new faces. [Exeunt Raymond and Hope. Scene III. Grey — Avice — Carlton — Vernon. GREY You may learn too much From such unwary teaching. What needs he To gain from other hearts ? I do not like This fingering of strange gold with coffers full. 60 BLIND LOVE. act ii. Why did you thrust yourself between them, girl ? \to Avice He should have seen no face but hers, until It had possessed him with its image, so That he judged yours by it, and made a fault Of every difference. She is fair enough — Why were you here ? AVICE O, uncle, be not hard ! Could I, whose life is yours, shut out myself From your life's brightest hour ? So you would make me Merely an outcast. He hath learnt her now, He did but miss his way : he is at home, And in the safe and pleasant light recounts How for a moment his stray footsteps risked A loss, which being now impossible His memory laughs at. GREY Tush, his memory ! Why should he think of it at all ? scene in. BLIND LOVE. 61 AVICE He will not — Nay, I am sure he does not ; he has dropped The trifle ; let it lie — who takes it up And sets it in new light for him to see Is not his friend, nor wise. • GREY What, do you teach me ? Whence grew your mighty wisdom ? Let me tell you I preached before you lisped. Why, you lisp still ; I hear the milk about your speech. Have done ! But that you are a lady, I would tell you Reasons are not like stitches, each to each Joined by the joining, not by natural growth; They live, rny girl, they live, and shape themselves ; We find, but cannot make them. You can tat ; Suppose you do. [To Carlton. If you can spare me time, I'd gladly hear some details of your art Which works so like divinity. CARLTON 111 show you All that I can. [Exeunt Carlton and Grey. 62 BLIND LOVE. act il Scene IV. Avice — Vernon. i AVICE Heavens, what a pupil ! Now, He'll not enquire but cavil, asking proofs — Not that he wants them, but that still he hopes His teacher has them not ; at every step There shall be fence, withdrawal, and retort, And the first fact shall stretch a two hours' talk And be refused throughout ; till with long smiles He turns in triumph from the humbled man Who knows so much which he shall never learn. I see it all. VERNON So you revenge yourself? AVICE If it be vengeance, have I not been wronged ? Say if I have not ! scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 63 VERNON Well, he spoke in anger ; We toss away an old man's petulance Like sweet wine soured by keeping. AVICE But good wine Mellows with time, as true hearts soften, losing The bitterness of youth. VERNON The phrase is apt. AVICE To me ? You mean it so. Well ! if he said A tenth of these my injuries to her You would be bitter too. VERNON To her? To Hope? I've heard him chide her worse a hundred times, But she endured it. AVICE Oh, but she's an angel. 64 BLIND LOVE. act n VERNON Aye, truly. AVICE Truly aye ; and I suppose It is an angel's work to make men fools Lest keen experiments on angelhood Should find out VERNON What? AVICE O, nothing but the truth, Whereof the angels keep monopoly Because it is not food for men. I've done ; I did but ruffle for a moment. Now I'm smooth again and all my friends are safe. VERNON I'll own you were provoked. And now, being safe, I'll ask you boldly, was there any cause For these aggrieved suspicions ? AVICE Not so much As, not being sifted, would lie easily scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 65 On a white threepence — or would match, being weighed, A ring of infant's hair ! I cannot tell Why Raymond so mistook us — 'twas a chance — But with the ceasing of that transient chance His transient admiration, born of it, Died and was buried ) he but thought me fair Because he thought me Hope. VERNON Yet I supposed That you were doubtful of his love for Hope ; Did you not bid me test him ? AVICE Have you done so ? VERNON Occasion served not \ till this hour you know We have not met. AVICE Ah, truly — I forgot — But, for your question — if he love not her, (Which I still doubt why therefore should his love Light upon me — which I am sure it does not. F 66 BLIND LOVE. ACT n. Brush off that dust before we break the shell Of any argument ! VERNON That set aside, His love, that should be hers- AVICE 6 Should be ' 's a fetter, And ' Is ' a fire ! I know he means to love her, Was bound, and ought, and may— pray Heaven he will; But if he does not, Vernon, if he does not, O, you that know what Love is, having cast Its glory as a carpet for her feet Whereon they tread unknowing, save her now From that worst doom, the recognised despair, The daily prison, of a cold embrace Which crushes like the slow un-venomed snake Without a wound, and being loosed, leaves Death. VERNON Aye such a doom, I know, were death to her, But, being what she is, I scarce believe That it could reach her. From the winds of earth scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 67 Tis well to screen a taper, but the stars Shine over all unshaken. AVICE So you talk, Man-like, but ignorant of men ; a woman Reads you, in spite of critics. He shall count her Safe as a star, too difficult for love, While some poor taper, which his hand must shade Lest a breath quench it, occupies his thought And wins him from the skies. It may be so ; I say not that it is ; with riper time We shall discern. VERNON And so far am I fixed To work for you. AVICE For her. VERNON I think you love her. AVICE So well that I would serve her even with pain To save her from worse issues. f 2 68 BLIND LOVE. act ii. VERNON Now I leave you, And at my nearest leisure will assay The temper of this steel. AVICE Mine all the joy If you should prove it flawless. VERNON Mine the pain Whichever way I find it, for her grief Racks me, yet leaves my life a quivering thread To grow from — but, of her sure happiness I die outright. So pass I to my fate. [Exit Vernon. avice, alone. ( She comes forward. ) Is it my fault that I am fair ? Alas Hath Beauty any virtue, like the Spring, Which needs but show herself a little while And the moved greatness of reluctant Earth Gives out its slow flower-worship everywhere ? Is this my meed ? Nay rather, seem I not But one of that poor multitude of flowers scene v. BLIXD LOVE. 69 Which some shall pass, some point at, some extol, As straighter than its fellows, till it fades (Not saved by any straightness) on the stem Or in the hand, what matter ? for it fades And no man misses it. There's not a word But Hope, and Hope, and all the world for Hope Lost for her like a kerchief, given by her Like a gem from her fingers. Madness all, For I, who love her, cannot tell the cause ; Not in her face, I know, and, for her mind — Did ever mind bewitch a heart ? A touch, A whisper, would confute these blunderers, Breathed in the ear, ' Look this way and discern How, merely by not looking, you have failed To find the fairest.' Scene V. Enter Raymond. Raymond— Avice. RAYMOND Now the day is kind Which keeps you here alone. 70 BLIND LOVE. act 11. AVICE Sir, with what reason ? RAYMOND The reason that I longed to find you here And without witness. AVICE This is but to shut Door behind door. RAYMOND I will undo the bolt : I am afraid that I have angered you, And if I sue for grace in other ears I make the sweet mistake a crime. You blush ! Are you offended ? AVICE No. RAYMOND Am I forgiven? AVICE No. scene v. BLIND LOVE. 71 RAYMOND I'll explore this brief vocabulary And ask you, do you hate me ? AVICE Yes, I do. RAYMOND You shall not go till you have told me why, AVICE 111 speak without compulsion. You have brought My uncle's wrath upon me — Hope is vexed, I shamed, and for no cause. I am not good, I know it, but my life was happy here ; I had forgotten that it was not home, Though it be all I have instead of home, For they were kind, and I am quick to love ; But now I learn my place — an alien I, Nay, a mere pauper — if I claim too much He hounds me from his threshold with fierce words. You do not know the things he said to me, And I had done no wrong. 72 BLIND LOVE. act n. RAYMOND Yet, pardon me Who did no wrong, but only what I must, Else are you hard as he. AVICE Why should you care ? RAYMOND I must not tell you. AVICE Is there 6 must ' for men ? I thought it was the privilege of men To make their lives. RAYMOND O, Avice, if it were ! But I'll not speak of that. I never knew That you lacked aught of home — you seemed to me A princess, glancing with unthinking grace About your court. And was there at your heart This wistful pain ? scene v. BLIND LOVE. 73 AVICE I should not speak of it, For they are kind, and if you tell them this I shall be held ungrateful. RAYMOND I am dumb — The secret lies between us, undiscerned, Save that henceforth your courage of bright words Kindles my wonder, and your sadder hours Must take me for their comforter, who know What shadow dims them. AVICE But, before my uncle, I pray you slight me still ; some dream besets him (Old brains we know are wrinkled up with whims), That, praising me, you must disparage Hope ; And if one looks at me with eyes as kind As yours (I know not why I shrink from them) He storms and darkens, till I'm like to swoon For mere dismay. 74 BLIND LOVE. act n. Raymond {taking her hand) The compact hath two sides : If in his presence I disdain you well Doing your bidding nobly, at what cost You guess not, I must make the balance good When he's away. AVICE But how ? RAYMOND I'll show you how When the time comes. AVICE Methinks we are too grave For your first day of freedom. You are changed ; I cannot link you with the man I knew, I am afraid of you without a cause. RAYMOND What ! you afraid, who were so swift of tongue, That we, before you, grew incapable Merely for want of breath ? Keep, I beseech you, scene v. BLIND LOVE. 75 (Though it be feigned) this meek uncertainty Which makes me man enough to comfort you ! I shall be wanted. AVICE RAYMOND Yet a moment more- AVICE No, no, to-morrow I shall understand ; I am confused to-day. \_Exit Avice. Raymond {alone) And what am I ? Do I perceive a change ? Those rapid eyes Have read me while I stumble at myself. What do I feel ? A little while ago I had my place and fitted it— a loop In the great web — patient, and indistinct, And necessary, though I hardly knew Why I was there, or why I lived at all, Not finding any glory in my life ; The limit pressed me everywhere — I ruled My daily motions like a household book, 76 BLIND LOVE. act n. So much for this, and such a space for that, This abstinence to balance that expense, And leave a decent fringe of charity To trim but not encumber all the rest; I loved, and knew the reason of my love, And loved in reason — limits everywhere, But a young soul within. Lo ! it hath grown ! Not as seeds grow, which push the husk aside And build a plant by slow development, But as fire grows, a spark, a flame, a blaze, Making the Darkness give its wonders up ; What have I here in common with my Past ? The unfathomable welcome of the Future Beckons me, and I follow. scene i. BLIND LOVE. 77 ACT III. Scene I. — A Room in Grey's House, with a large Window opening to the Garden. Grey — Vernon. GREY I tell you, he forgets her, which is worse Than scorning. Not a nerve replies to her ; She passes, and he stirs not; she departs — He, when his meditation is complete, Wonders a little why she went away For her mute neighbourhood disturbed him not ; She questions him, and then he answers her Right gently, as becomes a gentleman, And tells her anything she wants to know, And is content with anything she says. Pshaw, man, I know what Love is i If he loved her, 78 BLIND LOVE. act hi. He would be full of challenges and claims, Unreasoning angers, desperate submissions, Incessant sense of her through all the moods, Like one voice speaking twenty languages, Her presence tumult, her withdrawal pain, Herself his breath of life. VERNON Is there, perchance, Some difference of nature ? Love is not The same for all — one temper feeds on sleep, And one on torture. He is sure of her As she of him. GREY Ah ! there's her placid fault ! If we could prick her with a fear, perchance She might rise up and conquer him. VERNON O, sir, You do not read her perfectly. Her love, Like that diviner habit which priests teach, Stands upon faith, and if the basement shakes The temple falls, and all that dwells therein, scene i. BLIND LOVE, 79 The sweet life, which is nothing else but love, Is crushed — she dies of doubt ! GREY How young you are ! You turn her to an Idyl. Such a theme Must needs be read through pre-historic mists To make it credible. To-day, Elaine, After her little scrape with Lancelot, Would give up croquet for a month or two And then be Mrs. Galahad. VERNON I think There might be mockers too at Camelot, Who from the white appeal of that dead face Turned volubly, and talked about the lungs. We too shall find our poet — far enough To see the vast proportions of the Time And let the scratches on the surface pass. We too shall find our poet ; when he comes He will forget the scoffers. Pardon me. GREY He must be more than poet to forget The scoffs that rob him of his wreath. 80 BLIND LOVE. act in. VERNON But say You have read Raymond's heart aright (though hers Is undecyphered), would you break the bond For this ? GREY Nay rather, seal and strengthen it ; I'd marry them to-morrow if I could ! These moderations suit from man to wife, But, being thus forestalled, and in the time When greater heat is natural, I fear Some check we cannot master. Make them one, (I would they were !) and he shall be content, And new experience, not like other men's, May teach him that his dreams were less than truth. VERNON There's danger in such haste. GREY But in delay There is destruction. I have thought of all — We'll have our wedding in a week. What now ? I think they have been plighted long enough, scene i. BLIND LOVE. He knows her from a child ; there's not a thread Of tangling etiquette to hold them back ; And, Vernon, think what, she has been to him ! Through all his helpless unrewarding years The patience of her heart surrounded him As with an angel's presence —will you say She has not earned him ? As he is my son, It angers me ! VERNON But if he love her not, If there be not a seed of love, you doom her To a most barren future. You have seen That he is frank with me. Say, shall I sound him And tell you what he feels ! GREY I charge you, no. Unsounded depths may smother hosts of proof Till some rash hand reveals their vacancy ; Your question, aptly framed, compels reply, And the loose thought, being gathered into words, Grows to a certain fact. Let him alone. 'Tis a maid's privilege to fix the day G 82 BLIND LOVE. act hi. Whereon she gives her fretful freedom up. I'll make her speak — and for mere courtesy He must respond ; and so you see we snare him For his own good. VERNON May you be right ! GREY Amen! Though your voice tolls it like an epitaph. Look where our lovers come. [Raymond and Hope are seen through the window. VERNON As slow of foot As if they feared their goal. GREY For shame ! For shame ! They linger in the sweetness of their way As lovers should. See, she holds up a flower ; Now, this looks well ! He takes it. I'm afraid He is but telling her the Latin name ! Who wants intelligence in making love ? scene I. BLIND LOVE, *3 They don't know how to do it ! Tis enough To sting the patientest of human souls Into mere frenzy ! VERNON Even a married man Might take a violet from his wife's white hand, Without botanic prelude ! GREY You are set To choose the worst interpreting. VERNON Not so ; I do but follow yours. GREY Well, I have done. I'll not disturb the lesson, [Exit Grey. VERNON I must take My news to Avice. I perceive she's right, And we must break this knot by any means G 2 84 BLIND LOVE. act hi. So that 'tis broken. I that stand between Two confidences, screening each from each, Should see my way the clearest. [Exit Vernon. {Scene changes to the Garden.) Scene II. Raymond — Hope. RAYMOND To this place You have been wont to lead me. Let us sit, And try if such familiar atmosphere Can wake the heart of that forgotten man Whom I once was. [He sits down. HOPE Nay love, forget him still ; I'd grudge you profitable pain, and you Whose education has been only pain Can need no sobering touch. Take with both hands The riches of your joy ! [She sits down on the bank beneath him. scene n. BLIND LOVE. 85 RAYMOND Were you thus low Before ? HOPE Ay, so my shoulder for your hand Was ready when you rose. RAYMOND Good Hope ! Good helper ! Were I blind now, I'd prize your ready love A thousand times more dearly than I did. I never fathomed it. HOPE Not on such terms Would I be loved. If you could hate me now I would not buy your heart at such a price Though I should die without it. RAYMOND I am sure You would not. Selfless and serene, you walk Among the passions ; 'tis the privilege 86 BLIND LOVE. act in. Of serving others, that your proper pangs Remain unfelt. HOPE A better privilege Is mine to-day ; the joy of your new life ; Less yours, I think, than mine, and wholly mine Because I know it safely yours. Look round ! Is this the very landscape that you dreamed When my words painted it ? RAYMOND I cannot tell. HOPE Have you forgotten ? RAYMOND Yes, I have forgotten. O child, there are no landscapes on my soul ! My foot is on the threshold of the world, An army of innumerable hopes, Till now held fiercely back — baffled, starved, crushed — Are rushing through the land as conquerors, With every citadel unlocked before them, And all the happy pastures free for them, scene II. BLIND LOVE. 87 And all the festive maidens bringing gifts. Not here, not now, not thus, I crown myself ; No dreamer I, to dawdle through the woods, No creeping sage to scan the grains of sand Or count the useless threads upon a flower : I must go forth among the minds, and rule By force and courage in that grander realm ; My labour and my triumph are with men. HOPE You seem a Prince from some old fairy tale Kept among shepherds, coming up at last To take his true inheritance and reign. I hunger for your glory. Well I knew In that near Past which seems so very far How strong the captive spirit was \ but then I dared not dream of coming liberty, As by a death-bed any thought of health Is shunned as an intolerable pang; Now, that which could not be conceived, is come, Twill be familiar in a week. You talk Of ruling men — you will behold and know How much of evil and of grief there is Wrought among men, which men can take away, 88 BLIND LOVE. act hi. And you will be a soldier in the host Whose leaders are invisible. I too Can help, if you will teach me ; keeping bright Your armour which the common air may rust By service of my prayers, tending your wounds (Though I would have you scatheless), watching you, Revering, and remembering all the while Shadows that do but make the light more plain. Was ever woman in the world so blest ? [ While she is speaking Avice passes slowly across the lawn behind them. Raymond's attention is instantly drawn away, and he follows her with his eyes. Have you a place for me ? Raymond (absently) True — so you said. HOPE How, love ? RAYMOND Nay, pardon me, I meant — I will— Your words are lovely as yourself, and true As I would have them. I forgot a book scene in. BLIND LOVE. 89 In yonder thicket where I walked alone Before you joined me ; I must fetch it in Lest the dew spoil it. [Exit Raymond. hope What a churl am I If my unnatural sovereignty which rose Out of his helplessness, being now reduced To its due limits, I grow sensitive ; I hate myself for thinking of myself — I'll make my heart more strong. It is the strain Of these, past anxious days that changes me, The shock of joy — I know not why I weep. [Exit Hope. Scene III. Enter Avice followed by Raymond. avice O, I have heard too much ! RAYMOND You must hear more — I love you ! 9Q BLIND LOVE. act in. AVICE Cease ! RAYMOND I cannot cease to love, Nor you to credit what you knew before ; Silence avails us not. You know the truth And will not hear me tell it. I, who doubt Yet hope, would die to hear you say the words. Are you not mine ? Confess it ! avice (turning away) Think on Hope. RAYMOND You should have named her sooner, ere you wove The toils I cannot break. AVICE Not I ! not I I did not dream of this — I lie — I knew it ! O vile, vile, vile ! RAYMOND You shall not scorn yourself, No tongue shall touch the honour of rny queen. scene in. BLIND LOVE. 91 avice {assuming a haughty air) You are too hasty, sir. Sir, you mistake ; I love you not. [She turns to go; he catches her hands and detains her. RAYMOND Look in my face and say it ! (A pause.) avice {gradually yielding) I — love — you. [Hides her face. RAYMOND Triumph ! Say it twenty times And twenty times again ; it shall be fresh As the first touch of light before the dawn, Or the first prick of colour in the bud, Or the first glance of wonder, which revealed There was an Avice for me in the world. For me ! For me ! AVICE I do perceive my heart Was yours before I knew it. 92 BLIND LOVE. act in. RAYMOND It was made Only to beat for me. Do you now know it, Or must I teach you how to love me more By showing all the things I'll do for you ? You shall be such a queen as knights of old Contended for, making their glory hers ; What fame I win shall be your coronal, And your least impulse, ere you give it words Shall be fulfilled, because my heart forestalled it. Your meanest day shall be a festival, And wayside babes shall whisper where you pass There goes the fairest woman in the world With him who won her. AVICE Will it cease again This music of my dreams ? Will the dawn come And bring the bitter silence, which so oft Has mocked my listening heart ? RAYMOND So you reveal An unsuspected world, to make it mine With the first glimpse. scene in. BLIND LOVE. 93 AVICE I have betrayed myself More than I should. Be kind and let me go ! You must forget what I with shame remember ; I knew not what I said. RAYMOND For that, your speech Is all the sweeter. AVICE O, we do but snatch One moment from the cruel coming grasp Which gathers up our lives. It is in vain ! You are not free to love me. RAYMOND I were then A slave indeed. I am but one who slept While some light hand wove webs of gossamer About him ; say that in that sleep he died The gossamer had seemed as strong as steel ; But lo ! he wakes, and all is brushed away With his first motion into life. 94 BLIND LOVE. ACT in. AVICE Alas ! I hear you, but I cannot understand. RAYMOND Trust me, I am not cruel. She shall be The sister of our hearts, no less, no more ; There is no passion in her gentle soul, A little wonder, and a little pain, (Which I would spare her if 'twere possible) Will mark our easy severance, till she takes That natural and familiar sisterhood Which is her sole reality of love ; For all beyond, we blundered ; now we know The truth, 'twere sin to mask it. In a month Her tranquil happiness shall mirror ours In its own crystal silence. AVICE May it prove so ! But I am full of fears. What is your purpose ? RAYMOND To wed you. scene in. BLIND LOVE. 95 AVICE Aye, but how to part from her ? RAYMOND Devise the manner with your sharper wit, I do but grasp the fact. AVICE Thus then I take The moment's swift suggestion. Vernon loves her With such a needy patience as besets A climber's walk for many a weary mile, And takes, content, a halfpenny at last, Wrung, but not given. RAYMOND So ! I'm sorry for him. AVICE Nay, nay, he shall achieve his recompense. RAYMOND If that be all our ground for confidence We had best teach ourselves to say goodbye ; Think of some better way. 96 BLIND LOVE. act hi. AVICE You have not heard me. A jealous heart sees with a hundred eyes And he divines you truly, that your love Shrinks far below that heaven- encompassed height Whereon he sets her claims. I can so move him That he shall warn her like a trusty friend, Not craving any guerdon for himself Which might awake her doubt, but generously, Knowing the fact, braving the present pang To bar worse issues ; so the work begun Grows of itself — the crack that lets in truth Fills all the house with light. RAYMOND The plan is good. So— -Vernon loves her, — and mistrusts my love. AVICE Why do you ponder it? RAYMOND An hour ago He put me through my questions. I profess scene in. BLIND LOVE. 97 With that weak appetite for sympathy Which sometimes pricks the strongest, I was near To showing him my heart. AVICE I pray you, hide it. He must not think you have a thought for me, RAYMOND There seems a mighty riddle in this man ! Must I believe he has a double heart, One face- to watch for Hope, and one for you, Both bringing me to judgment? AVICE You are angry. RAYMOND Faith, not at all : I am inquisitive, I wait instruction. Wherefore screen our love So carefully from Vernon ? Will it choke him If he but breathe't in passing ? AVICE For my sake ! H 9S BLIND LOVE, act in. RAYMOND So ! For your sake ! I wait instruction still. AVICE You are not kind ; you should perceive, untold, Since I am yours, all ills that threaten me ; I .am not as a daughter in this house, Not shielded, not encouraged, not the theme Of sweet interpretations, which reflect Light on my darkest shadows — I must stand On only my poor self. If, ere you claim me, One faint suspicion touch me, I am lost ; I die to think of it. RAYMOND But if a breath Should pass you roughly, causing but a blush, I toss our paltry cautions to the wind And snatch you to my heart ! Now., are you safe? AVICE O, thus for ever ! {She starts away from him.) Hush ! I hear a step ! Tis Vernon — leave me ! scene in. BLIND LOVE. 99 RAYMOND Nay, I'll stand my ground. I think I am a man, and not a mist To be brushed off that he may see more clearly. AVICE O, if you love me, leave me ! RAYMOND Thus adjured I cannot choose. But I have learnt to-day That our suspense is deadly, and must cease. [Exit Raymond. Avice (alone). O, if I come but safely to the light I will abide in it for ever ! Truth Shall be my daily garment ; 'twas not I Who set this tree of life beyond my grasp Which I can only reach by stratagem ; I hate the means, but die without the fruit. h 2 ioo BLIND LOVE, act in. Scene IV, Enter Vernon. Vernon — Avice. vernon I have performed your bidding avice {interrupting) True — I know it. Friend, listen, for the need is great. You found All that we feared ? VERNON I fear he loves her not. AVICE Tut ! Drive the dagger home — there's not a pulse In all his round of days that's true to her ! VERNON Speak not of truth and him, if this be so. I hold him for the prince of treachery. scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 101 AVICE O, let that pass — the question is of her. VERNON Aye and her doom was near. The bridal day Is fixed. AVICE When? When? VERNON I break a seal to tell you. Well — in. a week. AVICE Then, save her ! She's alone In that green garden-temple where she sits And weaves her daily liturgies. Go there And tell her — you that love her, should be bold To risk for her a little more than this. VERNON Can I that love her slay her with a word ? AVICE Nay, but the surgeon, with a tender hand Wounds, to preserve from death. 102 BLIND LOVE. act in. VERNON How are you sure ? If we have erred in this avice We have not erred. Question not \ take the certainty ! VERNON But how AVICE I dare not tell you how I know this thing. VERNON From his own lips ? AVICE Yes — no — denial's vain ! From his own lips ! VERNON Then should you tell the tale. AVICE O, Vernon, I'm a woman and I cannot. Go you and speak the bitter thing you know ; scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 103 Hide nothing, bid her seek him on the instant ; The fire of her quick coming shall compel The fact, and though she suffers, she is saved. Be such a friend as can afflict a friend — There's nothing greater. VERNON Would I could be sure That not a hope or fear about myself Moves me at all ; yet Avice, yet, I know That since it is of right to break this bond, The breaking stirs me with a secret thrill That may become a hope. AVICE It shall be more. You, her consoler, shall instruct her heart Where it may rest. VERNON I go. [Exit Vernon, avice {alone) The deed is done. There was no hand but mine, and there's no stain • [Looking ruefully at her hand. 104 BLIND LOVE. act hi. Inevitable things are never sin, And only breed remorse in feeble hearts. The prince of treachery ! A hideous name ! I'll trust him. O ! how terribly I trust him ! He shall be true hereafter. We who hate This barrier which an angry doom hath built About the proper garden of our lives Can cross it, and forget it, and be true On the far flowery side of it, together ! [Exit Avice. Scene changes ', and discovers a place in the Garden before the entrance to a Summer- house. Scene V. Hope — Vernon. hope I know you mean me kindly. VERNON O, how cold Sounds that word ' kindly' by the thing I mean ! I mean, by any spending of myself scene v. BLIND LOVE. 105 By sacrifice, by even your priceless pain, For which I hate myself, and you, thus grieved, (But you are gentle) might be drawn to hate me : By all this, and by more than this, I mean To save the sweet life which you throw away Not knowing what you do. But you are calm ; Have you received my words ? HOPE I am constrained To speak of what I should not. That you love me Is your mistake — my sorrow. I would hide From all the world, from mine own self, from you If it were possible, that you have cast Your precious gold, your sacred wealth of life, To one who, not unthankful, can give back Nothing more dear than thanks. VERNON Why speak of me ? I did not plead my love. HOPE Only for that, That innocent wrong, which I perforce have done 106 BLIND LOVE. act hi. And cannot remedy, I hear you calmly ; Yourself, but not your words, which touch me not, Which I forget at once, for if remembered It would be difficult to pardon them. VERNON Are you so sure? You do but cheat yourself; Be honest, look into your heart, believe The witness which avouches all I say ; Have those unnamed and manifold appeals Which you find there, been satisfied ? Why then Each is a separate joy ! If they be joys, Why do you thus prohibit them like sins Or stifle them like pangs ? HOPE The thought is false. If you could know the heart which you misread, It measures not the greater. He must be Its test and not its answer. VERNON So your lips, Like skilful lawyers, frame an argument scene v. BLIND LOVE. 107 To hide the point of danger, which a tear, A blush, the murmur of a sigh, betrays ; Too faithful witnesses who mar their cause While others plead it. HOPE I have heard enough : You make forbearance treason. VERNON Yet a word- hope (interrupting) Not a breath ! I despise my gentleness ; I should have shown you this indignant heart Which pity veiled (I must not be ashamed To speak of pity now) since sense so base Is put upon my patience. He whose name I breathe not to you, will forgive my fault More readily than I forgive myself That I have heard you doubt him. For your sake, But not for mine, nor his, take this reply : There's not a cloud-flake in the upper air Slight enough to be likened to your words 10S BLIND LOVE, ACT in. As they flit over mine unruffled faith And fleck it with no shadow. [She turns away. VERNON I am dumb. hope {returning) You should have been so sooner. VERNON Here comes one Who may convince you ; slay me with your scorn And 111 not make defence, if you but find Courage to question him. [Exit Vernon. HOPE What word is that ? Courage ? I need no courage, being safe ! I have invited insults. Enter Raymond. He starts back. She runs to him. Scene VI. Raymond — Hope. Forgive me ! hope O my love, scene vi. BLIND LOVE. 109 RAYMOND For what crime ? HOPE Against myself, Not you — not for a moment against you I sinned, because I suffered him to speak Words which do blind me with remembered shame ; But you are here, and I am in the light And I must show you all. Raymond {aside) If this be so As I would have it, as I think it is, We are free, we triumph ! {Aloud.) Speak and have no fear ! Vernon I think went from you as I came ; Hope, I have read him through. I know he loves you With such a loyal patience as your own Which will not tamper with another's seal. But he who set the seal can break it, Hope. I'll give you words. If he has tempted you — If there were trembling moments in your heart no BLIND LOVE. act hi. Which as he pleaded, almost answered him As he would have you answer, tell me all ! We are all frail — let all be merciful ! HOPE Would you forgive me that ? Alas, my Raymond, I could not be so placable to you ; I know not if my love is hungrier, Or if my trust, being made so perfect-pure, Takes the least flaw for ruin, but I know If I could let a doubt into my heart ; T would break it in the entering. RAYMOND Then what said he ? HOPE Are you so cold ? Must I defend myself? Should not that cause be safe whose just defence Lies in the judge's breast ? I was a child When first you made me love you. Looking back The time before that far beginning seems Like a vague dream before a lovely day, For I began to live then. You should know Better than I, the manner and the growth — scene vr. BLIND LOVE. in It is myself, I cannot speak of it. Oh, you were jesting when you doubted me ; There's not a word of love you ever spoke, Not a kind look, nay, not a turn o' the voice Dropping to tenderness, which stays not here, [touching her heart Recalled a thousand times, making sweet fire Under the common talk, which no man sees, To feed the happy fulness of my life. Sure you would mock me if I told you all, If I could show you (as I could) the leaf On yonder maple which the sun just kissed When somewhere in last June you said you loved me ; Or the soft inch of moss which pressed my foot When you compelled that answer from my lips Which had so long been ringing in my heart. Nay, but for shame, I could tell deeper things, Yet have I told too much. Raymond {aside) Must I hear this ? My punishment is greater than my fault. [A loud, taking Hope's hands. Hear me ! ii2 BLIND LOVE, act hi. HOPE Alas, your grasp is hard ! It hurts ! I never wronged you by a thought. Raymond {drops her hands and turns away) O, peace ! Do not look at me so — tell me — be sure You speak bare truth —if you could know me guilty, Worthless, a wretch for common speech to spurn And priests to preach of, would you give me up ? Speak, would you ? HOPE By this anguish in your voice You are not jesting. Dear, if you have erred, Some passion struck you — men may do the wrongs Which women dream of, being tempted less; But all are sinners in the sight of God. You are so noble, that you charge your soul With passages and moments which escape The common record. Tell, or tell me not, The pang which shakes your conscience, I am sure It touches not my love. scene vi. BLIND LOVE, in RAYMOND O ignorance, To which the blackest secret in the abyss Of miserable nature seems a cloud Melting against the daylight ! Words so sweet Which make the heart so bitter ! Irony Cutting the sharper that it means to heal ! Hate me ! You must, you shall ! hope {with her hands on his arm) I claim my right In this new grief — being yours it must be mine. Was it not always so, my Raymond? Think That the familiar darkness holds you still Where, trust me, you would miss the faithful voice And unforsaking clasp. Are they less yours Because your night is inward ? O, I am bold To count myself for something ! Call to mind That precious sorrow of the Past, which drew Such comfort from my love, that I was glad Once for a selfish moment, when I felt That I was all your world. Chide me for that ! I am your servant now, and you my world, But that's no change. I U4 BLIND LOVE. act in. RAYMOND It is impossible ! HOPE No confidence can wound like this withholding. If for my sake you hide a pain, remember Ere it can prick your heart it pierces mine. Nay, if you will not trust me, I must fear You love me less. [ Weeps. Raymond {aside) It burns me here — to death ! I cannot utter it. {Aloud.) You conquer me Against my will. I have not slept three nights ; Heed nothing that I say — I am not well — There is a haunting fever in my blood Which troubles me with visions. HOPE Ah, no sleep ! This bare tremendous life, which threatens you Without its natural veil, shall seem an angel When you have slept again. I marvel not The calmness of your late endurance pays scene vii. BLIND LOVE. 115 This afterprice. I am glad you told me of it ; You must be handled gently. RAYMOND I'll go now And try to rest. Scene VII. Grey— Raymond — Hope. Enter Grey. grey Well found ! My errand, friends, Needs you together. HOPE Father grey (interrupting) You shall speak When I have done, if you have still a mind ; But I have that to say which makes maids dumb, 1 2 n6 BLIND LOVE. act in. Although they think the more. I come to fix Your wedding, gentle pair. (To Raymond, who starts) Ah, you are quick ; You would forestall me — will a week content you, Or must I say, to-morrow? Not a word? (To Hope) Come, are your ribbons ready ? Will you baulk us For any foolish scruple of delay Because your keys are missing, or your robe Lacks one out of its twenty tryings on ? Talk to her, Raymond ! RAYMOND Sir, you are too rough GREY What I? What, rough? Were I a woman, son, I'd not be wooed so gingerly. RAYMOND Dear Hope, Fear no unseemly haste— you shall be queen Of your own time. GREY So please your majesty, Your loyal subject, having, for good cause, Devised the day for this great ceremony, scen e vii. BLIND LOVE. 117 Implores you of your grace to sanction it. Shall it be Thursday? [Raymond turns away with a gesture of despair. hope (who has been looking in a bewildered manner from the one to the other) I am not my own That I should answer. GREY Hark ! how modestly She bids you take your privilege. (Aside, stamping) Speak man ! Are you dumb dust ? Raymond (aside) Why shrink I from the lie Having fulfilled the treason? (Aloud.) Thursday, then; A joyful promise ! GREY Hope n8 BLIND LOVE. act hi. HOPE I pray you leave me, Or let me go, for I would be alone. GREY So, so, this liberty of solitude, Being short-lived, grows precious. You shall stay With your sweet thoughts. (To Raymond aside.) But if you leave her thus, You paper-hearted muser ! [Raymond approaches Hope, who shrinks away from him. HOPE Do not touch me ! I do beseech you leave me ! GREY Have your way ! We'll let her dream a little ! [Exit, with Raymond. [Hope stands silent for a minute with downcast head, then suddenly looks up. hope Was it true? cenei. BUND LOVE. 119 ACT IV. Scene I. — A Garden — Evening. E?iter Raymond and Vernon — afterwards Avice. VERNON You seem not like a man whom fortune crowns, For whom suspense is satisfied, whose heart Stays in that pleasant time before the dawn When we long patiently, because we know The sun must rise. These starts of gloom befit A soul in fear. RAYMOND If you interpret me You shall make blunders. Let me pass ; we touch At angles, and you cross me. VERNON Shall I say I find you changed in friendship ? i20 BLIND LOVE. act iv. RAYMOND Pshaw, you harp Like women, with a burr of sentiment Through all the strings. Staccato, friend ! Life needs A grasp — and then, a rest ! VERNON Will the rest come ? RAYMOND I am not weary yet. VERNON To weariness Gomes never rest ; it comes but to content, Which lies and contemplates the thing that is, Needing no dreams. RAYMOND Even so you moralise, But twenty other true moralities May turn the self-same fact in twenty ways And still be true. I'll tell you why. No fact Has less than twenty faces. Unity Belongs but to the clumsy counterfeits scene I. BLIND LOVE. 121 Which must be stationed to a turn, and seen By their due stroke of light, and never touched, Lest from their semblance of reality They crumble into chaos. VEKNON Will you judge Deeds by this measure ? Hath the crystal Right So many faces ? RAYMOND Nay, I never judge. I do not keep a conscience for my friends. Enough — here comes a gentle disputant For whom we talk too keenly, [Enter Avice. vernon Ah, sweet lady, The moonlight is not paler than your cheeks. Methinks you walk too late. AVICE O, no, too soon, .Because my quest is solitude and night. 122 BLIND LOVE. act iv. VERNON Will you dismiss us so ? AVICE The garden's free, And I can walk elsewhere. VERNON How languidly, Unlike your vivid self, you make response ; Like the faint flutter of some wounded wing That once did push and sweep the resonant air From its undoubting way # RAYMOND This chemist, lady, Hath hearts in his laboratory. Mine Was analysed but now ; your turn is come : You shall learn how you ought to feel, and where His science marks your failure. Well we know The wheels of these triumphant theorists Crush all the desperate facts that clog their path ; Will you fall down before him ? scene i. BLIND LOVE. 123 avice (disregarding him — to Vernon) Is it true That you can do such things ? VERNON What things, I pray you ? AVICE Why, even as he says, divine the heart In your sure microscope, and make us see That all we trusted, lived for, leant upon, Was the chance stir or stillness of a pulse ? RAYMOND Chance should not rule such pulses. avice (turning upon him) But it does ! Aye, chance so slight, that if a door but close, Or a cloud darken, or a voice speak softly, There comes an end and a forgetfulness To what seemed everlasting. 124 BLIND LOVE. ' act iv. RAYMOND Were it so This were a piteous world. AVICE Why so it is. Could we read back the story of our lives, • Knowing the vain end and the helpless course Before the bright beginning, I am sure We might all die of pity. RAYMOND I can teach you Fairer conclusions. (She turns away angrily.) vernon (aside) I perceive myself Superfluous — and depart. [Exit Vernon. scene ii. BUND LOVE. 12 Scene II. Raymond — Avice. avice Am I the dust That you so tread me ? You have done your work, A man's work, take the wages of a man Success, and let no thought, save of yourself, Trouble your peace, else were you less than man. Why do you look at me ? What is't to you That I am angry ? Do you note my words To spice with some new laughter for her lips The next full cup you tender ? I'll not bear To be remembered— let me pass from you, A blank page in the volume, which, being turned, Is never sought again. You are still dumb — Have you no answer ? RAYMOND Not a syllable Till you have done. 126 BLIND LOVE. act iv. AVICE O, this is courtesy Of such fine sifting, that all qualities Come from its hands alike ; you shall not find The difference of a grain 'twixt love and hate Or truth and falsehood. I would sooner face The brutal honesty of savages Than such insensate smoothness. RAYMOND Chide your fill ; You only tell me what I knew before. AVICE That you are false ? RAYMOND Nay, but that you are fond. [Avice makes a passionate gesture of contradictio?i. RAYMOND O child, be mute ; you say you know not what, And point unreal weapons at your heart ; But I must utter words which should be wounds, Words which must wither all my nobler self, scene ii. BLIND LOVE. 127 And though they be but air, have force to drive me For ever to the dark side of that line Which parts the course of good and evil men. O I am traitor to the truest soul That ever touched this earth ! AVICE You speak not so Of me. RAYMOND You, Avice, you? No, no, — our love Stands upon falsehood ; but of her whose name Henceforth I handle not ; who parts from us As martyrs do, when their unconscious silence Summons the judgment. AVICE I have never seen you So moved before — what have you done ? RAYMOND That only Which I must do ; I could not choose but strike her, But, being a coward, I struck her in the dark, 128 BLIND LOVE. act iv. And so, the pity of the consequence Confronts me not. Let us be gone from it ! What is it to us if night is at our backs When all the torrent of triumphant noon Flows to our lips ? Drink deep, we need drink deep ; The palace of our Future must be built On a forgotten Past. AVICE Do you say so ? Love, based on falsehood and forgetfulness, Come you to me with such reproachful eyes, With such uncertain heart ? 1 had dreamed A woman's dream — shall I not tell it you ? Of a man's love that was a real thing, That burned i' the soul, that knew what it desired, And like a shaft of conquest cleft its goal Right through a waste of unregarded air — Such love were worth the dying for — for less 'Tis not worth while to live. I have said all But my last word, and that is — Give me up ! RAYMOND Is this mine Angel tempts me ? She may eak With such a voice, but should not wear that face ! scene ii. BLIND LOVE, 129 AVICE You have answered me. Farewell. Raymond {taking her hands) We must not part So carelessly. You that did love me once And now forsake me, should not drop away As a leaf drops when long days loosen it, Noiseless and noteless. There is something due, If but a pause that's measured by a sigh (No longer), to sweet promises unkept And unforgotten. Let me count your debt ; First there's my heart — but that's not much — a tear May balance that (methinks you have it ready), My hope, my life, my faith, my happiness ; For trifles such as these should I give back This jewel for which a man might change his soul? Nay, but HI hold it ! AVICE Do you love me then ? RAYMOND I'll tell you so a thousand times a day When we are free. K 130 BLIND LOVE. act iv. AVICE O, if the time were come ! Yet if you care for me with the tenth part Of my too strenuous love (which is my life); Nay, if you do but care with such a force That were I dead you would be sorrowful, And were I false you could not compass scorn For sadness, and whene'er you see my face, There's something at your heart says ' this is mine I'm not complete without it,' I would kneel At your feet for so much. Ah ! beware of me, Let no mad threat of parting cozen you, For when that future comes, and I am yours, I will not live an hour away from you. RAYMOND So change you ! Queen and slave in half an hour ! But, when that future comes, each mood shall seem As precious as those baffling sunset hues Which make a painter's rapture and despair- Time fails to mark them now. Hush ! in your ear— I have devised that we shall fly to-night. AVICE To-night ! Together ! scene ii. BLIND LOVE. 131 RAYMOND Aye, no other way. A thing that should be done without a word, Will you be waking ? AVICE When? RAYMOND Why, half an hour Past midnight, with no signal, lest we rouse Unwished-for eyes. You tremble AVICE Not with fear. What must I do ? RAYMOND There's a thin moon— enough To light a crime ; where yonder chestnut droops 111 hide and wait ; a trusty hand below Holds our boat ready — make your eyes more false ! They write your thoughts in fire. k 2 132 BLIND LOVE. act iv. AVICE Whom have you trusted ? I fear ! I fear ! RAYMOND Be satisfied — a man Truer than we are; though he's but a groom He'll not betray his master ! AVICE Does he know ? O ! have you told ? RAYMOND We have not time for shame. AVICE Are you so hard with me ? RAYMOND I am so hard, That if you shrink I will not let you go. Why do you say so much ? I'd have you blind, Fast in my arms, your eyes upon my heart, Not knowing that my foot is on the brink scene II. BLIND LOVE. 133 Till we have plunged You should seem whiter so — I would be charier of your soul than mine. You'll thank me for 't hereafter, when I need To look at something pure. AVICE Why, if you loved me You would behold me stainless as a star. It is the property of Love to make The thing it worships — to go forth like light On Alpine summits, turning snow to fire, And melancholy rocks to thrones of glory. RAYMOND Till the night comes. AVICE We know not of the night, O haunt me not with checks — let me once hear The singleness of passion ! RAYMOND 'Tis my curse To bear a double nature — preachers say 'Tis so with all men ; if you serve the one 134 BLIND LOVE. act iv. You shall forget the other. But I serve, And so remember that mine ears are filled With low prophetic thunders. Do not weep ; Look at me — so — why, what a churl was I To scare you on the threshold of your bliss When I should lift you past it ! Come, be gay ! Show me the courage of your love ! I'll say, If you but glance aside and catch your breath, That you repent. Come, if we stay too long Some tongue shall wonder. [Exit, leading Avice out Scene III. Enter a Servant reading from a paper. SERVANT ' Three steps ascending to a summer-house. 1 Yes, there are the three steps. ' A space of turf in front 1 — there's no doubt about the space of turf— ' And if you stand on the lowest step you will see the edge of the river and the top of the boat-house] {he stands as directed and looks off the scene). Do I see them? There's the river, sure enough — and what is that under the alders ? scene in. BLIND LOVE. 135 Pshaw, the light is too dim, but I'm sure it's a wooden roof. This must be the spot. And now if I wait here patiently (so Thornley says) I can give him the message and the letter. It's a pity I don't know him by sight, but I can ask his name. And if he be, as Thornley says, a gentleman who is just about to get his own will in spite of everybody, why he'll be in a generous temper and I may make my profit of him. There's a step on the gravel ! And — here he comes ! Enter Damer Grey. servant (approaching him) I beg your pardon, sir, but are you Mr. Grey ? GREY Yes, that is my name. SERVANT Then I have a letter for you, and if you will be so kind as to read it, I can give you a full explanation. grey (faking the letter) The light's too dim, my friend. I think we must have the full explanation before the reading. Is any- thing amiss ? 136 BLIND LOVE. act iv. SERVANT Nothing of consequence, sir. Thornley GREY Who is Thornley ? SERVANT Oh sir ! I see you are not sure of me, but I know all about it. I'm to be trusted. {Dropping his voice) I know all about the young lady, sir — and the boat — and half-past twelve o'clock to-night — and where Thornley was to wait for you. You needn't be afraid of me, sir. GREY Humph ! {Aside.) My mind misgives me, and yet the treachery would be too black, too foul — 'tis not human. {Aloud.) How can I make sure of you? Do you know my name ? SERVANT Yes, sir ; did I not call you by it ? You are Mr. Raymond Grey. scene in. BLIND LOVE. 137 grey (aside) Even by this light I should scarce have thought I could be mistaken for my own son — yet I know I have kept my figure ! (Aloud.) Good ; and you came from Thornley. Pray, did he tell you the lady's name ? And what made him so communica- tive ? If you are to be trusted it seems that he is not. SERVANT I beg your pardon, sir, but that's the whole reason of it. Thornley has had a bad accident, sir, and could not keep his appointment with you — and I'm his cousin, and every whit as good an oarsman as he is — you'll find it all set down in this letter. And I'm willing to do his work for him and carry you and the young lady down to Overton, where the horses are waiting. I think I can undertake to do it in twenty minutes under the time, for a consideration. And as for the young lady's name, sir — why, I don't suppose you would be likely to name it to Thornley, but a man may guess it. We all know that you're the gentleman who wants to run away from his wedding- 138 BLIND LOVE. act iv. day \ and Miss Avice, sir, she's the beauty of the whole country, and we don't wonder at you. GREY So, so, so ! {Aside) If there be shame on earth they shall suffer it. Ill not spare — 111 not wait — I'll not hesitate. Come in, friend, I shall want you. There ! {gives money.) Come and wait where I tell you. SERVANT Thank you, sir ! I am altogether at your com- mand. [Exeunt Grey and Servant. Scene IV. — A Boudoir in Grey's House. E?iter Two Maids with a white bridal veil and wreath. FIRST MAID Set it just here where she cannot fail to see it as she comes in. So — that fold falls sweetly — and the blossom is as soft and delicate as a babe's cheek. {She draws back and contemplates them after arranging scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 139 them upon a chair.) One would think a girl must like to look at that. SECOND MAID But she did not give so much as a glance at the gown. She stood still and let us fit it upon her as though she were but trying it for another ; and she looked straightforward and seemed to see nothing- — there was no heart in her eyes — they were as far off and as empty as stars. If this is the proper way 'to be married I pray Heaven keep me single ! FIRST MAID You need not waste a prayer on that. But it is strange, for she has no home to leave, and she has loved him from her childhood. I think it is but a girl's fear of unknown happiness : she was ever a timid soul ; she would curdle at sour words — nay, a sharp look would pierce her. SECOND MAID Ah, she's too gentle for this world ! FIRST MAID Do not say so ; it sounds like bad prophesying. Stay, here she comes. 140 BLIND LOVE. act iv. SECOND MAID I'll not face her. She wants a woman to give her courage for this leap, and you, who have been about her from her childhood, should stay by her now. Perhaps she may open herself to you with no listener near. [.Exit Second Maid. Enter Hope with downcast eyes and clasped hands. She comes slowly to the front, and does not perceive the veil or the maid. HOPE 'Tis near. I thought a life through in the night, But there's no morning. I have looked all ways I* the blank unhelpful distance, seeing nothing, No coming speck upon the waste, to grow And shape itself a comfort as it comes. I'll not stand here with shut eyes, questioning If I be verily in this wilderness, Or if the sweetness of remembered water Flows to my feet unseen. It is not here, It was never here, I did but dream of it ; Nay, when I saw it brightest, had I stooped I should have risen with dust upon my lips. scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 141 That's the worst pang. Was I not once a child ? (I think so.) What a wall of lovely thoughts Shut out the truth ! If you had told me then The hundredth part of life — if you had shown me One little fragment of the facts to come, I should have hid my face among my flowers And died there, never knowing. O, my heart, I wish I had done so ! [ Weeps Yet, yet, yet, he loved me ! I'll not believe he did not. 'Tis all dead, But that which dies has lived. 'Twere idiocy To groan for losing what I never had. O ! it was mine ! O fool, but it is lost ! So the cold Present sucks down the sweet Past And shuts above it. Not a sign to show Where all that light was quenched, only the sea With its slow murmur of funereal waves Pressing us onward. [She perceives the dress and wreath. Who has put these here ? Is there yet one who dreams I shall be happy ? O take away these lies ! Clothe me in black, And set no summer falsehoods on my brow, But bitter cypress and discarded rue, 142 BLIND LOVE. act iv. Tokens of death to sever her who wears From all the common chances of delight. Who laid them here, I say ? maid (advancing) Dear lady, I ; Thinking to please you. Something makes you sad With more than maiden's fear ; I know not what, But surer hands than mine must sweep it from you ; Take heart, take heart — will you not see your friends? There's one who thinks all hours are blank without you. HOPE Was it your hand ? O friend, I dreamt you loved me ! I think there's no one loves me in the world ; There's some quick poison in my blood, that breathes On all beginning tenderness, and slays it Before it come to growth, or grow to love. Why was I made so terrible ? But you — I asked nought from you — wherefore should you mock me ? MAID Mock you, sweet heart ? Alas, your words are wild ! scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 143 HOPE I have begun to hate myself, because I have so failed. I would I knew my fault That let the life so slip out of my hands ; Weak hands, false futile hands, letting that slip Which most they clung to — they hold nothing now; Now and henceforward through all empty days. T\vas not slight care, nor loose forgetfulness, Nor any lack of love — would 'twere the last So were I healed ! But I'll not scorn myself, I that have nothing left except myself, To face my sorrow with that cold sad strength Which says c I've not deserved it,' when Despair Answers again, c What matter, since you have it?' [Clock sir ikes. It is the hour I named ! They will be here. Look at me; am I calm? is my hair smooth? I would have no disorder in my looks For this farewell. Death is the sum of life ; My poor brief story, as I shut the book, Should show no blotted, no unworthy page ; The last words should be seemly as the first, No difference, except 'twixt joy and grief, 144 BLIND LOVE. act iv. As the tale darkens from its opening hopes Unto this simple sorrowful conclusion. See, they are come ! Enter Avice and Raymond from opposite sides. They start on perceiving each other. AVICE Cousin, you sent for me ; I thought, for some slight colloquy of dress Or colour, for to-morrow — but I see You are better companied. I'll not disturb you. [Drawing back. hope {taking her hand) Stay. RAYMOND Tis for me to go. I'm all adrift In these divine discussions. hope {holding out her hand to him) Nay, I want you. Here — both — together. Do you fear my hand ? Are we so far as that ? Take it — you'll find It holds you lightly. scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 145 Raymond (faking her hand) Must I not call it mine Before to-morrow ? Would you chaffer with me For such a sum of minutes ? HOPE I beseech you Not in that tone ! I am about to go Into a solitude, where I shall have Only a picture for my company, No living face such as I used to read, Perhaps not truly — yet undoubtingly — Keep me my picture fair ! RAYMOND I cannot guess Your meaning. HOPE Are you honest ? Would you swear You love me, in her presence? O ! be true; Even though you be not faithful — so my picture Shall still bear looking on. How weak am I ! This lingering is not life. [She joins their hanas. Take her — she's yours L £46 BLIND LOVE. act iv. I give her to you — lose not sight of that r the dazzle of to-morrow's joy. avice {trying to extricate herself) Fie, fie ! This is unseemly jesting. Must I count For nothing in these changes? HOPE Nothing, Avice ? Why, you are all ! Be happy ! I was blind When I was happy — now, alas ! I see. Pitiless Light, that hast revealed my path, Do not grow dim till I have finished it ! RAYMOND But, Hope- hope (shuddering) Ah, Raymond ! RAYMOND Avice, help — she faints ! hope Recovering herself) You should have named me in another voice ; scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 147 Not the old voice, not that — let me not hear it Again before I die. I'll tell you quietly If you will listen. 'Tis not reasonable That words should be more difficult than deeds, Yet so they are. I know you love me not ; Hush ! I unclosed the casket where I kept My jewels, and found it empty. How they went I care not — they are gone. And I would thank you, Only my voice is weak, yet I do thank you, For that you pitied me, and w T ould have spared me At such a price as paying down yourself Without the heart — so, worthless. I must tell you I w T ould refuse my life at such a price, Aye, would go brightly to my grave to-morrow Sooner than mock my soul with such a bridal. Have I said all ? There's yet farewell to say — Farewell to both — in charity with both, With no petition but to be forgotten \ As you forget a face, which for one hour Came like a cloud between your light and you, But, finding out the shadow that it made, As a cloud passes, passed, and came no more. 148 BLIND LOVE. ACT IV; RAYMOND Shall we part so ? Though you reproach me not, The intolerable sweetness of your scorn Destroys me. True, I'm guilty— hold me vile As feverous breath from which you turn your face Lest it infect you hope {interrupting) Nay, I said not so. RAYMOND Away with words, I answer to your thoughts. Am I not judged ? Yet what could I have done ? It was defect of nature, having known Your excellence, to take another love ; But Passion is. not born nor ruled by Will ; It rises like the unconquerable tide, And sweeps a life before it as the sand. Was I a god to stay it ? What could I do ? HOPE I have no skill to say what men should do, But Constancy's the test of noble thoughts ; You should have been what I believed you. scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 149 avice (to Raymond) We can but wound her more- Cease ; HOPE O, more you wound me By ' we * and * her ^ than by a mile of proofs Which might be wider of their arguments Than that unanswerable carelessness Which drops the sudden Truth before my feet AVICE Pardon me. HOPE You are pardoned. Nay, I'm hard. Cousin, I think you did not mean me wrong (to Avice As you stand now, I see there is no help ; More, having passed that barrier, you have done Whatever was not made impossible ; You have encountered me with gentleness And would have drugged me into lifelong sleep With not a grain more falsehood than you must. I thank mine Angel that I waked in time, 150 BLIND LOVE. act iv. Else would you be as I am — worse i' the Past But better in the Future. Not my will I s bitter, but my words against my will Put on unconscious bitterness. I hear them As if another spoke, and think them cruel, But cannot make them false. I'll think of you More kindly, cousin, when I see you not. I meant to smooth this parting. I would fain Be one of those meek souls, who, when new Death Wrenches a life into two bleeding halves Cover their eyes and think they are content To grope among the rains. I'm not yet As I would be ; I am not yet acquainted With my strange darkness — in a year, perhaps, A month, a day, I shall know all. To-morrow — I shall be calm and rational to-morrow ; To-morrow is the first tremendous day When we shall wake to what is henceforth true, And shall be soon familiar as the dawn Which never wakens us again without it. I want to-morrow for my remedy, It's all new now. scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 151 RAYMOND This is my punishment : The vengeance is not slow. avice {clinging to hint) O, leave her ! leave her ! HOPE Is he not gone ? I see no face I know ; The world is full of strangers — my sweet world That was so full of love. Enter Grey hastily. grey What ! Are you here ? What, in her presence? O you innocent child ! Here is the vilest, blackest, bitterest, treason That ever broke a heart ! hope Father ! grey Your father, But never his again. Out of our sight ! 152 BLIND LOVE. act iv. See here, my dove, my flower — I'll keep you safe From such as he who would have cheated you To the altar steps. They had made all things sure : [pointing to Raymond and Avice. They were to fly to-night — to-night, do you hear ? Aye, on the very threshold of his vow T , Leaving his lily here, he would have gone With that foul poison-plant upon his breast — O, you are matched ! My curse upon you both ! hope (to Raymond) Was this your mercy ? Say it is not true ! GREY Blister your lips with any decent lie, And she'll believe you ! [Raymond shrinks and covers his face with his hands. Avice still clingi?ig to him. HOPE You have killed me now ; You have taken all from me, even my thoughts. I had still remembrances; still even my love : I had no cause to be ashamed of love scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 153 Who gave it after wooing. . All is lost : All lovely days and faiths innumerable, Which made up all my life, lie in this tomb, This tomb whereon I dare not write a word, Because there is no word to write upon it But false, false, false ! GREY Aye false a thousand times. HOPE Do not say that again. Take me away. Father, he could not mean it ! Father, hide me ! [She looks once at Raymond, then turns away and falls on his father 7 s neck. 154 BUND LOVE. act v. ACT V. Scene I. — A Room in Grey's House. Enter Grey and Carlton meeting. grey How is't with her to-day? CARLTON Ere I can answer I must be certified which way you ask. Will you have muffled words that show themselves For what they are not? Will you go blindfold To the very brink, and set your foot on flowers With nothing under ? I can lead you so, And leave you so —or will you take the truth ? I have that dagger in mine armoury — 'Tis seldom asked for. scene i. BLIND LOVE. 155 GREY I'm too old for truth : Time has so bruised me with his bufferings That a touch hurts me now. Too old for truth, Yet too familiar with her bitter looks For any mask to cheat me. Say your will, And like a meagre alms, the fact shall slip Through your closed fingers. CARLTON Then, she is no worse. GREY Why, then, she is no better ! O, my heart ! Why did I cross her in her brighter time Which was to be so short ? Not a rough word I ever spoke, but grates against me now — And she, that used to look so pitiful, With gentle pardons asked, and no wrong done, Scared often from that timid joy of hers As far as tears, were I to show her now These penetrations of my slow remorse, Would soothe me with her soft bewildered eyes And tell me truly she remembered not. 156 BLIND LOVE. act v. She was so sweet, Carlton, she was so sweet, Remembering nothing done against herself, But taking all the common kindnesses For great bestowals — O, my fatal tongue 1 Said I ' she was ' I , CARLTON Do not reproach yourself. Life is a mirror for such loving eyes To show them nothing harder than themselves ; We watchers from without, wasting our tears, Pity the grief which their unconscious magic Transforms before it touches them. GREY You talk Madly — for it is nothing else but grief That kills her now. CARLTON Be careful, friend ! she comes. [Hope is led in and supported to a couch. scene I. BLIXD LOVE. 157 HOPE Stand not there doubting how to look at me But smile a bright good-morning, for to-day Is more than good for me. GREY How so, sweet heart ? HOPE Because it is my birthday. GREY Ah! HOPE No sighs ! Since you forgot it, you must be my debtor As I would have you, father, with no gift, For I have such a boundless boon to ask That all the birthdays I shall ever have May sum themselves in this, and take their gifts Before they come, so best. Come, sit by me, And let me lay my lips against your ear And whisper it as softly as a kiss ; 158 BLIND LOVE, act v. Nay, closer yet — sixteen long years ago, Upon my first remembered birthday, father, You had me closer yet. What's this ? You shrink ■ Are you afraid of me ? grey {hastily) There is a message I should deliver — I'll return, and grant All your requests. [Exit Grey. hope {looking afeer him) Alas ! I fear he weeps. CARLTON Few men so near the final slopes of life Are pleased with talk about the first ascent. hope It was not for himself, it was for me. You cluster round me kindly, each one holding A screen, and thinking that he hides the place To which I walk, but I am looking at it Past all your pretty obstacles. It seems A fair land and a pleasant. But I go scene i. BLIND LOVE. 159 Not as a saint, I am too weak for triumph, But merely having missed my place in life, Very tired and very certain of my rest. CARLTON Take you so placidly the thought of death ? HOPE As one who lies awake at night and hears How nightingales are singing in the woods, And from that far fine ecstasy divines That somewhere in the world there is a place Where he might be, full of untroubled music, With nothing harsher than a nightingale, And thinks, ' I will go there to-morrow night And be among the branches and the songs.' O, try that nobody should weep for me ! I have made no one happy, and 'tis hard To cause an hour of sadness CARLTON But they love you. 160 BLIND LOVE. act v. HOPE I'd have their love no longer than my life, Or that of the first flower upon my grave ; Nay, it should die when I do, going with me And waiting with me till we meet again, Like something rare and precious which we hide Till the great feast-day, when we wear our crowns And show our treasures. CARLTON See, he comes again. Re-entei Grey. grey Now for your boon — 'tis yours before 'tis named. What can I do for you ? HOPE You will not let me Kneel at your feet ? GREY Be not so foolish, child ! Why plead so fiercely when you have my promise ? scene i. BLIND LOVE. 161 hope (putti?ig her arms round him) I'll hold you to it then. I want your pardon For one who has offended. Do you love me Enough for this ? GREY O peace ! you shall not stain Your lips. HOPE O peace ! you shall not break my heart ! Shall Time, which wears away the sharpest grief, Do nothing against Anger ? You have had Your wrath — just wrath — is it not satisfied With a year's raging ? Let it go to sleep ! The Days, like a great host of armed men, March onward over all things and prevail ; They do not pause, they do not break their ranks, They sweep the unresisting Universe, And what they find they leave not as they found, But the most rugged and uncomely wastes Are levelled by the ceaseless tramp of Time, And even the precipice becomes a path, And ways whereon we fainted and despaired M 162 BLIND LOVE. act v. Melt into prospects, and are beautiful. You must not stand against the general law: 'Tis your necessity to yield to-day, As once it was your virtue to be stern. GREY That's but a Woman's logic ; all the proof Lies in the wish. But I am darker-hued, And cannot make a mirror of myself For every passing face. I am myself ; My friends must bear me as I am. HOPE I give My logic to your scorn ; hear but my tears, And yield your better judgment. O, my father ! I am passing from you quickly. Very soon Where you have seen my face and heard my voice There shall be nothing but the silent cloud Which is so near us now ; and I, within it, May lie asleep until the Master calls, Filled with some tender and contenting dream Which I divine not now, as a babe lies Untroubled by the tempests of the world, scene I. BLIND LOVE, 163 Soothed by the smile that touches it. Perhaps This your last gentleness before I die Shall be remembered as I wake again ; Let me not wake with ' no ' upon my heart ! 'Twill sadden you to see this empty couch And know I took this pain away with me. GREY Have pity, Hope ! HOPE O, is it not for you I plead ? I want to give you back your son Before you lose your daughter. GREY He has killed you ! HOPE Not he, mine own weak heart. Some happy lives Are like to landscape pictures ; each new touch Dwarfs and drives back what rilled the former scene. Till at the frame and foreground of the whole, A drift of flowers against a summer green Is more important than a city. These Pass brightly through their changes and have peace. 164 BLIND LOVE. ACT v. But otherwise it is with her whose picture Holds nothing but a face \ through all the tints It grows, and all the touches strengthen it, And all the world is a background for it ; And so it sucks away the Painter's life. But there we lose comparison : the painter Sees his work done, and takes another face. Tis Art's perpetual miracle, to give All the cruse holds, yet keep it always full : Alas, we find no parallel for this Save when Love answers Love. Pray pardon me ; I wander through a thousand thoughts, and start If any touch me. GREY Will you go and rest ? HOPE Nay, but I have not won my boon. GREY Be patient ; Well talk of it to-morrow. Tis not well To turn your thoughts that way. scene i. BLIND LOVE. 165 HOPE To turn my thoughts ? You do not change the river's course, because You push aside the leaves to look at it. Do not be hard to me ! GREY My dearest child HOPE now I know you are resolved against me ! Leave me, you love me not ! Was ever heart So beaten and so broken without help As this poor heart which shall so soon be cold, Which no one comforts now ! [She weeps. CARLTON Let her not weep ; She may die before our eyes ! GREY Have all you will I Nay sweet, nay bird, no tears — did she believe 1 had the heart to baulk her ? Only tell me What I should do — I'd go to bitter Moscow 166 BLIND LOVE act v. To fetch one smile ! Say, shall I bring him home, Myself! To-night? hope (looking up) Will you indeed do so ? GREY So ? Aye and twenty so's to win that look ; But I must have my guerdon. You must sleep, And eat, and mend ! HOPE O, with so light a heart I can go lightly up the hardest hills ! I was afraid you would not. GREY Calmly now, While I am absent. Think of something else, That's the true cure for all things. So, goodbye, And keep a tranquil face till I return ; No tears again ! Remember ! [Exit Grey. hope I have lured him To his own peace. scene I. BLIND LOVE. 167 CARLTON I fear me, not to yours. HOPE My life is at its cadence ; all the skill Of all the world defers not the sure close By more than a few lingering passages, Which, if they sound like sorrow, only make The after-silence welcome. But for them There is a future ; if I join them not Before I die, they stand apart for ever, For my poor ghost should come against my will And wave them from each other bitterly : If I must haunt them, let it be with thoughts Of peace and pardon, clasping them together With the mere pity of remembering me As I would be remembered. CARLTON Now I lead you To your much-needed rest. [Exeunt Carlton and Hope. 1 68 BLIND LOVE. ACT V. Scene II.— A Room in Raymond's House opening to a Garden. Enter Three Gentlemen. FIRST GENTLEMAN Will he be seen to-day ? SECOND GENTLEMAN Aye, in an hour ; If your name's on his list, you take your turn Among the audiences. FIRST GENTLEMAN Was ever rise So swift as this ? twelve little months ago Unheard of — now a column of the State ! Pray Heaven he reel not, but such sudden growths Are seldom deeply rooted. THIRD GENTLEMAN I have heard He seeks the public course with such a passion, Being less than happy in his proper home. scene ii. BLIND LOVE. 169 FIRST GENTLEMAN Why, he hath a fair wife. THIRD GENTLEMAN Tush, there's the reason ! \ woman may be too fair for a wife. SECOND GENTLEMAN For shame ! For shame ! THIRD GENTLEMAN Nay, I malign her not ; She may be pure as starlight, but you want A comfortable candle for your book When you sit back i' the evening. SECOND GENTLEMAN (looking from the Window) Come aside. She is with him now. I saw them cross the lawn. He passes to his cabinet by this, And if he find us here before the time Twill grieve him deeply. 170 BLIND LOVE. act v. THIRD GENTLEMAN Or, in simpler phrase, He'll rate you soundly ? SECOND GENTLEMAN Well, his courtesies Do sometimes take the shape of anger. THIRD GENTLEMAN Ah, We'll spare you. Come away. [Exeunt Gentlemen by a side door. Scene III. Enter Raymond from the Garden followed by Avice. Raymond (speaking as he enters) I have no more to say. avice Saying no more You have said nothing. scene in. BLIND LOVE. 171 Raymond (turns and confronts her) How? avice (arranging her skirts) That's a great gust, But I'm unruffled. Will you go with me To the Duke's to-night? Tis not till twelve o'clock; There's time to cool. RAYMOND Avice ! AVICE Did you not say You had said all ? What tongues these husbands have, Who can say all, and nothing to the purpose, And after all, find something left unsaid Which was, perhaps, the only thing to say With any show of reason ! What's your will ? RAYMOND You cannot cheat me with this mask of scorn, While fire beneath the lids, and sobs i' the throat, And all the little feeble frame aquiver, 172 BLIND LOVE. act v. Mock you, as if a child should run to your knee And cry, ' Look at me ; I'm asleep ! ' Be wise : You are not a child. AVICE I am angry — nothing else ! RAYMOND O, that need make no difference. Be angry, 'Twill pass the time more quickly • my commands Reach not your temper, but your acts. AVICE I thank you For telling me the scope of your commands. Pray issue one ! I'll watch it curiously And see what happens. RAYMOND I must have your promise. AVICE Indeed ! And by what means ? RAYMOND You are my wife scene in. BLIND LOVE. 173 Alas, I am ! AVICE RAYMOND You cannot anger me. AVICE Why, what a splendid Actor ! He's not angry, With all the signs of fury in his face, Voice, gesture, language, incoherent all With feigned similitude of wrath unfelt. I must applaud. RAYMOND I ask you for your promise ! avice {clapping her hands) Encore ! That tone was perfect ! RAYMOND You can hang That shining trifle which you call your heart Round any neck ; I had it here on mine A little longer than I wanted it — It can bear tossing; but I'll have the name 174 BLIND LOVE. act v. Which I have given you, clear as mountain snow Which blushes if the sun but looks at it. There has been one low whisper ; if I hear Another AVICE Will you murder me ? Raymond (grasping her) I might Do that. AVICE Be proud that you can make me pale. I am a woman and you frighten me. RAYMOND Enough. Consider it at leisure. [Going. avice (in tears) Raymond ! RAYMOND O pardon me, my wife, the time is past. Water the rock and it shall teem with roses scene in. BLIND LOVE. 175 Sooner than any praying by dead Love Shall rouse a pulse of life. It is not there. [Exit into his cabinet. avice (stamping and sobbing) That he should see me weep ! We should be made Of iron, we women, having so much more To bear than men have. This is not for love ; 'Tis tremor of the nerves : a little more Of some hard-sounding gas i' the air I breathe ; A touch of coming thunder ; subtle scent Of hostile flowers — would strike me just as low, So poorly are we furnished for the conflict Wherein we are to die. Were I a man I would treat women gently. I have borne More than I should, but 'tis the last disdain He shall cast at me. I would cross the world To get beyond the limit of his touch, Yet I stay here. If I could drown myself Before his eyes — O 1 when the water closed So soft, so cold, so fast, upon my face Which he once thought so fair, I should not see Whether he stretched his hand ; I might go down Into the darkness, dreaming that he cared. 176 BLIND LOVE. act v. Why does this ghastly fancy stand before me Like something that shall happen ? I'm not well ; I must get hence, go somewhere, anywhere Away from this inhuman faithless place Which took the name of home to poison me With deadly breathings. Anywhere from here ! [Exit Avice. Scene IV. Enter Grey and Second Gentleman. grey If you will give me leave to wait for him I'll undertake you blameless, SECOND GENTLEMAN Since I know you For what you are— his father — I've no choice. Pray seat yourself. He may be long. GREY I thank you. [Exit Second Gentleman. scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 177 grey (a/one) The Fates who crown our moments, keep their crowns Till we have ceased to covet them. Time was When all this lackeyed greatness would have thrilled me To perfect rapture ; now it pierces me, * As it should him, with only the sharp thought Of her who should have shared it. Ha, he comes Before I looked for him. Enter Raymond. [Grey stands with averted face. Raymond (speaking to himself as he enters) I was too hard. Ill talk to her again. What, Avice ? [Grey turns and faces him. Raymond (starting back) Father ! grey Aye, if you call me so. Raymond (trying to recover himself) You are as welcome N 178 BLIND LOVE. act v. As you will let me make you, though you come More like an apparition than a guest, Sudden and solemn. GREY As I seem, I am. The message which compels me to your presence Comes from the confines of another world. RAYMOND Compels you to my presence ! So, you leave me With no soft pretext for a doubt ! So be it ! Yet if you only face me like my fate Searching the weaker points to strike the deeper, Inexorable as that frosty hand Which touches summer thickets in the dark, And warns them of sure winter — yet I give you The heartiest welcome which these lips have uttered Since I became a host. This is my house, Father, and therefore yours. Command the whole ; I your chief servant will solicit you To take such entertainment as you can And pardon all defects. scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 179 GREY There's much to pardon. RAYMOND I know it. GREY I am come to do an errand And so return. The time is short — as short As the last pause of an advancing tide Ere the wave breaks and covers all. Your cousin- Do you remember her ? She that was once Light of your life and mine — do you remember ? Hath bid me fetch you to her. RAYMOND Father, tell her I cannot come. GREY Will you be so consistent To the last moment ? Executioners Allow a dying boon. n 2 180 BLIND LOVE. actv. RAYMOND I am afraid To ask your meaning. GREY You are slow to read it. She has touched the farther edge of that sweet life Which you have made so sad. It is her will To see you once ; and I must do her will : There's nothing left but this to do for her, Except to hide our faces when she dies, And hold our sobs back lest they vex her soul Which ever grieved for grief of others. RAYMOND Dying ? Why has she lived so long in such a world Not worth a moment of her ! I remember Things which I cannot speak of ! Just a smile-— Just one, which came before she smiled no longer And looked a lifetime of such innocent joy As seems impossible. Will it come back ? Will she smile so in heaven, forgetting me Who sent her there ? I cannot understand scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 181 Why that which was so sweet should be so bitter ; But the image of that little tender smile, Which had no pathos in it, breaks my heart. I saw it, and I shrank to darkness from it, Longing to see no more, before I knew That she was dying. O, I'll go to her ! I think I wish that I may be too late ; That's base — but I was always base to her. Each way is terrible ; to see her face, Or to think always of it. Is she changed ? Shall I have power to bear it ? GREY Calm yourself : She must not see you thus. RAYMOND I know, I know. Doctor and nurse speak ever so — be quiet Under the pressure grinding you to dust ; Come softly through the half-closed door, stand still, Hush ! Be not troublesome with your despair, For she is dying. O ! what is it to her, So near the insensibilities of heaven, That any worthless heartstrings, left for ever, 182 BLIND LOVE. act v. Crack audibly ? She shall have no more pain ; She never knew, she never guessed, what 'tis To stare into this inner darkness, seeing No star, and yet discerning everything And saying to the inseparable Self Which writhes and hesitates beside the pit, ' Thou hast done this. Go down ! ' GREY I did not think You could have felt so deeply. RAYMOND No — you thought Because I did the wrong, I had no heart To feel the wrong I did. If there be such, Why, make their torments ready — but for me Hell is unnecessary. GREY Cease, my son. The foulest Past is cleansed by penitence, And sure I am you shall be pleaded for By angel's prayers. scene iv. BLIND LOVE. 183 RAYMOND By hers ? If God be just They should be millstones at my neck. Come, father. Since I must lay my head upon this block Let not the stroke be slow. To show the sword, Whetted, and poised, and pausing, is not mercy. Lead and I follow — yet a word — I fear I may take flight upon the threshold. Tell me That J may know how to constrain myself.' What shall I see. GREY O, nothing terrible. Dying is not so different from living. For fairness, pallor; and for speaking, sighing; And for the careless shining of young eyes Washed bright by easy tears, a faint far glory Reflected from the place at which they gaze, To which they go. RAYMOND O, how you touch my wounds ! If Death be so like Life, that revelation, Which is so gentle for the purer sort, 1 84 BLIND LOVE. act v. Must be, for some, exposure and dishonour Which mountains cannot cover. GREY She shall bring you To better thoughts. \Exewit Grey and Raymond. Scene V. — A Room in Grey's House, as before. Hope on the Couch, Avice kneeling beside her. hope And so you come to me To tell me that the treasure which you took Out of my trembling grasp, has proved so soon Too weighty for your own. avice Nay, not too weighty. I am strong enough* HOPE Well, you have cast it down. scene v. BLIND LOVE, 185 AVICE Even so. HOPE Why did you touch it ? AVICE Is it thus You soothe me — with such passion in your voice ? HOPE Why left you not the love that was not yours To her who would have held it on her heart While the heart beat ? Why did you take my life, Not even to feed and satisfy your own, But just to crush it and have done with it Like some pernicious insect in your path ? You have done this, you have destroyed us both, With two sweeps of your careless onward hands That catch at something new across the fragments Of the scorned vase which held their former flowers — You have sinned thus, not as a woman sins With tears and turnings back, but airily Like some cold spirit with a woman's face Playing with pain because it has no fear 1 86 BLIND LOVE act v. Having no heart. You that have done all this, Come, asking to be soothed — I have no answer ! Go, let me die in peace. AVICE Am I thus banished ? I thought you would have pitied me. I thought That standing on the edge of the next world You saw too much of it to be perplexed By all our stormy landscapes ; I believed you Already half an angel, but I'm glad To think you are too angrily alive To be near dying. HOPE O, if you had loved him, The pang which parted us had been my last : I were content to shut my eyes and take My necessary doom ; but now I see I was slain for pastime. AVICE Charge it upon him I scene v. BLIND LOVE. 187 HOPE I charge it on myself ; 'tis an old fault In women, so to love with all their strength That they can find no strength without their love. AVICE Cousin, I would give up my worthless life To win yours back. HOPE Would you indeed do so ? AVICE Indeed, with all my heart. HOPE Why, then, forgive me Who thought you heartless. I shall take more love Into my grave than I have seen before it ; There shall be roses laid in these dead hands Which now have nothing in them. AVICE Talk not thus ; It is too pitiful. 1 88 BLIND LOVE. act v. HOPE Are you so tender? For me these tears ? These tears are not for me ! O, when the rock is cleft, the water springs To any hand, but there was only one Able to cleave it I have often noted A tree, when a great wind has stirred the root, Shake at a breath ; even so will sights of pity Which we perceive not in our happy walks, Start up around us when our eyes are sad And make them rain at once. Speak truly to me, Speak truly to the dying, who so soon Shall read you to the depths — why do you weep ? [She takes Avice's face between her hands and looks fixedly at her. Is your heart breaking for the love of him Whom you would cheat with semblances of scorn ? Is it so breaking? Ah, you weep the more — I have the key of this fountain ; so, make ready To meet him. He is coming, avice Hide me ! Hide me ! scene v. BLIND LOVE. 189 HOPE Be calm, he shall not see you. AVICE HOPE Wherefore comes he ? I sent for him. AVICE You, you ! But he is mine ! O do not take this vengeance for your wrongs. Leave him— I could notlive a day alone With mine own conscience and without his heart ; You are so good, you cannot understand What happens, when the world slips from your feet Without a hold on heaven — you can but fall — Fall — through the blank — to nothing. Save me, save me ! This is your work. HOPE Trust me. AVICE Why should I trust ? If I were you I would not give him up ; i 9 o BLIND LOVE. act v. Why should you be less faithless than myself ; What claim have I, except that I have killed you ? I had forgotten that I am his wife And you are all for duty ; there I hold him, There you submit — I am safe upon that ground — Am I not ? Answer me ! HOPE Alas, poor child, How well your tumult teaches me my peace ! I am beyond your sorrows and my own ; As, in the hollows of the roaring brook Lie little floors of darkness and of calm Where some forgotten foamflake, cast aside, Stays on the level water, moving not But breaking slowly all the summer day Till not a tear remains, so seems my life, As you rush past. The day is nearly done And the last bubble melts, and by to-morrow There shall not be a trace. Enough — he comes. [A vice conceals herself. scene vi. BLIND LOVE, 191 Scene VI. Hope — Avice co?iceakd. Enter to them Grey and Raymond. Raymond stops short. Grey advances to Hope's couch. GREY I bring him — {he starts) Ah, my child ! HOPE You see a change. O father, it is nothing. Know you not Five sunset minutes change the great world more Than many hours of day ? The colours die, And the light deepens — do not wish it less — It shines before it ceases. GREY Let me raise you. HOPE No, touch me not, but make him come to me And lay his hand in mine. 192 BLIND LOVE. act v. GREY Alas, my son ! If you can bear it, do as she desires. [Raymond falls on his knees by Hope. RAYMOND Do not forgive me, do not look at me ; There is no kind of pang I have not earned. Let me receive my wages and depart To mine own place. HOPE My life has been in vain, But my death heals you. Let my words abide, They are as medicine poured into your wounds, To sting — and then to soothe— and then to cure. Time draws this virtue from them. Knowing it, I can speak boldly, and you shall remember More than you hear ; that I have pardoned you Long since, and that my sleep is sweet to me And nothing mars it. I did love you well. My thoughts of you are tender as the dreams Where our dead faces smile to us again And we are not surprised. For you were mine BLIND LOVE. 193 RAYMOND I am ! I am ! The madness of an hour- hope (putting her hand on his mouth) Hush — let me pass in gentleness and peace ! Cast not the dust of earth upon these wings Which should be white and spotless, as they catch Some edge of splendour from the open gates Ere they shall enter. Friends, there is a pause Before we part, and they who love and part Are ever wont to make some sweet exchange, Of word, or gift, or memory, which they take Into the distance, to console themselves. I have my keepsake ready — do not lose The hurrying moment — what have you for me ? If you have wronged me, do not think of it ; [ While she speaks Raymond rises and stand looking at her. My last hour is your own, what went before Shall take its colour ; let it be for me Goodbye at morning, with the day to come For those I leave, full of delicious hours Which I may think of as I pass afar, o 191. BLIND LOVE. act v. Which I may see, when I have quite forgotten The murmurs and the agonies of life. Give me this comfort now before I die, That I may hear the harmonies of Heaven Begin, before I join them. Avice ! Come ! [Avice enters and throws herself at Raymond's./^?/. Take her the second time, and be the first Never remembered more ! RAYMOND Kneel not to me ; I have no heart for anger or for love, My life is going down into this grave. [He raises Avice. Enter Vernon behind. AVICE Will you, in time, remember that you loved me ? [She hides her face on Raymond's heart. RAYMOND O what is Time but memory of time Which is no more ! Be patient with me, wife, Mine was the greater sin. scene vi. BLIND LOVE. 195 hope {speaking very softly) Here is the seat, And here the sunset stays upon your face — I'll lead you one step farther. Shall I tell you How beautiful it is ? I can see all \ I'll keep it all for you. [She sighs. GREY Be still — she sleeps ! vernon {who is standing by the couch) Say what you will — she's dead ! the end. o 2 CYRIL. FOUR SCENES FROM A LIFE. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Cyril. Mrs. Vere, his Mother. The Duchess of Lansdale \ his Mothers Friends. Lord Stanerly Cyril's College Friends. Scene I. — Cyril? s Rooms at College. Scene II. — Mrs. Vere's Drawing-room in London. PART L— CHOICE. Scene I. — Cyril's Room. After Supper. Cyril and his Friends. FIRST FRIEND So, having crowned you for the second time, We say good-night. CYRIL How for the second time ? FIRST FRIEND You were crowned first, when these astonished airs Took such a crowd of ' Cyrils ' from our lips Echo was crushed among them ; when we heard Your name in its own place, the top of honour ; Working its little miracle at once, 2 00 CHOICE. PART I. For Grey was pleased, and Essingdon surprised ; Two sights our Cambridge never saw before. SECOND FRIEND Surprised ? You wrong my judgment and his fame. FIRST FRIEND Well, you reared up your eyelashes, and said ' Cyril ? Indeed ! ' When made you such a speech Foodless, till now ? I know you had not lunched. SECOND FRIEND Tut ! tut ! I had some tea. CYRIL O ! that explains it ! I thought the tea-light glistened in your eyes And warmed you with unwonted eloquence. But not the less I thank you — my success Reveals a world of hidden love. Good-night. \They take leave. THIRD FRIEND No satire after supper, by your leave ! 'Twill spoil your dreams. SCENE L CHOICE. 20I CYRIL I have no need to dream. THIRD FRIEND Ay, Cyril, a proud word ! He needs not dream Who has achieved. I'm sorry for the world, Because achievement ever means farewell, And one may weep in parting from a dream. CYRIL ' Farewell ' is as a shield, whose other face Bears the strong word ' Advance.' THIRD FRIEND I lose my breath. Where will this going spirit take you? First A heap of unconsidered scholarships, Last year the Craven — Senior Wrangler now — Both sides of knowledge scaled ! Vouchsafe to rest On the clear summit, pass not while we gaze From Alp to Andes ! CYRIL Fie ! You do but mock My dumb ambitions with such hyperbole ! 202 CHOICE. PART I. THIRD FRIEND In your vocabulary, hyperbole Is construed into fact. CYRIL No, no. Good-night. {Exit Third Friend. FOURTH FRIEND That which you worked for, Cyril, you have won, But I must spur you with reproachful praise To labours half completed. You were once The fairest promise in my crew — you paused Just when by two short weeks of guided toil You might have gained that hold upon the water ! (I flatter not) you paused, before you gained it. 'Tis not too late — you will have leisure now — If once you get that grip upon the water I'll say you are the foremost man alive. CYRIL Well, captain, you shall write my epitaph And say ' He might have been.' scene i. CHOICE. 203 FOURTH FRIEND I should be loth To give you such a i finis.' Think of it ! [Exit Fourth Friend. A group advances to take leave. ONE Good-bye, old fellow. another When you're chancellor Make me your secretary ! another Not his line, He speaks too well to wait. another Aye, when St. Stephen's Resounds with him, and in the streets men ask ' Have you read Cyril's speech ? ' c When, do you think, He was most great — now ? Or in that assault Which hurled the Cabinet to earth last year?* We shall behold each other, and recall 204 CHOICE. PART I. The first young roarings of his thunder-talk In our debates ! ANOTHER And some of usi will laugh To think how well we thought we answered him, Our monarch in disguise, only not crowned Because he had not stretched his hand out. ANOTHER Cyril, You shall hear clarions in your sleep to-night. [Exeunt all but one friend and Cyril. You are sad, CyriL friend CYRIL Only tired. FRIEND But I, Who see your heart, can see how ill they read it ; Decyphering all the titles of your fame Blind to its import. scene i. CHOICE. 205 CYRIL Speak, interpreter ; Reveal the thought they missed. FRIEND The thought is — Home ; For when a wind sweeps over life, the chord That answers first is still the chord of Love. Till you have seen your glory by the light Of those soft faces from Northamptonshire You are afraid of it. I know you, Cyril ; The Mother's joy, the Sister's sunny boast, The boy's roused hope and brother-rivalry, These are your chorus. Our acclaiming voices, Till these have sounded, are impertinent, Like stray orchestral tunings, that affront His ears who waits for Joachim. [Cyril covers his face with his hands. Forgive The rashness of my sympathy. You shrink Because I turn the handle of your heart ? Nay, I'll not enter. Ere I made a step, There was an open window in your eyes That showed me all. 206 CHOICE, PART I. CYRIL Aye, did it show you all ? That were a window worth the looking through ! Friend, you know more than I. FRIEND Tis possible. Ships have I seen that rode the tempest out But stranded in the calm ! I'll counsel you, Being your friend— be wary in the calm ! That shallow stillness drifts you to a shoal And tells you all the while you have not moved. Let the dear home embrace and let you go, But not entangle you. There lies your peril. CYRIL You think so ? FRIEND Nay, I know it. Never think I scorn that ease which I would sting you from ; The lovely danger and the tender sleep Spread between you and greatness. For the heights Your soul was born, therefore I bid you mount ; scene i. CHOICE. 207 Let not the tranquil virtue of your love Become temptation ! CYRIL O, you speak blind words ! Blind as a poniard which perceives no wound Though its. point touch the heart. Yet will I thank you, For words, aye and the winds that carry them, Are full of seeds ; we breathe them as we walk, Nor see what forces of unconscious growth We take into our souls. I'll talk to you Another time. Good-night. FRIEND What, have I vexed you With frank goodwill ? Are you so soon a king Who must be answered, but not questioned ? Cyril, Beware of pride ! CYRIL Good night. FRIEND Why then, good night. Since you dismiss me. I am sorry for it. 208 CHOICE. PART I. cyril (faking him by the shoulders goodhumouredly) Take your intolerable wisdom hence ; 111 beg your pardon when we meet again, Now I want peace. FRIEND I knew you did. Good night. [Exit. [Cyril stands silent with clasped hands as if overpowered with thought — then speaks suddenly : CYRIL A little — helpless — soft — three-summered child Working for bread ! A man of fourscore years Dying before he hears the name of Christ ! Of Christ, who died two thousand years ago With prints of children's kisses on His hands Beside the nails — and died for only this, That men should love each other, and know Him. O, in the darkness of our Christendom To wander eighty years without a star And die bewildered, as you hear of life For the first time ! It might have been myself, — And I, who know it, am alive, awake, scene i. CHOICE. 209 Strong, full of victory — nay, what can I do, What is there left for me to do, but go And pour the medicine of my Master's Name Into these gaping wounds which groan for Him, This dreadful Christian land, which sets her babes To toil, and thrusts away her wearied hearts, Without their rest, and flaunts her hollow cross Before the nations like a self-crowned saint, And buys and sells and prospers and is cruel ! If I should say I heard Him in the night Cry ' Follow me ' men would believe me mad ; Aye, shake their heads and make allowance for me, Because I hear when they are deaf. I think It was not only by Gennesareth That He cried i Follow me.' O ! in that land, That milk-and-honey land, compassionate Of all her children, by necessity, Because God made her flowing for their need, How wept He for the poor 3 Why, all His words His tender wisdom, sorrowful rebuke, Trumpet of hope or thunder of command, Or whisper from the vast serene of Truth Which no man sees and lives, were incomplete Without that cadence ' Care ye for the poor 1 p 2IO CHOICE. PART I. What would He say in England, where skies freeze And cities starve the nakedness of want ? What of our souls that perish at church-doors, Our harvests rotting while the reapers feast ? Receive me, few that labour ! Not by choice, By force I join you, having seen these things, Henceforth unable to avert mine eyes, But grateful for this mist and help of tears Whereby the vision grows endurable ! [A pause. I do suppose this is the sacrifice Required of me, — that I should slay their hopes Gathered around my feet confidingly Like children certain of their coming joy. I grieve more than I should — so small a thing To give — a cost not worth the counting — yet All that we have. I quote the Widow's mite, And wonder if she left a son at home Who grudged it. That would make the giving hard. [A pause. A man is happy, having two dear homes Though he leave both. And this, the first, consoled For my departure, yet not cold to me, Wise, beautiful, benignant, and beloved, Left, but not lost, — a root from which I grow, SCENE I. CHOICE. 211 Not a mere ground to leap from — Ah, farewellj I feel not how the presence of this time, The shadow of these shrines, this friendship-world, Gladness of toil and glee of holyday, Hope, difficulty, failure, fault, and glory, Can pass into remembrance ! But, from these, I move and linger to the deeper home Lying within my life, there still to lie Though the life change. Now, while my triumph shines On those soft faces in Northamptonshire, I think about the cloud which I must bring. If I had grieved them sooner, I could bear Better to grieve them now ; but I, who made Their Paradise, must drive them out of it Although they have not sinned. It must be done. I would my heart were broken into words That they might read it piece by piece, so learning The thing that I must do and they must bear. How beautiful were Life, if we could make All our steps forward, tangled by no pause, Whether it be but flowers about the feet, Or serpents in the path. I think the martyrs Felt not the death they feared not, but they felt p 2 212 CHOICE. PARTI. Only the pangs of all those pleading eyes Which held them from it. What a child am I To let my little burden seem so great ! Scene II. — The Drawingroom of Mrs. Vere (Cyril's Mother). Mrs. Vere — Duchess of Lanslade — Lord Stanerly. duchess You shine beneath your lustre of good news Like a ring stirred in sunlight. If I talk Till you drop down with listening, half my joy Is still untold. I knew him from a child ; A month between my soldier's age and his — Ah, when they went so grievously to school Who thought the little pale-face had such brains ? MRS. vere He was before his elders. I can see How the class towered around him. I was vexed Until I found the youngest of his mates Had two years more of growth. scene ii. CHOICE. 213 DUCHESS My Alfred's height Served but to make conspicuous idleness — Well, it becomes him now. MRS. VERE He looks so well In regimentals, DUCHESS Make no vain pretence To grace him with a thought ! Me he contents. (Poor boy, I wish he were beside us now !) Your themes are greater. When your victor comes Tell him how glad I am. MRS. VERE He has a heart Quick to discern a friend. DUCHESS Blanche told us first ; Rosy and breathless with her news she broke Upon my toilet — I forgave it her — All the dear glories of her playfellow She counts her own. You should have seen the child ! 214 CHOICE. PART I. mrs. vere (to Lord Stanerly) You have said nothing yet. LORD STANERLY I think the more. I waited for this day. Now he fulfils Uttermost hope ; 'tis no mere student-crown Marking a life for leisure ; this is power ; I tested and am sure of it — this hand Will do triumphantly what work it finds. You'll trust him to me? MRS. VERE. Do you ask for him ? LORD STANERLY Hark in your ear — the chief has heard of him : Give me one year to pave his working-path, And it shall lead him to the Cabinet MRS. VERE What — a career ? You promise it ! LORD STANERLY I swear it ; You need uot thank me ; we are proud of him : I speak with knowledge. scene ii. CHOICE. 215 MRS. VERE All my dreams at once ! I tremble with this weight of joy. LORD STANERLY We leave you To grow familiar with it. DUCHESS When he comes Give him my love. Make him remember Blanche, Sprung into womanhood, but losing not The careless magic of those childish hours When he heaped meadow-gold about her feet And called her ' little wife ! \ MRS. VERE You are too kind With such remembrances. [They shake hands. Exeunt Duchess and Lord Stanerly. mrs. vere (alone) His ' little wife ■ ? Scarce big enough for such distinction now ; 216 CHOICE. PART I. I'll not remind him. Strange that she should like To mention her inglorious Alfred here ; There's no accounting for these mother-hearts ! I should be lenient — being set, myself, Above all need or reach of charity. ! I am happy ; in my splendid sky There's not a threatening finger-breadth of cloud ; 1 fear to fall asleep, lest I should die Full-handed in the leisure of my glory Ere I have quaffed it. See, he should be here ! [Looks at her watch. Ah — the dear step ! Enter Cyril. She hurries to meet him. MRS. VERE My king ! My pride ! My darling ! CYRIL Dear mother ! [They embrace. MRS. VERE You are pale — you have done all, And have our full permission to be tired ! You must rest now, my Cyril — for a month scene ii. CHOICE. 217 You shall lie down in fern and watch the clouds, And sigh among the singing of the birds, And see the sweet flower-problems solve themselves Without your help, and never think at all, But keep a novel ready by your hand, Turning no page ; so shall you come refreshed Where that impatient Future waits for you To mount and rein and ride it. CYRIL I am glad That you are pleased. MRS. VERE You are so like a man ; Ashamed to show that you are satisfied : Are you too proud for this ? Come, let me coax you ! Confess your triumph like a fault, and make Decent excuse ; tell us you could not help it Being born so wise ; or say you worked so hard Because the work was easy ; that success Comes more by chance than merit — talk your fill Of nonsense, so it smooth you into smiles : I'll question nothing if I see the smiles, I'm pining for them. 218 CHOICE. PART I. CYRIL Mother, be content ! This day is yours — we'll keep it all for joy ; A rose upon the threshold, which we lift To our hearts, before we enter. MRS. VERE Ah, you reach After new crowns. I know what lies for you Beyond that threshold. You shall enter, Cyril ! So would I have a man, afire for work ! Women should arm their knights, but times are vile When the soft hand of service and caress Is forced to goad the loiterers ; you shall find I have prepared the way. CYRIL But, tell me, how ? MRS. VERE Lord Stanerly was here, your father's friend, Whose eye has watched you with expectancy Slow kindling into welcome. You are his, Nay rather he is yours ; among your honours scene ii. CHOICE. 219 He too was mastered. He has pledged his word, He makes you — Cyril, do not laugh at me ; You shall have office while the year is young ; But I pass through the present morning light To the near noon — you shall be Premier, Cyril ; I say it, I, your mother — ere I am old All men shall point and whisper where I pass 1 There goes his mother.' CYRIL (Aside) I would fain have waited, But this involuntary falseness drives me Against the pain of truth. (Aloud) Mother, I'll ask you If I have done my best ? MRS. VERE Why, you have done Best of the w r orld. CYRIL Then have I wrung from life This guerdon, say this justice, that my choice Is free. MRS. VERE Your choice? But Fortune lackeys you, 220 CHOICE. PART I. Assiduous, anxious, she forestalls your choice With more than it dared dream of. cyril 1 So she does ; But not as you would have her. Dearest mother, Give me the right to mould my life. MRS. VERE What mean you By this strange harping upon l choice ' and ' right ' ? CYRIL ! not my right, sweet mother, but my need ! 1 speak because we are alone. I pause On my first height to draw my breath and gaze — I see but two things — misery and God. MRS. VERE I hear you not aright. CYRIL Beside our path There lies a lovely world ; warm distances, Whose softness penetrates the nearer ways, Making the tiniest grass-blade at our feet A promise and a mystery. How full SCENE II. CHOICE. 221 Is growing Earth of Heaven ! There's not a tint But tells us how the sunshine tempered it ; How all the stems reach upward, uttering Their protest against Darkness ! Everywhere We tread on revelations and appeals, And for the soul that sees and construes them Nothing is wanting. This would be to walk Through beauty into holiness. But O ! Hosts of blind souls are dying everywhere Out of the limits of our natural day ; Prostrate in dust, knowing of this sweet earth Nothing but stains and thorns. They are half the world For which He died ; we, the bright other half, We on the heights, we in the happy airs, What can we do but stretch our arms to them ? MRS. VERE I would not check your generous pity, son ; Give what you will. CYRIL But I will give myself ! Little enough ; yet it may save a child Or comfort a worn woman. 222 CHOICE. PART I. MRS. VERE You are mad ! Was it for this you toiled and won your wreath ? What would you do ? CYRIL Mother, there is a place Where little helpless infants work for bread And old men die without the name of Christ. You would not wish to keep me from that place Which cries aloud for me ? MRS. VERE This is a fever ; It is the too much working of your brain, You must be soothed and saved from reckless acts Till you are stronger. Such a heat as this, In the first blundering ages of the world, Made monks and foolish hermits. CYRIL Nay, not so ; For these recluses were the cowards of God ; They loved, but could not trust Him. They beheld scene II. CHOICE. 223 The tumult of that sea whereon He walks And fled; but I will cross the waves to Him, Making my very faithlessness a prayer, Sure of Him though I sink. MRS. VERE Alas, alas ! How shall I reason with you ? You have heard Some strange fanatic. Only grant me this ; Wait for the teaching processes of Time ; You shall convince yourself ; your wiser thoughts Shall temper these conclusions. Test them thus ; If all men dreamed like you, God's goodly world Would be a desert. CYRIL No, a Paradise, Where those who take His bounty with one hand Would give it with the other, and grow poor By making many rich. MRS. VERE I would I knew What man it is who has bewitched you thus ! 224 CHOICE. PART I. CYRIL Why should it seem incredible that God Who made me, speaks to me ? You think He made me? mrs. vere {weeping) I know what havoc of familiar duty This wild religion makes ! You are too good For plain commands like honouring your mother ! CYRIL gentle mother, never wroth till now, Now in love only, pardon, as you used To pardon all our wrongs and waywardness — The gay ingratitude of childish hearts Which count no cost because they feel no pang ! No preacher but yourself converted me ; You led me up to God. MRS. VERE I, Cyril? CYRIL You! 1 knew it not till lately, when I found scene ii. CHOICE. 225 This, in the silent treasury of gifts Poured from your ceaseless hand. How long ago I cannot tell — I see myself a child To whom infinity, and life, and death Were like a great lawn in a parable Beside a pleasant river. As I walked On our own lawn, half-conscious of such thoughts, Stirring like sap that shall force out the flower When the time comes, you caught me from the grass And showed where I had nearly set my foot On some slight miracle of tiny life : 4 God made it/ so you said ; ' destroy it not ! ' I, loving that kind lesson, answered you In wonder, c Are all children in the world Taught to be tender? Or do these things die Under a thousand careless feet ? ' Perchance I thought, if so, what use in saving one. But you, with deeper logic, ' What I say Is for yourself. You see, and you are taught, And you must save ! ' O, mother, pluck the fruit Of your own seed — all that I am is yours. As in the street by venerable walls Some passer strays, and hears the softened choir, And takes a sweet psalm-fragment on his lips, Q 226 CHOICE. PARJ I. Singing it as he walks, but knowing not Where it was learnt, till suddenly he wakes And in the city's heart remembers it, And fits the tune with holy words, well-pleased To find himself at worship — such am I. Out of the music of your heart you gave One note, which I have murmured till it swells To a litany of angels. mrs. vere {falls on his neck) Ah, my son, Die not from me because you are so good ! Live only, and I cross you not ! CYRIL Your word Abides, and I, who see and know, must save All that I can. If I be any worth (I dare not think so), mother • if my toil Have won what you and I suppose a crown, Nay, not a crown, a sword — we cast it low At those dear Feet, to take it from those Hands. Now for the joy of service, and the rest scene ii. CHOICE. 227 Of work, and all the breaking lights of Hope That make a constellation of the sky While sleepers call it night ; so to walk on Till the Day dawn and all the voices blend In one vast welcome to our risen Lord ! 22S TRIAL. PART II. PART II.— TRIAL. Cyril in his study. Evening. CYRIL The tree of life, earth-rooted, blooms in heaven Where its height reaches. Our impatient faith Outstrips our hope, and at the base of growth Clamours for fruit. If here it dropped for us Hovv should it ripen in that rich Beyond For which we work ? We can afford to wait Being so sure. Thus have I conned my task ; Yet by long waiting surest Hope grows sick. What boots nice ordering of a feast for him Who faints upon the threshold ? What the light Of far-off welcome, for blind hearts that break Worn out with travelling homeward? O ! I want The music of possession ! One It-is Outweighs a world of Shall-be's. If I knew That I had gained one soul — that I could set scene i. TRIAL. 229 One trophy on my heart, with i this is mine — Mine and no other's ! ' — when I see the brink Lean over darkness, if I once could stand A wall upon the slope of that despair To save one dangerous traveller, seizing him Just as he falls, whether by will or choice — If, reeling with the shock of victory, I, with that joyful burden on my breast Could reach my Master's feet — let it there crush me, What matter, so the triumph crush me there ! But that were easy crowning. Not the toil, But the utter darkness of the toil appals me. The saints of old saw where their weapons struck, Aye, they endured as verily seeing Him Who is for us invisible. He came About them as Day comes about the world ; The comfort of His glory strengthened them When they beheld it, for they were not left To wish and murmur, desolate with doubt (Our palmless martyrdom) ; they saw and heard, And grasped and handled their substantial hopes. Could he doubt heaven, for whom the car of fire Rose, bearing from his gaze the friend beloved ? Or they for whom the waters split and stood 230 TRIAL, part 11. A two-fold wall, could they deny God's power ? Could she mistrust the pity of God, whose arms Drearily wrapt about her weeping face Were severed into swift embrace, receiving Her own from the dead again ? Was not their life Transparent for the Deity within As a vast allegory ? I remember Ten years ago, when I began to think, How fair the old Greek life appeared to me, That creed of fairy tales which left no nook Of the rich world a blank — all populous With superhuman fancies ; and I thought This, not being true, was yet more beautiful Than any truth ; and had these fancies been Noble and pure as they were beautiful I could have wished to die believing them ; Then sprang the thought How was it? These things were A Past for ever ; for we cannot pierce The deep of years and catch them in the fact, And find the living souls who lived among them ; The tale was evermore a tale ; the Greek Heard ever from his father of the gods, Sat in the lovely leisure of the woods scene i. TRIAL. 231 And dreamed of Dryads never seen. Lo, then Truth leaped upon me like an armed man, And I fell down and worshipped. I beheld, Knew, felt that God had once been in the world ; That old familiar Bible of my youth, Learnt as a task and reverenced as a rule, Became a living wonder and a power New from that moment, never read again With the same eyes. To me the universe Was one sublime tradition \ not a cloud But traced His pathway through the wilderness, And not a tree but talked of Olivet. Why do I say this now? My faith is weak, It wavers, it is weary, but it \i faith ! Like the faint life which in a sick man's heart Persists, half- quenched, and seems about to cease A thousand times, and yet a thousand times Revives, invisible to watching eyes But always there, and growing even through swoons To link the latter to the former health ; So trembling it persists, and so believes With unbelief, and shall be strong at last Reaching to deathless hope across despair. 232 TRIAL. TART II. E?iter Markham. CYRIL O ! not to-night ! MARKHAM How, friend — you welcome me Strangely. CYRIL You come like Mephistophiles To tempt me when I waver. MARKHAM Rather say To help you when you stumble. CYRIL Ay, but to help me Into that path whereon I would not walk. MARKHAM So — you are weak — you strike before I threaten. Are you that miracle, an honest saint, Who, having braced his armour on, confesses scene i. TRIAL. 233 That it has flaws, and that he fears a wound ? What has dismayed you ? CYRIL Only solitude And my own soul. I perish in the calm. You, like a new wind, shake my sleeping sails Against their work ; so come, refreshing shock, And 111 encounter you. MARK HAM Lift the metaphor And let us see the fact — you are not content CYRIL Is any man content ? MARK HAM We men of earth, Who see but with our eyes, and think life short For all our eyes can show us, are content. CYRIL If your philosophy comes but by gazing 234 TRIAL. part ii. Make the gaze deep, and you shall learn in time Enough of noble sadness ; for I think All men who look around them, and within, Take leave of their boy-laughter. MARKHAM Say you so, Believing that God rules the world He made And made for His own ruling ? Infidels Put such a creed to shame. I hold, myself, A deaf Law better than a scornful God Who hears and heeds not. In the hollow Past Under the root of Time, only discerned By penetrative eyes of after-thought, Was movement — you would say the Spirit moved, But I, the Matter • germs evolving laws, Or laws in germ, but only by their work Revealed. We, looking from these latter heights, Can trace them, step by step, and none astray, None needless, so that from the vague At-first, Wherein all things seemed possible, there grew (Because each moment limited the next) These final certainties, which cannot be Other than as they are. Did we know all scene i. TRIAL. 235 (Haply we shall) we should perceive how all, All kinds, all shapes, all shades of difference, All acts, all thoughts, all signs and modes of being, Are as they must be ; wheresoe'er you touch The interminable chain, you touch a link, Result and cause — a moment, which concludes The Past, begins the Future. Therefore Life Must be received in patience ; as we live We mend and mould, and hand it to our sons More gently than we took it from our sires, CYRIL Where learned you this strange history ? MARKHAM Do you ask ? Behold a pupil of the Universe ! CYRIL Lo, friend, you deem me credulous, and proclaim (You, uncommissioned by a miracle) The top of mystery ! Your logic builds On likelihood ; a balance, not a base, Safe till disturbed. I wait a surer proof. At every point and pause of your advance 236 TRIAL. part ii. You pass an ambush, and neglect a doubt, And choose one path among a thousand. Nay, Tis a hard task to prove by circumstance In all its motives and particulars Merely one deed, done by one living man, And would you make the world by't? Pray you tell me How many million moments in the years Did pass, whereat some tiny difference May not have changed it all ? Some sudden witness (If such there were) might burst upon you now And quench you with a fatal ' thus it was/ Leaving you dumb for ever. Sure I am It might teach angels sarcasm, to behold These dust-born sticklers, bound by etiquette Never to mention God in His own world, Who guess through all the ages, and devise Gossip, about Creation. MARKHAM This is grand ! I love you in this humour. Let's sit down And fight in peace. \He seats himself. Cyril remains standing at the window. scene i. TRIAL. 237 That was a clattering phrase That ' gossip of creation ' — I perceive You fc stand up ' like the poet's ' man in wrath ' (He should have written ' woman ') and proclaim That you ' have felt,' not reasoned. CYRIL Reason, friend, Is only half the mystery of Man ; Till you have felt a truth it is not yours Though Reason grasp it in her iron hand. I have heard learn'd musicians, who by the hour Would stuff you with elaborate sequences And fretful involutions ; faultless all, Ingenious, satisfactory and cold, Not to be answered — till a Master came And with some sudden simple turn of sound Would charm you to unreasonable tears At his fifth note. MARKHAM I am too plain a man To follow argument by parable. CYRIL One greater than ourselves held parable The fittest teaching for the plainest men. 238 TRIAL. part 11. MARKHAM You pass the question. CYRIL But I touch in passing. Let us speak heart to heart. This creed of yours Is not the sole philosophy. We, who judge By fruits, and tracing, not too certainly, The backward story of this various world, Divine an undetected difference In each unknown Beginning, before growth, I think we reason no whit worse than you Who, as the long lines lessen to a point, Believe they issued from it ; making sense The measure of the Thing which it perceives, Not of its own perception. Circumstance Stretched through incalculable tracts of Time Life's limit, mould, condition, is to you A god — to us a great Epiphany. We wonder — and examine — and adore ; You wonder — and examine — and deny : Which is more wise ? markham {rising and joining Cyril at the windoiu) This is the way with you, You run all themes to one. I meant to talk scene i. TRIAL. 239 Not of these origins and theories, But of the present evils, which I take For calm necessities, to be endured By patient sages — you CYRIL For devil's work To be annihilated by God's men ! Ah — did you see it pass ? MARKHAM What passed ? You are pale. CYRIL That dismal, desperate, unholy thing Which was a child and should be now a man, One of your 'calm necessities.' MARKHAM A man? No more ? I deemed you watched along the street Some drifting wreck of woman. CYRIL Always women ! There is some deep unsoundness in the Time 240 TRIAL. part ii. When it stares ever at the sins of women And lets its men alone. Or, by your leave, What kind of God were He that should be served Only by women, and whose laws were made Merely for girls to keep ? Have done with this, And let a man concern himself with men. We are the poison — we who are the springs — Lords of the heavenly heritage we waste, False to high charges, deaf to glorious notes Which ring around us as we walk. For us Build refuges, and sanctify retreats And open daily churches ! We were meant To be as tender, temperate, pure, devout, As the most cloistered maiden upon earth • We have our strength for this, to conquer evil. You hold with me — shall we go down at once And track this monster ? MARK HAM If in such a quest Your energies are spent, I marvel not I found you sorrowful. Tis frenzy, Cyril ! Die if you will in watching by the sick While the pulse quivers and the slow eyes move, scene i. TRIAL. 241 But let the dead be buried out of sight, You cannot raise them. When you have done all, When your bright years, and all the happy gifts That might have made you famous, and the hopes (Wings, till you crushed them), and the high pursuits Which beautified your time, and the fine hues Which your unshackled and deliberate hand Might lay and touch and soften, till you made A finished picture, all are sacrificed, And dreary toil among earth's basest things Possesses and degrades you — is there fruit ? How many hard hearts melted can you show For your own broken ? Cyril, is there one ? CYRIL Man, am I Christ that I should change men's hearts ? I have a work to do. You talk to me Like my temptations. Ere you came, I strove With some such thought ; it does not plague me now, I am afire for work, There is a haunt Down yonder where the worst and wildest souls (And sometimes toe the saddest) congregate ; There oft I gc in twilight and encounter Strange moments, Here and there I sow a word, R 242 TRIAL. PART II. An alms, a prayer — what do I know of fruit ? That shall be garnered when the harvest comes ; But I may save a soul by speaking there, Or I might lose a soul by leaving it, Or lastly I am merely at my post And do this business on my own account. Will you come with me ? MARKHAM Aye, to study life In a new aspect. \They go down into the Street. CYRIL Is it not wonderful To see that gentle glory in the sky Behind the houses ? Lo, how black they look, Knowing how foul and mean a world they hide From the still splendours of eternity ! Yet is the twilight fairness spread for them, With all its tints profuse and delicate, As for the mountains and the royal woods W T hich have a right to it. Behold the Spire, It is not black, it enters into light scene I. TRIAL. 243 And is transfused — see where the river makes A second firmament — God still has witness In man's aspiring and in earth's repose Despite all evil. [A Woman stops Cyril. woman O sir, will you come To see my husband? It is soon to ask, But since the morning he has cried for you, And still he mutters to himself the words You spoke, and seems to sort them in his thoughts, . Trying to note them all. He will not sleep Till he has seen your face. CYRIL Well, he shall see it, I'll give him that small comfort. Say to him He may expect me in an hour. WOMAN I know I shall be dearly welcome for that word. [Exit. % [A yowig Girl passes. CYRIL Too late i' the streets, my child — what is your errand ? 244 TRIAL. part II. GIRL {shyly) My father sent me to buy bread. CYRIL Go home And say I sent you. I will bring the bread As I come back. Good-night. [Exit Girl. cyril (lays his hand on a Bofs shoulder) Ah, runaway, I have you. Stand and answer. Nay, you shall ! Why have you fled from school ? What — not a word ? I'll tell you then— unless you are ashamed To hear yourself explained. BOY Please sir CYRIL How meek You are to me ! We have been friends, but now I'll not be friends with you till you are meek In the right place. Come, you shall do your duty ; Tis but a coward's part to run away Because you heard some talk about your faults. scene i. TRIAL. 245 BOY Sir, sir, it was not that. CYRIL Well, I believe 'Twas nothing. Breakfast at my house to-morrow And tell me all. BOY I'll come, sir. CYRIL So Good-night, and grow more wise. [Exit Boy. MARKHAM Are these your sheep ? CYRIL O, very harmless lambs. If these were all I might be gathering daisies all the day. Look here ! [They stop and look in at the window of a house. There is afire, and men and women of the lou'est description are gathered aroimd it ; others e?iter and join the group. Oafhs and foul language are 246 TRIAL. part 11. heard among them. In one corner of the room a woman is stooping over a sick child. It lies on the floor with a pillow under its head. MARKHAM Why, there's our ruffian ! I profess In fitting company ! That downward man, With all the deadly sins upon his face, I should not like to meet i' the dark. There's one With a most feeble voiceless countenance, Merely an empty vessel, to be filled With poison if you please — and there a woman Brazen, hard-eyed, incredible — and here One like a beast, cunning and ravenous- One spiritless and haggard as a corpse. Fie, what a group ! Now, if I thought as you That these are rushing to a certain doom I could not bear cyril {grasping his hand) O, not the future, friend ! The visible damnation of these souls Tears me to pieces ! True, the sleeker sins Of our soft equals may appear as black scene l TRIAL. 247 In that strong Light which penetrates and proves, (For Sin is viler than its consequence) \ But we have knowledge, we have looked on God, We choose our path. What can we say of these, Who feed on darkness, and embrace contempt, And breathe pollution ? Had they any choice ? When have they seen the good or heard the true ? O ! how should they believe themselves beloved Being so forgotten ? If I stand aloof These sins are mine ! MARKHAM You are too passionate. The world is full of these uneven lives : You did not make them, and you cannot mend ; You do your utmost — never man did more — Be satisfied ! CYRIL What, here t [They look in silently for a little while. CYRIL I pray you, note In this foul place the sacred light of grief. 248 TRIAL. part 11. Each little movement of the mother-hand About the pillow of her dying babe Speaks like a poem. We can see from this Why God afflicts. There is no heart so dumb But by divine compulsion of great woe It utters transient music. I, who have My conversation in the griefs of men, Will take this for my passport. [They enter, and Cyril goes up to the sick child. The men stare, and stop for a moment in their talk. One speaks with another. MAN Who is here ? ANOTHER MAN O, the mad parson. Let him be. He'll go When he has preached a little. [They resume their uproar. Cyril lifts the child tenderly in his arms. The mother, who has been busy about it in a helpless bewildered way, looks up. \ cyril (gently) He is restless — There — he seems easier now. scene i. TRIAL. 249 WOMAN My pretty boy ! Who says that he must die ? O he's too young — He has not even learnt to stand alone — He cannot die yet. And I love him so God would not have the heart to take him from me. See — he grows white. Ah, hold him ! If he dies I'm sure there's nothing good that rules the world. What has he done? What anger has he caused? He has not sinned ; I and his father sinned Who have not even a finger-ache. Look now, He lies quite still — the cruel savage pain Hurts him no more — his head is on your breast So quietly, I cannot hear him breathe, (But you can) — you have children of your own Who teach you mother- skill. I wish they did not Shout so loud there by the fire. I want to hear The pleading murmur of his baby-breath, But their noise drowns it. You must hear it, sir, Having his heart so close against your own. Is he not sweet ? No, do not give him to me ; I do not want to have him in my arms \ If I should feel him motionless and cold, Though it is only sleep (I know he sleeps), 250 TRIAL. part 11. I am so foolish — do not laugh at me — I should cry out for fear it might be death, Which is impossible. O help me, help me, And keep him for me ! CYRIL God shall keep him for you Better than I, poor mother. ONE OF THE MEN What's the noise ? ANOTHER Now, parson, what's the matter with the child ? \The Woman utters a loud scream. One of the other women goes to her a?id begins caressing her. Cyril comes forward with the child still in his arms. mark HAM What drives you to them with such eyes of fire ? CYRIL Let me alone ! I drive against their hearts. [He stands among them. The child is dead. Brothers, the child is born ! scene i. TRIAL. 251 Look on the beauty of this sleep ! Come near — This tender pureness is not terrible ; See the -shut eyes which can shed no more tears, What do they now behold ? Touch the soft lips Through which no sound of sorrow or of sin Shall ever pass — be not afraid to touch them, They cannot be denied. O, what repose Dwells with this everlasting Innocence ! Can this fair thing be Death ? Look on each other, From this face look to those — do you believe You look from Death to Life ? If it be so Who would not choose this calm pathetic triumph Instead of that dark struggle ? Little child, If you had lived you would have looked like these, Having to live among them ! Twenty years, A time to ripen, what would you have been ? Familiar with all evil and no shame, Hardened by trouble, enervate with sin, Scarred with a thousand traces of despair, With just a wordless murmur at your heart Revealing that there was a far-off time When you looked — thus ! O brothers, think of it ! You have made life, God's greatest gift, a thing So hideous, that the mother for her child, 252 TRIAL. part 11. Praying her best prayer for her dearest soul, Could find no better cry to lift to God Than this, ' O snatch him from it ! ' You yourselves Know what you are — take but this one to-day Out of your lives, and think its minutes through, And turn to this pure face, and say with me Praise God, for He hath slain another babe ! [There is a sound of tears in the room. Cyril gives the child to the Woman, and comes into the midst of the me?i with outstretched arms. Stand still, and let me talk to you of Christ ! scene i. LOVE. 253 PART III.— LOVE. Scene I. — At Bertha's House. Cyril — Bertha. BERTHA Sings, Film after film the Distance lies Away from our pursuing eyes, Till, having sweetly pondered through Each lovely change of light and hue, They rest upon the final blue. Fold after fold the bud receives Summer's soft fire among its leaves ; The message reaches one by one, They thrill, they heave with life begun- The Rose lies open to the sun ! So pierces Life, while hour by hour, The slow heart opens like a flower, So spreads the long expanse of Love For eyes which lingering as they move Pause not until they pass above. 254 LOVE. part in. CYRIL Was that the song ? BERTHA Do you forget so soon ? I sang it when I saw you first, and you So listened with the silence of your eyes That I sang all for you. But now I find You were afar, pursuing some swift thought, And my poor music only fanned your ears, Passing your busy heart. CYRIL You sang for me ? Through all the strain I only heard yourself Sweeter than music's soul. I do not know One note — I know the voice. Sung by another It is another song. BERTHA Seems it so now ? Alas, I fear the dew has died from it, The gem is but a grass- flower ! Seems it so ? CYRIL Look at me — are you Bertha ? scene i. LOVE. 255 BERTHA Look at me ! CYRIL I cannot see the half of all I love, Pazed by its presence — I must glance aside Like men who watch for mighty stars — or wait Till some reflecting calm of memory Makes contemplation possible. BERTHA You mock me With such sonorous love, not like yourself. I hate professions, poor as showers of gold Flung in the lap are poor to her who waits For one soft touch from one beloved hand. CYRIL Dear, when you doubt, must I not needs profess ? We play with our untroubled certainties Like children who, familiar with their tasks, Pretend a coaxing ignorance, to catch The smile of wonder when the words ring out. 256 LOVE. part in. BERTHA Am I so certain ? CYRIL You have vexed me now. BERTHA Nay, but that daily miracle, your love, Amazes me. If I could find a cause Why you should choose me, I were more content ; But in me there is only simpleness, And such sufficiency of tender thoughts As make me happy when I look at you But give you nothing. When I see you mount Like a swift angel up the steeps of fire, My heart longs after you to call you back, Fearing the pain ; I know that pain is good, And you are strong, and God is pitiful, Grieved with our griefs ; and yet I shrink for you (I fancy I could bear it for myself) ; And though I pray to cling about your feet, Going up with you so, healing your wounds With my weak hands, or by some special grace Taking sometimes a hurt instead of you, Yet is this common Earth so sweet to me That if a flower dies I am sorrowful, And all sea-moonlights, or processioned clouds, scene i. LOVE. 257 Or flash and shadow blown about the grass, Or depths of summer in the nested woods, Motions of birds, and sounds of shaken leaves, Perplex and satisfy me with delight \ Therefore I fear I am not made for you, Not an helpmeet for you — it breaks my heart To think that you will see me as I am And turn away ; yet, if I bring you down, Or merely do not help you as I might, As a wife should, as I should were I fit To be your wife, then am I bound to wish That you should drop me from you as you mount ; Then I am bound — O ! tell me, am I bound To take the task upon my faulty self Who never should have held you, and set free Your soul, to seek its throne ? CYRIL Have you confessed ? Are these your sins ? O, when I think of heaven I see you with a lily in your hand Walk softly through the gate, with robes unstained And all the morning calmness on your cheeks. I would not wound your tender soul with praise ; Hear only this, that when I yield you are 258 LOVE. PART III. My strength, and when I conquer, my delight ; Hope when I faint, refreshment when I fail, Day to my doubting footsteps everywhere, Whether I die or live, my truest life. Beside me that sweet current of your thoughts Flows like a river by a toilsome road Where weary feet and dust-bewildered eyes Rest and are comforted. Were it not too bold I'd say your soul was made for serving mine Apt for its utmost needs ; yet I were blest If I could spend myself in serving you Who need me not, for even these gracious tears Which your quick conscience trembles at, are strength To him who feels ' what matter if I die ? There is no pain since Bertha weeps for me.' BERTHA Unkind to take your comfort from my tears ! Why do you talk of Death? CYRIL Death is Life's servant ; It follows us, close, faithful, vigilant; Plucks out, if we receive such ministry, At every step some thorn or stain of life ; scene i. LOVE. 259 Takes off the mask of Sin, that we may see What 'tis that tempts us ; and with ready breast Pillows us when the warfare is complete, When we want rest. BERTHA And parts us. Could we go Together to that beautiful new world Which we believe in, Death would seem to me Like a soft call into some fairer room Where we may look at wonders. But it parts us. O, Cyril, can you bear it ? CYRIL Let it pass : I know not how we came to such a theme ; Press it no further. BERTHA Why do you clasp me so ? Why are you pale ? CYRIL I cannot tell — a fear : I saw Earth gaping darkly at your feet For one fierce moment. 260 LOVE. PART III. BERTHA 'Tis my turn to chide, Myself, not you, for stirring such a fear. Cyril, how you love me ! I have done With doubts which grow from mine unworthiness : Your love creates what it would find in me ; 1 have no power to lag behind your trust. If you so fear to lose me, I am sure I must be worthy keeping. I have heard A maze of music from three notes unwound And ever winding back to these three notes Telling it's heart out so ; even so I harp On my sweet secret, ' Cyril, how you love me ! ' And ' how you love me, Cyril ! ' nothing else Till all my life grows music and invests* With all its harmonies that central phrase. I wonder [She stops suddenly. CYRIL What? BERTHA It is such foolishness I am ashamed to say it ; but I wonder SCENE I. LOVE. 261 If when I walk abroad all men perceive That glory which began upon my face When you first said you loved me. CYRIL Never doubt Tis for that cause they turn to look at you More than at women whom I do not love. See, while we trifle, Time leaps on. At four My mother comes. \Holds up his watch. BERTHA 'Tis kind. Alas, I wish I had such state and practice in the world As she desires ! If she but pardons me For stealing this her jewel from the hand She meant it for, I'll so entangle her With harmless guile that she must yield at last And love me ere I let her go, CYRIL She comes To love you. True, she questioned you, unseen ; She had a scheme which flourished like a flower, And when she found it rootless, yours the blame ; 262 LOVE, PART III. But, knowing that my heart is fixed, she comes To grace, not judge you — though to such as you The stricter judgment brings the surer grace. You must not fear her. BERTHA Nay, I fear her not. How should I fear your mother ? She must be Tender and wise, with thoughts which cannot wound A safe heart lying quietly in your hand. CYRIL That's bravely said. Yet dearest, yet, I see An unfamiliar crimson in your cheek Like a white rose at sunset ; do not wrong Yourself or her by one uneasy pang ; Make your whole heart a welcome. BERTHA So it is ; I fear myself a little, but not her ; Whence these unwarrantable blushes come I know not. Would it were to-morrow ! CYRIL Why Hurry the gentle hours that are so fair ? LOVE. 263 I would keep each for ever, did I not see The smile of the new-comer. BERTHA Tis my way To think remembrance sweeter than possession. When you are by (nay look not grave, I am blest When you are by), yet is my heart so full That if I catch a pause between the beats, I find I long for evening, for a time To ponder all the meanings of your face, And tell myself the tender things you looked, And count the precious words which came like shocks So that I could not hear how kind they were. I tremble in the strong grasp of ' To-day,' Like a caught bird, which sings not in your hand, But if you loose it, from the nearest tree Pours dow r n its vigorous gratitude. CYRIL A plea So lovely, that it only seems to say, ' Take me again ! I am here 1 ' 264 ' LOVE. PART III. BERTHA Take me again And still again, for if you take me not, Dumb, desolate, and free, I can but die Without a home. CYRIL My bird, my child, my darling ! Why do you put such pathos in your face. Making a mist of unaccustomed tears Around the splendour of my happiness ? You say the very words I long to hear, You touch me with the glory of your hand, But those appealing eyes go through my heart, Which shivers like a harpstring, fit to break Ere it can answer. BERTHA Well, I am to blame ; Let me not move you — talk of something else ; It is my birthday and we should be gay. See, your ring glitters ! CYRIL For your birthday, love, scene ii. LOVE. 265 The sweetest gift is that new daughterhood Which now begins. BERTHA I do desire it much. Scene II. Enter Markham. CYRIL Come in good time ! I have a lady here So timid, that two heroes like ourselves Are scarce enough to cheer her. BERTHA Do not say so ; I shall be scorned. MARKHAM No tongue but yours would dare To couple scorn with your sweet name. For that, I hold you brave — and for the rest, your fears Shall fly before a woman's gentle face 266 LOVE. part in. Ere you can show them. Two are on the way To give you courage. BERTHA Two? MARKHAM With your new mother (Such you shall find her) a new sister comes, Eager to win you — nay, there's no escape, At the first summons you must strike your flag And take your fetters meekly. CYRIL You bring news. Comes Blanche to grace the meeting? That is kind. markham {looking at Bertha) Shall I be pardoned if I tell you bluntly I never saw you look so well ? cyril {looking at her) I think I like the lilies better. scene ii. LOVE. 267 MARKHAM You can choose. And thus he gives you valour ! BERTHA O, believe I do but feel such reasonable doubt As must beset me, if I match myself Against the love that chose me. I am forced To speak of what I should not. Were I such As in their kindly judgment I shall seem, I might be surer, but I could not be Happier than now. MARKHAM Be only as you are, You cannot mend it. Shall I make you now Confess a fault ? You scorned my memory A week ago, and now I wish you joy On your remembered birthday ! BERTHA Are you sure You did not hear us talking as you came ? 268 LOVE. part in. MARKHAM Sceptic, behold the proof ! [Gives her a bracelet. BERTHA A miracle Which I must kneel to. Cyril, look at it ! I cannot find a language for my thanks. MARKHAM (to CYRIL) Will you not clasp it ? [Cyril clasps the bracelet on Bertha's arm. BERTHA ? Tis the perfect size. MARKHAM Do not sit here ; the shadow touches you. See, Cyril, when they cross the threshold there We'll set her like a picture, jour a gauche, And tell them where to stand. BERTHA You make me laugh. SCENE III. LOVE. 269 CYRIL That is his purpose. I commend him for it. BERTHA Defend me from these mockers ! Two at once ! Scene III. Enter Mrs. Vere and Lady Blanche. Mrs. Vere — Lady Blanche — Cyril — Markham- Bertha. cyril (advances eagerly) See, mother, we are ready ! Not a word — But take her, for she will not come to me Unless you give her. \Heputs Bertha's hand into Mrs. Vere's. mrs. vere (ceremoniously) I am glad to see you, And sorry that your father keeps his room. 270 LOVE. PART II BERTHA It grieves him that he cannot welcome you. MRS. VERE You will not let us miss him. Here 1 you have A gracious landscape, and a kindly hearth — Two things to make home charming. It is strange To come upon this pretty calm, so near The roar of our confusion. I have heard You lived here always ? BERTHA I have yet to learn If there are other places in the world As tender to my simpleness as this. LADY BLANCHE I'll help to teach you. Must I name myself Or do you know me ? Cyril, is it right To make me seem so bold ? CYRIL You blame me well. I have lost all my manners, in the deep scene in. LOVE. 271 Of this long-looked-for joy. If one by one We reach the things we long for, there is time To ponder them like reasons and be calm. The man who sees one picture in a day Takes it to bed among his gentlest thoughts And in the night beholds it. and at morn Beholds it still, and grows familiar with it, Till, seen again, it greets him like a friend Telling no news, but coming to his heart With itself only. So my separate loves Ruled me at leisure \ but I go perplexed About this gallery, scarce discerning yet "Which bright appeal should have its answer first, Passing where I should pause, at every step Turning so soothe some beautiful reproach With tardy homage. [He takes Blanche's hand. MARKHAM Your one picture has Companions, but no rivals. mrs. vere (perceiving him) Are you here To penetrate this poesy with facts ? 272 LOVE. PART III. O keep your friendly office ! Cyril needs A rein — we know it — ever scaling heights And scorning valleys ; covering half the world For each neglected mile of beaten road. CYRIL Aye, mother, is my daily waste so great ? Yet are there rocks about my daily path Which need a stronger blast than poesy ! MRS. VERE You do not move them ; there's the sorrow, Cyril ; Your cause lies crushed among them, even the cause For which you flung away your noble life, While you go harvesting the fruitless winds Or triumphing over clouds. CYRIL Not from the dust Come the great forces which compel the world ; We build them out of fire and air, because He that would rule earth must first rise above it. On our invisible banners stand the words 6 Life risen, and Life hidden/ scene in. LOVE. 273 MRS. VERE Mystical As ever ! Now, I wish a Seer would say Why some draw changes from the years, and some Carry their childhood always. He was yet \to Bertha A slender sprite of ten, faced like a girl, When, if you crossed him with a doubt, he straight Would toss and tangle you in parables Till you grew faint. bertha (to Cyril) Were you so wise a child ? CYRIL A pedant in that pre-historic age Before the twilight of my beard. MARKHAM And still A pedant (so your mother says), complete With all primaeval dragon-slaying arms, Though now there be no dragons (and what tongue Shall certify us of the time and place T 274 LOVE. part in. When as the dogma struck, the dragon died ?) No matter ! You can hurl your dogmas still And hope for living dragons. Is it not strange [to Mrs. Vere That all his growing glory of young days, Which we stood by to watch, is rounded thus ; As if a great tree, breaking out in spring With blossom-torrents, there should stay and cease, And, in the harvest, like a giant flower Wither unfruited? MRS. VERE If you speak of Cyril, I should know more than you. I find no cause To mourn such fruitless promise in his life. I think you have not seen his work. MARKHAM Forgive me ! I meant to make you bless him unaware. CYRIL Mother and friend, I must beseech you, choose A livelier theme. I am no more a child Called to reluctant stand when strangers come scene in. LOVE. 275 To test my growth, or show how like I am To some half-uncle in another world Whose shadow never touched my thoughts. I hate To criticise my own biography, Searching myself with hesitating eyes To find which flaws are only in the glass, Which in the face it mirrors. Let me rest Like a dull book. If we should talk of Blanche The topic has some grace. LADY BLANCHE 111 not allow it. I could not trust my tender qualities To such free handling. MRS. VERE We seem all adrift. Shall we have music? (To Bertha.) I believe you sing? bertha (looks at Cyril) I must learn better ere I sing for you ; Must I not, Cyril ? t 2 276 LOVE, part in. MRS. VERE Nay, I press you not : Refuse me if you will. Dear Blanche, I think Your voice is always ready. Let it flow To smooth this ruffle of uneasy talk ! bertha (distressed) I did not mean LADY BLANCHE {kindly) I will but lead the way, Use having made me bolder. (Aside to Mrs. Vere) Oh ! be kind ; See how the tide of blushes ebbs and flows At every word you speak ! I am sorry for her. mrs. vere {aside to Lady Blanche) For him ! For him ! Why picked he from the ground This shred of homespun ? Links of virgin gold Were ready for his neck. lady blanche {aside) For shame ! scene in. LOVE. 277 MRS. VERE Enough* I will constrain myself to softer ways. bertha (aside to Cyril) How childish was I not to sing at once ! How shall I please her now ? CYRIL Sing afterwards ! Be brave — this voice is nothing beside yours. A dancer's paces on the polished floor To the airy poise and passage of a nymph Across the woods ! BERTHA You cannot make me think so, But you may think so always if you will. mrs. vere (aside) Mark her appeals ! That way she won him, Blanche ! O to divide this knot ! LADY BLANCHE I will not hear you. 278 LOVE. She preludes and sings. What have you done with my flower, my flower, That lay on your heart so gay, so sweet ? I wore it there for half an hour Then I cast it under my feet. Fade, flower ! Fade you may, Now, for you have bloomed your day ! What have you done with my ring, my ring, That was on your hand, so close, so true ? It clung too close, the weary thing ! I have dropped it into the dew. Break, ring ! Break you may, Now, for you are cast away ! What have you done with my heart, my heart, That lay in your hand so safe, so still ? I let it fall in field or mart ; You can look for it if you will ! Break, heart ! Break, you must, Now, for you are in the dust ! CYRIL A bitter song. Have you dropped many hearts To whisper all their wrongs about your feet ? You should tread lightly. scene in. LOVE. 279 LADY BLANCHE Tis a woman's song. This kind of crime is only masculine. CYRIL Indeed ! mrs. vere (to Bertha) You do not speak ? MARKHAM Her face speaks for her, Being full of praise and wonder. BERTHA I could listen Hours into minutes. Will you sing again ? LADY BLANCHE No, no — your turn is come. MARKHAM (to BERTHA) Then let me choose ; Do me so much of honour. Sing for me, That — nay, I cannot name it — which you sang 280 LOVE. PART III. In the last twilight, and which seemed to us A murmur from one mourning in the woods Ere she goes home ; when the lamp came, we looked To see who had not wept. BERTHA That little ballad ? Is't not too sad ? Well — bear with it, and me ! BERTHA sings. * They came together to see me/ The old woman said, and sighed, 4 One was tall, and the other small ; ' I think the little one died.' She had a trick of sighing, And she knew not what she said, But O ! how could she say to me, 1 Is the little one dead ? ' For strange to me seems any doubt Of that which did betide, Because the light of my life went out When the little one died ; And every leaf on every tree Since then to me has said, And will for ever say to me, * Is the little one dead ? ' SCENE III. LOVE, 281 And everywhere I see the room, And all the weeping eyes ; And I hear the tender terrible words While the little one dies ; And everywhere I feel the blank With empty arms outspread, Till I would give all things that live For my little one, dead. And if I hear that one is sick I shrink and turn aside ; Ever I fear that Death is near Because my little one died. And if I hear that one is well I lift a cruel cry, Why, oh why, should any be well And just my little one die ? And through my heart the word goes down, There ever to abide, Why, oh why, am I alive Since my little one died ? While, with her trick of sighing, Again the old woman said, 1 One was tall, and the other small — Is the little one dead ? ' MRS. VERE Sweet but untrained ! LADY BLANCHE A voice like a wild rose. 282 LOVE. PART III. CYRIL ! what a pang of silence follows it ! Yet, Markham, yet, I cannot praise your taste. Find you a charm in phantasies of pain To soothe away the substance of your griefs ? 1 ever held that Art should stand by Truth To draw the secret beauty out of it And teach us all we miss ; providing us With havens and reposes, whence, refreshed, We go back to our toil. Tears are not Rest ; I grudge them to my visions, being sure My facts will need them. MARKHAM Reason goes with you ; But I, who shudder at the depths, can play Among the shallows. MRS. VERE Time demands us now. Come Blanche. (To Bertha.) And you must visit me at home ? Have you a day to spare, or shall we fix When we meet next? scene in. LOVE. 283 CYRIL Nay, mother, you forget Her days are not as yours — she grows i' the shade. MRS. VERE I should be son*}' if my summons crossed A fairer project. BERTHA Tis not possible. I am your servant, if you send for me ; Your child, if you will love me ! Let me hope It shall be so MRS. VERE I never had the skill To set my pretty sentiments to words ; I know it is a fault. Shall we say Tuesday? Nay, thank me not, I am content with 'yes.' {Gives her hand to Bertha, 'Tis settled. Cyril, do you come with us ? CYRIL Aye, to the door. 28 4 10 VE. PART III. MRS. VERE No further ? So you teach me My future ere it comes. [Exit Mrs. Vere. LADY BLANCHE She is not well ; [To Bertha. Think nothing of her haste. But you and I Will learn our sistership at leisure. Take This kiss as warrant. [Kisses her, and exit, following Mrs. Vere. cyril {to Bertha) Look not sad, my love. BERTHA You did not like my song. CYRIL Child, is that all ? [Exit Markham. That wound finds speedy healing. All the while It seemed as if you sang about yourself, And that soft wailing for the little one Came back and back again to trouble me scene in. LOVE. 285 Like some light haunting pain, the seed of death, Till, angry with unreasonable fears, I blamed the strain. But, for the rest, it was Too precious, like a picture in the street Which we would cover from the wind and dust, Or chill of eyes neglectful. Are you healed ? BERTHA Aye, with a word. Re-mter Markham. MARKHAM Now thank me, for I did Your office nobly and devised excuses (At least a dozen) w r hy you did it not. BERTHA Alas, I fear I am to blame for this ! MARKHAM You w T ere the sole excuse I did not name. How r have you fared ? Come, tell us, will you call Your terrors treason ? 286 LOVE, part in. CYRIL Do not press her now ; She is weary. MARKHAM Ah, you should be satisfied. The lilies that you missed are here again. BERTHA Am I so pale ? CYRIL White as a dream of angels. BERTHA I'll rest. CYRIL And so farewell. At evening time I will return. [Exeunt Cyril and Markham. bertha {alone) O yes, at evening time ! But never since I knew of waning lights Have I so longed for evening. When it comes, I shall be happy. What a thankless soul ! Now will I set my joy before my soul scene in. LOVE. 2S7 And so compel it into happiness. First then, he loves me. Next — but no, there is Xo second to that first, it covers all. Ill think of it before I fall asleep That all my dreams maybe astir with hope Of bright awakening. If his mother grieves That he should look so low, I blame her not : Yet am I sure of something in myself Which answers and aspires to what he is - And if on that sweet upward slope of Time At which I gaze, she sees me by his side Giving such comfort as a woman may To him who loves her, she will pardon me. But shall I walk beside him ? I am tired And all the Future seems too difficult ; Only at evening-time, when there is light Shall the way soften and the distance shine. Goodnight, my love. Come back at evening time. [She lies down on a couch a?id sleeps. A pause. Re-enter Cyril CYRIL Now steadfast Day, before she meets with Night, Stands still and tries her strength \ not soon to yield 288 LOVE, part in. Her fair defences, but, with many a charge Into the shadows, many a shining pause On cloud, or mountain vantage, where she waves Banners of gold, and ranges scarlet plumes For last encounters, beaten inch by inch With drifts of gloom and passages of wind And mustering of dark multitudes, at last To fall like a good soldier at his post Overmastered, but not conquered. I am come Before my time. The dumb sting of a thought Drives me, though I despise it. I must see That face which is my only face on earth Smile once, and scatter all my haunting sighs. Why did she sing that song ? \He perceives Bertha*,, O, here she sleeps, As tranquil and as easily disturbed As light on summer water. Shall I touch her To her sweet life again ? I am a coward Before this semblance. When, upon my knees, Daily I offer her to God, my heart Condemns itself for falsehood, knowing not If it could give her, praying that its prayer Turn not to sin. How motionless she lies ! That curve of golden hair across her neck scene in. LOVE. 289 Is still as sculpture, and the white hand drops Like a forgotten lily, when no breeze Troubles the lawn. Her face is very calm ; She looks at something blessed in her dreams And those shut eyes are satisfied. I think I could not wake her, if the lightest care, The faint first whisper of uneasy thought, Awaited her — one shred of passing mist Shows like a stain upon a cloudless sky * But out of this contentment of her sleep I rouse her into fuller joy. So thus ! [Kisses her forehead and starts back. Ah ! That was cold. Awake, my love ! I know The music of my name upon your lips Will sound in a moment. You are pausing now Before you smile. Then, for the first time, here ! [Kisses her lips. Ice to me ! Where's your hand? Cold too — no grasp In these slack fingers ! What has fallen upon me ? Is not the distance full of cries ? I think They call me mad. Not death — madness — not death ; No one said death — Not this death ! Ah, I knew it ! u 290 LOVE. PART III. Help, help! she cannot be so far from life Without farewell ! There is time yet — my Bertha, Do you jest with me? Open your sweet eyes ! O, Bertha, Bertha ! [Throws himself on the body. Enter Markham. MARKHAM What a cry was there ! \He starts back appalled. O, Cyril, Cyril, has your God done this ! cyrtl {rising from the body) I think I have not seen your face before, But you seem pitiful. Look here for me — You weep and cannot ! I am blind myself. Will no man give a name to this cold sleep ? I want the truth. Friend, is there hope ? MARKHAM No, No ! Alas, she's dead ! CYRIL You must not touch her hand, It's mine. And she — not she — but all I have scene in. LOVE. 291 Instead of her — friend, for I know you now, I was to-day the richest soul on earth — You saw me so. What have I now — my world Narrowed to this ! An empty garment, friend. I cannot, as some do, look calmly on it And ask you if it is not beautiful ; I cannot cast it from me — there it lies — My darkness and my poverty lie there — What shall I do? MARKHAM It is too soon for comfort. cyril (to the body) Dear, did you know we were to part so soon ? How could you bear me from you? You have robbed me Of my last memories ! Had I but been here, O had mine eyes but watched this cruel sleep, They had not suffered it to slip to death ! MARKHAM Time lives, while all things die, and lives to soothe. u 2 292 LOVE. PART III. CYRIL lime lives, and I must live again in Time ; The certainty is on me that I must ; I am afraid of it. There are the streets Where I shall walk, the men that I shall meet, The things that I shall do ; but in the midst, Or in the hollow times that look like rest, Suddenly I shall feel her in my arms > And all I see or hear shall fall from me Like cold mists from a climber, leaving me Alone upon the summit of my grief ; Then most alone, when T am most with her Who was the sweetest company on earth. O for an endless cloister ! MARKHAM If my pity — Nay, if my wrath could aid you, they are yours. Why are we flung so helpless into life To suffer what we would not ? Either God Rules not at all, and then He is not God, Or if He rule the world He is not good Because He makes it vile and miserable, Vile to the vile, and dreadful to the good Who serve Him to no purpose ! scene in. LOVE. 293 CYRIL O, be dumb ! Her angel's here already and is grieved. Henceforth I go to meet that touch of God Which we call death \ and when, upon my way I faint, or shrink, or falter among men, Suddenly I shall feel her in my arms And all mean thoughts shall drop away from me, The cloud shall pass, the trouble shall be calm, The Future shall possess me (having lost All else), till, mantled in that coming light Which dwarfs and dims the distances of Earth, Crowned with unconscious conquests, which she wins, I reach the perfect Presence, where she waits ! This, this, is what my God has done for me : I'll own it, though I die. Enter Mrs. Vere hastily. She falls on Cyril's neck. MRS. VERE Oh, my dear son ! I know your loss is great. CYRIL Alas, my mother ! Yours is still greater. You missed loviug her ! 294 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv PART IV.— THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. Scene I. Seaford — Markham. SEAFORD Yes, now I see that old face in the new, That strange, specific, personal difference Which makes me name you. At first sight you seemed Vague altogether ; by degrees, the touch Of some remembered thought fell softly on me, Wakened and held me ; then I found the place, And then the family, and now the name ; You and no other. Did you light on me By chance ? scene I. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 295 MARKHAM Nay, Seaford, there is slighter change In you than me ; I knew you at a glance ; Just thus I dreamed you should be, when as boys We talked about our future certainties Making them what we would. Have you attained them? Methinks you have — I am sure you must have felt The cultivations of a tender home To bring you to such smoothness. Are they yours, The gentle wife, the pleasant competence, The not too numerous brood of little ones Making the garden gay, but leaving still The study tranquil, gracing not disturbing The leisure of your learning SEAFORD Out upon you ! Comes nothing greater from these early visions ? Was I so tame i' the morning ? MARKHAM Better grow From soft beginnings, like a gradual flower, 296 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. Than like a star flash out to set in blackness Nor leave a glimmer on the dismal sky ! How have you sped, in truth ? SEAFORD Well, you shall see, If, as I hope, you'll test me. But yourself — Not only Time's deliberate restlessness Has stamped your face ; I find the mark of toil, The scar of conquest — tell me — have you reached Your young ambitions ? MARKHAM I have done a little ; Less haply than I dreamed, since my slow fame Knocked never at your door. SEAFORD 'Tis my dull ear That failed to note it. Was't in Africa MARKHAM Tush ! never mind. Tell me of all our friends — Lives little Fortescue ? scene I. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 297 SEAFORD Lives ? I should think so ! Full twice as much as many a bigger man ; He goes about us like the general air, Or like an evening gnat, in every place Save where we want to catch him. MARKHAM Mark you now How little change there comes in thirty years ! Tis said the morrow differs from the day For ever ; count by decades, and you find There's nothing but foreseen development Or irresistible decay. SEAFORD No, no ! Not thirty years — you shall not say so much. MARKHAM There spoke the happy voyager, who sails With ship so placid and with sea so kind That the first glimpse of land disheartens him ; Still he looks back, and never thinks of those 298 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. Who hunger for the greensward and the streams. Once more, what news of Grey? SEAFORD You throw a blank; The first. MARKHAM What, dead ? The youngest of us all, And such a gentle heart ! SEAFORD Even such he was. The cruel wires brought home his fatal name Two days before a letter, full of laughs, Which charged his weeping wife to welcome him. MARKHAM I could almost weep too to think of it. Well — I have left the best name to the last— I know he lives, but tell me how he fares ? SEAFORD Who? scene i. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 299 MARKHAM Shall I name him ? When we dreamed together Of coming days, and built our lives with words Like Babels that should break and scatter us, Was there not one whose face was to the hills, Who chattered not. but climbed, and closed with Day Among the shining summits, while we slept? SEAFORD I cannot guess his name, unless you speak Of Cyril MARKHAM But why drop your voice ? I'm sure He lives — you shall not tell me otherwise ; What— Cyril? SEAFORD Nay, be satisfied, he lives. There are so many sorts of life, my friend ; This air that fans us, holds a mighty scale From insect up to eagle, or some say Up higher yet, to Angels, which, unseen, Walk on its fluent waves and find no place 300 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. In our class-namings. Not to speak of these, If I should talk to you of Cyril's life Twere just as though some chirper in the hedge Should gossip about eagles. MARKHAM Say you so ? Hath he outsoared the wings of Speech ? Come, come, You tell me fables ! SEAFORD Sir, I am a man In my own compass, knowing right from wrong, Familiarly, doing no hurt to any, Keeping some general watch upon myself, Trusting the Hope that shall make up for all, Not aiming high, but not afraid of death, And not ashamed of living comfortably ; But, for a minute, look you, for a minute To see my days beside such days as his Sends a pale shudder through my puzzled soul As if I were the vilest thing that breathes ; That's nonsense — but I feel it. scene I. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 301 MARKHAM Well, I know The world hath dreamers, and they have their place In the world's work ; to keep alive the light Which others walk by. If he's one of these SEAFORD O ! spare your ' If — he labours like the sea Without a pause—what looks afar like Rest Is but the softer toil which moulds and smooths After uprooting. He hath made a name; The People know him. If a whirlwind drops One of these trenchant ' Whys ' which pierce the depths And reach the shallows, so that lip to lip Tosses amazing words, and all the world Grows intimate with unsolved mysteries And fights for things unknown, and builds its towers To guard no vineyard, but a wilderness (Our civilised religion hath such broils), At such a season, men will ask each other ' But what said Cyril ? ' and the answer given Be more conclusive than a victory \ 302 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part i v. In truth, a seed of Peace, which, being watered, Becomes a mighty shelter. MARKHAM You surprise me ! I ever deemed his argument too fine For common fingers ; silver threads that slip Without a knot. SEAFORD Nay, but the greatest men Lay hands on all. They feed us, like the skies, With light for rich and poor, unjust and just One uses it to build, and one to plant, And one to hunt for farthings — still it shines. MARKHAM Tell me his haunts — I want to meet with him. By all you say, this vigorous noon should hold Sweet union with its unregretted morn. I think I should be welcome. SEAFORD Doubt it not ; To me, who have but talked away my life, scene i. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 303 He comes with such profound and gentle eyes That I can feel them touch the Thing within, And I am sure they find some good in it Whereof I knew not. 'Tis a loving heart. MARKHAM Where can I find him ? SEAFORD You shall come with me. The Congress sits to-day. MARKHAM Translate your news For unfamiliar ears, receiving not These new-grown flowers of speech. SEAFORD Well then, the Congress Is — an assemblage MARKHAM So much I could guess. 304 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part i v. SEAFORD But hear the end ! We gather and we talk Of happened evil and imagined good In all the realms of practice and belief, Trusting that slow realities of good Out of our talk shall spring, and nil our fields Till the weeds find no room. MARKHAM A Parliament That makes no laws. Speaks Cyril in the ranks ? SEAFORD Aye, from the ranks he speaks, and as he speaks The leaders change their tactics. Here's the door. Shall we go in ? MARKHAM I follow. \They enter the House of Assembly. scene II. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 305 Scene II. — Vestibule of the Hall in which the Congress is assembled. [Great Archway of communication through which the Hall is seen with Bishop, Clergy, and Laity in full discussion. In the Vestibule, Markham a?id Seaford staiid listening. first layman So, for your patience, thanks. The sum of all Is that we stand before our Age like men Who in their book-rooms hang a classic map And talk of Troy, but, being set to travel, Hug their familiar Murray and depart More wise than honest. But the time asks truth. If they be facts, maintain your boundaries, If not, efface them ! Forth, and feel your way And teach us more than you have learnt, for each Hews his own path, and adds his Article To the great ever-growing human creed Which was, and is, and shall be, as the World. Have done with that pale chart, which drowning men x 306 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, parti v. Accuse, and say they have no right to die Because it warned them not. Use all your wits, Set all your sails, and when the haven holds you Tell how you passed the rocks. CYRIL Your parable Fails by its honesty. FIRST LAYMAN I pray you, how ? CYRIL It offers much — but, in the last extreme, The guardian angel which it substitutes For our sure heritage, so sealed by deaths, So manifest in lives, so crowned by Time, Is only — one man's wits. FIRST LAYMAN You force the meaning. CYRIL Nay, but I show the fact. scene II. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 307 FIRST LAYMAN Yet speak more deeply ; We build no walls on these analogies ; I did but illustrate the one position. CYRIL And I, the other. FIRST LAYMAN Nicely parried, friends. Let this be all your answer. CYRIL We are ready For each new version of that old assault Made first on Adam ; there is nothing changed Except the manner — ' Ye shall be as gods ' (For ever future) ' knowing everything/ Age after age it rises like the waves, Always another shape, but always water, To break against our everlasting Rock. Your force is in the colour of your time As clouds are fire at sunset, but in an hour Merely grey drifting vapour. When God's hand Has wound another turning of the skein 308 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. We shall have passed these knots, and men shall see How doubtful were the reasons for the doubts Which vexed their grandfathers, alas, devising Doubts for themselves which shall not prick their sons. So, to the last, we fail ; so, to the last, Among us all the Lord walks evermore With eyes of patient power that mark their own ! Meantime we fight the fronting foe, and answer That we confess our ignorance and faith The very ground and limit of our being ; Not knowing God, nor man, nor life, nor death ; Well knowing how to live and how to die, What we may hope and Whom we have believed ; And we are bold to say, you know no more. Why do you talk of guidance? Where is yours ? Beyond your reason as beneath our trust Impenetrable darkness spreads itself; What can you show us in the abyss, where we Go down to meet the Everlasting Arms ? Leave off your ceaseless negative, proclaim The thing that is, let us behold your creed, And give us something in the place of Christ. scene II. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 309 markham (in the vestibule) How the voice rings, and summons as it rings A long procession from the unceasing Past ! O, I am listening with my youth again, And all that has been is about to be — Take me away from this ! SEAFORD You would not care To tread the path anew ? MARKHAM What man could bear His Past to be his Future ? Fve not strayed Further than others, but I hear him show The straight path to the shining goal, as still He showed it ere we started. — O, great God, Undo my life and give it back to me ! It was all then, and it is nothing now ; A fragment at Thy foot. SEAFORD If it lie there It shall be gathered. 310 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. MARKHAM Who has taught you that? SEAFORD There's the old voice — I know you now — you seemed Strange to my memories. In our early days Your sympathies had been with Cyril's foe And not with Cyril. MARKHAM Yes, I know it all. I have fought that fight, and finished all that course, And at the end, in my crowned weariness, Have lifted empty hands and searching eyes, But neither Heaven nor Earth has answered me : How should they ? Not for such as I the night Breaks into Angel faces, with a shout The Christ is born ! SEAFORD You were not wont to feel So keenly. I have heard you celebrate The calms of Reason. scene ii. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 3: MARKHAM I have lived in them Till the storm came. SEAFORD And then ? MARKHAM To die in them Were easier. See, my friend, the ring is round And men walk on for ever. There's content For the strong Intellect, athirst for work, And filled with it, and wanting nothing else ; Set him aside, he is but half a man, Or lives with half his manhood, feeling not That throbbing of the great wound of the world Against his heart, in silences of night And brief day-pauses, which being felt, may grow Till it possesses night and day, and makes Labour a pain and rest a sin. But they Who in their powerless knowledge are complete Like doctors who can analyse the death That slays them, lo, they turn from side to side Escaping not. One hugs the Thought and spurns The Fact which gave it ; one receives the Fact 312 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part i v. But shapes it to his taste ; one starts away From some sharp truth which might have pierced his soul And catches at another, soft to him Not by its own but by his difference ; And all cry out because the Stars are pale, Forgetting what the darkness were without them. All weak alike, unhappy comforters, Who scorn the lame man for his homely staff, But cannot make him walk. SEAFORD I half perceive Your meaning. Unknowing. MARKHAM Hark — he speaks to us again cyril (in the hall) Take it in a word — the man Cries out for God ; if he be perfected He can have perfect answer— but if not Why let him grasp the Hand that beckons him And so grope onward till he find the Face. Not mind, not heart, nothing but man himself, The whole of him, with great capacities scene ii. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 313 Unfilled, and longing hopes unsatisfied ; With mighty loves, immeasurable fears ; Outsoaring joys that have no place to rest ; Eyes which Earth wearies, but which look for Heaven ; Ears which perceive all discords, and expect Some deeper never-ceasing harmony • Arms which relax their trembling hold on Death And would embrace Eternity ; and powers In germ, which cannot ripen here — he, he, Demands a creed. O, give him promises, Glimpses of light, and mysteries of hope, Whispers of fire that touch him everywhere, Vast incomplete suggestions, oracles Still undeclared, commands to be fulfilled But not interpreted, that he may know It is a God that speaks, that he may feel Heaven's twilight on his face before the dawn ; But build no tabernacles for him here, Where he is not to dwell ; content him not With fading noons of Earth, let Reason stand Amazed, dissatisfied, submissive here ; For these confused beginnings of his life Forestall not their clear end ; he dimly sees The depths that he shall enter, words plain now Are not the language of another world, 314 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. And whatsoever things are fully known Are false, for knowledge cannot compass Truth. FIRST LAYMAN How touches this the argument ? CYRIL Why, even thus ; Faith is the only obstacle to faith, The barrier is the threshold — we believe not Because if we believe — we must believe ! Nothing but this, although the names be legion ; And, this refusal over, we may frame For our uneasy hearts a thousand faiths All without evidence : like one who draws A magic circle round him and is safe In fancy, girt by threatening images And pressure of strange phantoms, while he thinks If once he cross the ring, he perishes ; But let him cross it, lo, the blinding smoke Melts from his eyes, the wide earth welcomes him, He goes among the glorious distances And feels the breezes and the lights of heaven ! * Only not that/ (so said he) ' only not scene II. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, 315 The music of my childhood ' — but it comes, God grant it comes not late, and there is peace. markham (in the vestibule) It has come now and peace shall follow it. SEAFORD You find him eloquent ? MARKHAM It was his wont To conquer all his foes by sympathy ; He sits at your heart, and so the strings must answer. I wonder when he was a sceptic. SEAFORD Never. MARKHAM Well, 1 know that, yet even his anger reads What it rejects ; still he says c we ' not ( you/ And claims his brotherhood with all he hates. SEAFORD They touch on practice now. MARKHAM Let us attend. 316 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. second layman {in the hall) But, how to stir this jelly-sort of man ? He sits among his reverend tentacles Reaching for all the comforts, and is calm, And tells us he is founded on a rock (Which we believe, but want to move him from it). Show him the sorest need, the plainest cure, If it means work he'll say, l There would be risk,' Or, ' Nay, my friends, no zeal ! Enthusiasm Is ever digging pitfalls for the blind ; .Let us be reasonable. 7 You might think That martyrs ran no risks before they died, And saints achieved their crowns without a tear, And great Apostles won a world for Christ With no more toil than lilies of the field Content with blooming. Say, what would you do With such a placid leader ? THIRD LAYMAN Let us have him ; The healing of some brief monotony Is all we need — we'll make a fair exchange ; Our man's a Gladstone, breathing novelties scene ii. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 317 At every pore ; under his restless hand The sweet oldfashioned certainties are gone And no man guesses when he goes to church What strange device shall flout him from his prayers, What grievous music shall afflict his ears, What fancy-dresses mask the quiet walls Or drape the ungainly shepherds — yet he works : I grant him that. Would he were sooner tired ! FIRST CLERIC O, if he works it shall be well with you ; Labour is life ; still waters grow impure, But air and action, winnowing the depths, Maintain a healthful crystalline. THIRD LAYMAN Your rule Holds strange conclusions. Work is life — or death ; But there's a trifling difference — as much, Some might say, as between martyrdom and murder. Is there no refuge from these working men Who make the parish their laboratory, The flock their corpus vile ? What care we If ten years hence, being fully educated, 318 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. He says reflectively, ' How well I see Where I went wrong, preferring small to great !' We see it now, and are not satisfied To be his matter for experiment. I say, is there no refuge? Government Is dying everywhere, and our rich laws Are merely bars to action, having grown To such luxuriance that they tangle us Whichever way we step. CYRIL Our remedies • Lie ever at our feet — we tread them down Rushing afar for help. THIRD LAYMAN If that were so The body should be sounder. CYRIL So it should If we were wiser, but each patient spurns His proper cure. Systems are substitutes (And sorry ones) for men. We want the men For our white harvest fields — we want the men scene ii. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 319 Always and everywhere, from first to last, The men, the multitudes that should be Christ's : We speak not in a heathen world, like those Who, strewed the seed two thousand years ago : The shadow of its growth should reach us all. We stand among our brothers. All the people Are priests and kings. What are we sent to do For such a flock ? To teach the ignorant, Rebuke the sinful, call the wanderers home, And minister the sacred gifts to all — But for the men our brothers, who should know From their youth up all that we come to teach, Whose lives should stream to Christ, whose work should be Not ours but one with ours, storming the breach Beside us, if they can in front of us, Where are they? Let the bitter disbelief, The cold luxurious softness of the time, Or its fierce daily labour, hardly sparing Some scanty leisure for another world, Answer ! Nay brothers, pardon me, the sting Pricks us no less — our scattered toilers miss Not only strength but sympathy ; the pulse Which passing through a thousand hearts should swell 320 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. To a torrent, if it start but here and there Is mere hysteric. Tis grotesque to see The soldier at his exercise alone, But the drilled Army is sublime. I would A word could run along the ranks like fire And make us, one and all, cast forth our lives As Peter cast his net, without a hope ! That instantly, that only, that for once Should sweep away these vapours ! Nay, I am sure That like a great wind cleansing all the air, Our common work should purify itself From trivial claims and foolish accidents ; The mere necessity of joining hands Should smooth our steadfast march to victory FOURTH LAYMAN A. goodly vision ! Would the time were come ! CYRIL We dig for ever at the roots of evil — Plant but the good — it dies for want of room. FOURTH LAYMAN But how? I fix our faults upon no class; 1 think all weak alike, myself among them ; I pity all the workers, and I feel For all the loiterers, but remedy Seems harder than disease. CYRIL There was a law In wise old Athens, that in stormy times The men who shut their doors and stayed at home Were punished, so the calmer sort was driven Among the fiercer, and the city throve. FOURTH LAYMAN How read you that for us ? CYRIL Why thus : our critics Should be our comrades ; 'tis that element Our blundering ardour needs. One certainty Speaks through all contradictions, that the world Wants mending; then, where'er the work begins, If there be faults, and human hands we know Do nothing perfectly, you that perceive them Stand not aloof, but make the greater haste To join and straighten them. When yesterday We hurled our mission week across the land, Y 322 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part i v. Who says there was not need ? Some feeble voices Talked of ' confessing failure ' — God in heaven, Which of Thy servants thinks he has not failed ? Are all men honest ? Are all women pure ? Is London as the New Jerusalem? We fail, if one resist us to the last, If one fall short, if one die comfortless ; O, if we have not failed, if this is all The Cross can conquer, if with such a kingdom Our Master is contented, eat and drink And die to-morrow, for there is no life Here or hereafter ! Well then, having failed, Take the child's rule and try another way, Try all ways, and by any means save some ! THIRD LAYMAN I hear and tremble. Wars on every side ! Contention seems the Church's atmosphere ; What chance of growth in such tempestuous seas ? Where is the ministry of peace ? What hope Is broad enough to build on ? CYRIL Crossing threads Make straight designs. Sages who search the skies scene ii. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 323 Find tumult in the Sun ; noise of great gales And unheard thunders round the birth of Day ; Can we believe such things ? We live in them And are amazed — but, as our world recedes Into the quiet Future, not more dim For us than we shall one day be for it, These shall cease from us, while the Ages keep The silence and the splendour which they fed, Light, calm, beneficent, resistless Light. ALL Hear ! hear ! hear ! CYRIL Bear with me still ! I have it in my heart To speak one word in great simplicity. I have perceived an evil in the times Which, if it grow, destroys us. 'Twas the fame Of England to be truer than the world ; With this she justified her sterner ways, For this we love her and would die for her As for a mother, whose remembered face Never deceived us once. But now, the work Is hollow, and the name is not the thing, The thought beside and not within the word, And honesty means only not to steal, y 2 324 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. And honour, which did once pervade us all, Is hunted to the heights, where still she stands Among the nobler sort, with tremulous wings And feet that touch but rest not. Yet, believe me, Truth holds the world back from perpetual death, It is divine as Earth, from whose mere bosom Grow seasons, and great trees and tender grass ; So grows the life of nations out of Truth. Where men are false decay is natural And certain as the very walk of Time, Which halts not, though it linger. O my brothers, Let us who have to mould the hearts of men Be desperately true ! No fence nor feint, No seemly veil nor decent subterfuge, But with our bare lives in our open palms Let us confront the world with ( This we are ; ' This mean and this believe ; this teach and do ; ' And this, for we are human, leave undone, ' Repenting and amending/ So we hold The crystal mirror straight, and keep it clean That men may see themselves for what they are, And feel dishonour in the least untruth Done without speech, to compass some good end, Never revealed. ■ Methinks for very shame scene II. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 325 We urge it not, being such a mere condition Of all things good, but, if a nation's laws Were writ in granite, and the language lost, Should not her wise men walk through all the streets Thundering the alphabet ? BISHOP Here let us pause Since the time warns us, and this final theme Is food for meditation, not debate. Let each man ponder in his homeward thoughts That such a witness, whom we all revere. Sees such a danger. Let each ask himself If in his recent or confronting trouble (Which all must have) there has been time or place When any dimmer spot or blunter edge On this first weapon in his armoury Needed a cleansing hand, and if he find it Let him be comforted, as having found The root and remedy of all his evil ; And so take timely warning, one and all, To keep our Christian honour sensitive ! \_The Congress breaks up. Cyril comes out into the vestibule. 326 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. Scene III. Cyril — Markham. MARKHAM Cyril CYRIL Who calls me like the murmur of my youth Under the roar of time ? MARKHAM Come, will you know me ? Aye, spell my face — its whole vocabulary Lies in your name ; now your eyes warm to me, They did but search before, and now I feel Such closing of your grasp upon my hands As might have forced the water to mine eyes Were it not there before. What, Cyril, what, Am I remembered ? CYRIL Markham ! Not remembered, Possessed ! I had you always — yesterday We parted — nothing lies between but time scene in. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 327 Wherein love grows. Why are you here ? Whence come you ? But that's no matter since I have you here, And I'll not ask if you come home with me Because you must. I saw you just like this, With just such sunburnt honours in your face, As step by step I followed all you did In the great gaps between your scanty words. Ah, friend, you should have come before, you needed A bath in sweet home-waters, to refresh Such agonies of toil. MARKHAM The same as ever : No man must work too hard except himself. I stood here while you spoke. CYRIL You heard me speak ? MARKHAM Aye, every word. CYRIL I spoke to the world's future And mine own past. It lay not in my dreams 328 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. That you were judging. Come, friend, tell me truly Has my speech mended as your judgment has Since those hot days when you believed in me ? MARKHAM No, not a jot. CYRIL You will not flatter me ; Have the years taught me nothing ? MARKHAM O, you have learnt Whole dictionaries, but the man who speaks Is still the same ; a little further up The mountain way, but not too far for stretching His hand down to the children. Let me see you ! These lines, these paler tints, this silver, seem Completion not decay. Your life has been As a long music, where the final bar Grows from the first, and not a note is finished Till all are heard. CYRIL I would not have it so ; My life should be a Prelude where each note scene in. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 329 Suggests the coming strain which Death begins. I have known such lives. MARKHAM Alas, in thirty years How many of the lives we knew have ceased ! You kept your Mother long ? CYRIL God cloistered her In gentle limits ere He called her home : To failing ears we speak no words but love ; Dim eyes perceive no darker shades, and life Filtered by care and time and distance comes To feeble lips without its bitterness : So, on the pillow of her years she slept Before she died. MARKHAM You watched her to the last ; And Lady Blanche? CYRIL She had a kindly whim To make me godfather to all her babes. I am pledged for nine. 330 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. MARKHAM Protect me from my friends ! CYRIL Loose not my hand — your eyes must tell me more ; Use grows so fast that ere a week is gone We shall seem never sundered, and all question Checked and entangled by those daily films Which make life possible for ardent hearts But keep them separate ; now, for half an hour We are soul to soul MARKHAM I came from the far side Of all the world to show my soul to you ! Beside me, through the tossed and roaming years Which have been mine since last I talked with you In work or rest, in toil or darkness, still I had the vision of a perfect life : It did not preach to me, it looked at me And drew me evermore to look at it : I had beheld it once, and there it was For ever mine. It grew before mine eyes Slow as a picture where each touch reveals scene in. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 331 Forgotten facts, till Absence grows alive With Memory's intolerable sweetness ; Each difference that I noted was a call To likeness, and from every point there streamed Such life as by mere contact masters death. So was I won without an argument, Convinced by contemplation, beaten down By the soft presence of a thought, and here I come to tell you CYRIL Ah, she won you so ! How many trophies will that tender life, Merely by being lived, bring with itself At the last day ! She will not know till then, And she must learn it from the Master's lips, Else she may enter Heaven incredulous Like a child-queen before the retinue She leads unconsciously. MARKHAM She, Cyril, she ? Is that fair memory still so much with you ? O, foolish man, I am no woman's work — It was yourself. 332 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. CYRIL I! MARKHAM Fighting all the day, And so confounded with astonishment At one small conquest ! CYRIL Twas the hyperbole Wherein you hid me ! O my friend, I know He may use any weapon, but that this Should be vouchsafed, that He should give me yo?/, Just the great wish, just the desponding prayer, Just the impossible hope ; and I so cold, Weak, false, forgetful, while He worked for me : This wonder, which He thrusts into my arms As suddenly as though 'twere not a crown To set on dying brows, that this should be, Makes me a child that can but weep for joy And stretch its hands, and grasp its precious things Not knowing how they come. MARKHAM Thus have I given The core of my large story. But for you, scene in. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS. 333 You have said nothing yet. I find you thus, After a life of labour, with no rest In the grey heaving distances around, But only toil and storm and scanty gain, Monotonies of peril and fatigue Without an, issue — are you satisfied With that which you have chosen ? CYRIL Here I am ! MARKHAM Will you reveal no more ? CYRIL There is no more To be revealed. I have no certainty About myself, save that God set me here With such a work to do, and here I am Doing it very badly. MARKHAM Nay, my friend, Be frank 334 THIRTY YEARS AF1ERWARDS. part iv. CYRIL I speak the frankest honesty : No thoughtful evening comes that does not show Such gaps and blunders in the day's achieve As fill the soul with resolute remorse Which ought to triumph to-morrow. But I work Heartily and am happy, overpaid With love and honour which I never earned, Watching the growths around me, sometimes sad And often sanguine, so concerned with living I have not leisure even for self-reproach markham (interrupting) Here, and alone, and happy — in a world So full of all Christ died to save it from ! Working with such mean elements, assailed By such base foes, busy in such small fields ! O, this is not the mountain of your youth With its vast outlooks over heaven and earth — This is not like my picture ! Here in the press, Here in the dusty tumult, foot to foot With any straggler, not a star beheld, Not a song audible — you that were once scene in. THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, 335 Fed with grand airs and mighty visions, tell me Where are they now ? CYRIL O friend, in our beginnings We set the life divine a league away From the life human, and depart from one When we would seek the other, but our work Is to bring both together. Those are days Of petty fear and causeless sacrifice, Of c touch not, taste not, handle not ' ; perchance Our weakness needs them • but it is our strength To touch, taste, handle all that is not sin, Finding God's work in all, and as for sin To slay it with the brightness of His presence. So we receive our banquet ; for the body Not only meats but wine, and for the lips Not only speech but music, for the eyes Vast pageants of unfathomable change Prepared from everlasting, and for the soul Not only prayer and labour, but all knowledge, All wonder, and the garden-world of Art, And all the forest-paths of Poetry, Oceans of joy and fields of lovely rest; 336 THIRTY YEARS AFTERWARDS, part iv. Man lives in many ways, but on this diet He grows to perfect health, takes without choice His Master's gift — a cross, a sword, a flower ; Contemns no work, refuses no delight, And goes rejoicing through the darkest ways With nothing in his heart but ' here lam!' This feeds me in my solitude — and more MARKHAM Your face is full of light \ Cyril, what more ? CYRIL There is the hope that I may die to-night ! THE END. 337 LOVE FOR THE YOUNG. Not only for yourselves, but for the years Which you, not knowing, bring to me anew, Are you so dear that I consider you With this persistency of quiet tears ; For many silent tones are in your speech, And dead hopes rise and tremble when you smile, Making me fancy for a little while That hands I cannot clasp are in my reach ; And my heart cries, i What can I do or bear (I that have lost so much and wept so long) ; How make myself your servant, to remove The sting and weight of this remembered Love, Which was my joy, but may have had some wrong From slights unknown ere Time had taught me care ! ' 33* BISHOP PATTESON. An Angel came and cried to him by night, 1 God needs a Martyr from your little band ; Name me the purest soul, which, closely scanned, Still overflows with sweetness and with light That find no limit till they reach the Land Whence first they sprang/ Weeping for what must be, He named them all, with love adorning each ; And still that Angel smiled upon his speech, And, smiling still, went upward silently Not marking any name. Amazed he knelt, Pondering the silent choice. But when the stroke Fell, not an Angel, but the Master, spoke, With voice so strong that nothing else was felt : ' Thou art the man. Beloved, come to Me ! ' 339 A FACE FROM THE FAST. Out of the Past there has come a Face ; Wherefore I do not know ; I did not call it from its place, I cannot make it go ; In the night it was very near, And it looks at me to-day, With well-known eyes, so kind, so dear, And it will not go away. I am the same that I was before, There is nothing new to say ; But this is with me evermore, As it was not yesterday ; It makes the Moment vague and vain, And (what a wondrous thing !) I hear an old tale told again As if it was happening. 340 A FACE FROM THE PAST. You talk, but scarce I understand ; If you but pause for breath, Straightway I am in that far land Beyond the seas of Death ; All living sights are dimly seen Across that mighty space — How can I tell you what I mean ? Tis nothing but a Face. friends, who think me dull or cold, Why do you feel surprise ? Have you no memories that hold Your weary waking eyes ? 1 want to take all patiently, But I sometimes long to say, A Face has come from the Past to me- Let me alone to-day ! 34i LINES ON THE GREEK MASSACRE. White Angels, listening all around The terror, wrath, and strife of men, For faint heroic notes that sound Through the mean tumult now and then, What^ heard ye, that your watching eyes Received such rapture in their calm As if through common agonies They saw the halo and the palm ? We only heard the bitter wail Of hearts that break, and prayers that fail ; We only saw the shame, the pain, Of England on her knees in vain, Pleading for sons ignobly slain ; That fruitless death, these helpless tears, Shall scar and stain the coming years With savage infamy of crime Thrust through our tender modern Time. 342 LINES ON THE GREEK MASSACRE. On this grand soil which year by year Renews the unforgotten bloom Of deeds which Time but makes more clear And Deaths which nothing can entomb, They fell, but did not add a name To Earth's broad characters of gold ; There, in the citadel of Fame They died, with nothing to be told, While schoolboy memories thronged their ears With echoes from the calling years, And brought the happy Morning back As closed the darkness cold and black ; How fair was Life when first they read Of these familiar glorious themes ! The classic ground which holds them dead Was longed for in their college dreams, When links of light bound land to land Like comrades clasping hand in hand, As English youth, athirst for fame, Caught up the old Athenian flame ; Yet, mourners, on these nameless pangs Henceforth a new tradition hangs, LINES ON THE GREEK MASSACRE. 343 For here, by loftier hopes consoled Than soothed the Demigods of old, By angel ministries upheld, By saints awaited and beheld, These perished not, but passed from sight Into the Bosom of the Light. For us, one tremulous sigh of prayer Hallows the conquest-breathing air More than all shouts for heroes spent Who died not knowing where they went. Here shall be told, when pilgrims come, How each his brother strove to cheer ; How tenderly they talked of home, How they seemed ignorant of fear, Patient and yet prepared for strife ; While one, the gentlest, turned from life So sweetly, that no tongue can say If it was rent or given away. And as, where loyal warriors sink, We, passing by the place, may pause, To think, not of their names, but think Of their great Leader and their Cause ; 344 LINES ON THE GREEK MASSACRE. So, by this grave and gate of death Abides the murmur of a breath Recalling to the passers-by Not Marathon, but Calvary ! 345 'he preached to the spirits in prison: Not only in that other world, O friends, Do spirits sigh against their chain ! Not only there is long Remembrance vain, And Hope incapable of noble ends ! There is no house nor heart, no day nor night, Where some imprisoned thing that should be free Pines not unconsciously, Like one born blind, who knows not of the Light Yet weeps at sunrise. When the Preacher cries, And, under all the roof, immortal eyes Look up and listen, cries he not to these ? Alas ! he can but move them, as a breeze Moves, though it cannot turn, the coming sea ! But if a great Deliverer spake (we know He did and shall), the spirits should arise, His voice should change all faces instantly, And that vast congregation of the skies A A 346 'HE PREACHED TO THE SPIRITS IN PRISON: Which sees God as He is, thereby to grow For ever like Him, should be manifest Here among daily men, for it is here Behind the bars. Then should the Love, which dies For those it trusts too little, cast out fear, Be generous and gentle, and at rest, And so be perfect. Then should Truth appear (She needs no more), and dumb appeals, which dwell In secret places of the heart, should swell To needless thunders, where all feet outrun Their summons. Then should every shadow cease, And all the sky grow tender to the sun, And hindrances and trifles melt away, Showing the soul in lineaments of peace Bare as a statue, where all lines betray Some early vision of divinity. 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