The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 15

Upon the mind, as on the canvas rose, The young fresh world the Ideal only knows; The world of which both Art and Pa.s.sion are Builders;--to this so near--from this so far.

What music charm'd the verse on which she gazed!-- How doubly dear the poet that she praised!

And when he spoke, and from the affluent mind That books had stored, and intercourse refined, Pour'd forth the treasures,--still his choice addrest To her mild heart what seem'd to please it best; And yet the maiden dream'd not that _he_ loved Who flatter'd never, and at times reproved-- Reproved--but, oh, so tenderly! and ne'er But for such faults as soils the purest bear; A trust too liberal in our common race, Dividing scarce the n.o.ble from the base, A sight too dazzled by the outward hues-- A sense though clear, too timid to refuse; Yielding the course that it would fain pursue, Still to each guide that proffer'd it the clue; And that soft shrinking into self--allied, If half to Diffidence--yet half to Pride.

He loved her, and she loved him not; revered His lofty nature, and in reverence fear'd.

The glorious gifts--the kingly mind she saw, Yet seeing felt not tenderness, but awe.

And the dark beauty of his musing eye Chill'd back the heart, from which it woo'd reply: Harcourt--the gay--the prodigal of youth, Still charm'd her fancy, while he chain'd her truth.

VI.

Seaton, meanwhile, the heart of Ruthven read, With hopes which robb'd the future of its dread; Could he but live to see his child the bride Of one so wise, so kind, lover at once and guide!

Silent at first, at last the deeps o'er-flow'd.

One eve they sate without their calm abode, Father and Child, and mark'd the vermeil glow Of clouds that floated where the sun set slow; But on the opposing towers of Ruthven shone The last sweet splendour, and when gradual gone, Left to the s.p.a.ce above that grand decay The rosiest tints, and last to fade away.

The Father mused; then with impulsive start Turn'd and drew Constance closer to his heart, Murmuring--"Ah, there, let but thy lot be cast, And Fate withdraws all sadness from the past.

Blest be the storm that wreck'd us, here to find One whom my soul had singled from mankind If mine the palace still, and his the cot,-- For that sweet prize which Fortune withers not."

Then, wrapt too fondly in his tender dream To note his listener, he pursues the theme.

Pale as the dead, she hears his gladness speak, Sees the rare smile illume the careworn cheek; Dear if the lover in her sunny day, More dear the Sire since suns.h.i.+ne pa.s.s'd away.

How dare to say,--"No, let thy smile depart, And take back sorrow from a daughter's heart?"

VII.

And while they sate, along the sward below Came Ruthven's stately form, and footstep slow; She saw--she fled--her chamber gain'd--and there Sobb'd out that grief which youth believes despair.

Thenceforth her solitude was desolate; Forebodings chill'd her as a shade from Fate.

At Ruthven's step her colour changed--and dread Hush'd her low voice: such signs his hope misled.

Hope, to its own vain dreams the idle seer, Whisper'd--"First love comes veil'd in virgin fear!"

And now, o'er Harcourt's image, as the rust O'er the steel mirror, crept at length distrust.

The ordeal year already pa.s.s'd away, And still no voice came o'er the dreary sea; No faithful joy to cry--"The ordeal's past, And loved as ever, thou art mine at last."

VIII.

But Ruthven's absence now, if not to grief, At least to one vague terror, gave relief: For days, for weeks, some cause, unknown to all, Had won the lonely Master from his hall.-- Much Seaton marvell'd! half disposed to blame; } "Gone, and no word ev'n absence to proclaim!" } When, sudden as he went, the truant came. } Franker his brow, and brighter was his look, And with a warmer clasp his host's wan hand he took: "Joy to thee, friend, thy race is not yet o'er, Thy fortunes still thy genius shall restore: Thy house from ruin reascends, to stand Firm as of old, a column of the land.-- Joy, Seaton, joy!"--"O mock me not--Explain!

The bark once sunk beneath the obdurate main, No tide throws up!"--"New galleons Fortune gives.

Fortune ne'er dies for him whose honour lives."-- "Is fortune not the usurer?--Kind while yet The hand that borrows may repay the debt; When all is lavish'd, she hath nought to lend!"

"But can she give not? Hast thou call'd me Friend?"

He paused, and glanced on Constance--while his breast Heaved with the tumult which the lip represt.

Till she, but looking on her father's face, In his joy joyous,--sprang from his embrace, Before the Benefactor paused, and bow'd; Falter'd a blessing, knelt, and wept aloud: "Not there, not there, O Constance," Ruthven cried, "Here be thy place--for ever side by side!

Thanks--and to me!--Ah no! the boon be thine, Thy heart the generous, and the grateful mine.

Oh pardon--if my soul its suit delay'd Till the world's dross the worldly equal made; And left to thee to grant and me receive Man's earliest treasures--Paradise and Eve!

Beloved one, speak! Not mine the silver tongue, And toil leaves manhood nought that lures the young; But in these looks is truth--these accents, love: And in thy faith all that survive above The graves of Time, as in Elysium meet!-- Hope flies to thee as to its last retreat."

Speechless she heard--till, as he paused, the voice Of the fond Sire usurp'd and doom'd the choice: "May she repay thee!" In his own he drew Her hand and Ruthven's, smiled and join'd the two-- "Ah! could I make thee happy,"--thus she said And ceased:--her sentence in his eyes she read-- Eyes that the rashness of delight reveal: Love gave the kiss, and Fate received the seal.

[A] Imitated from Horace (Lib. ii., Od. 3).

Qua pinus ingens albaque populus Umbram hospitalem consociare amant Ramis, et obliquo laborat Lympha fugax trepidare rivo.--_Horat. Carm._, ii. 3.

PART THE THIRD.

I.

Between two moments in the life of man An airy bridge divided worlds may span; Fine as the hair which sways beneath a soul By Azrael summon'd to the spectre goal, It springs abrupt from that sharp point in time Where, soft behind us in its orient clime, Lies the lost garden-land of young Romance: Beyond, with cloud upon the cold expanse, Looms rugged Duty;--and betwixt them swell Abysmal deeps, in which to fall were h.e.l.l.

O thou, who tread'st along that trembling line, The stedfast step, the onward gaze be thine!

Dread Memory most!--the light thou leav'st would blind, Thy foot betrays thee if thou look behind!

If Constance yet escaped not from the past, At least she strove:--the chain may break at last.

Veil'd by the smile, Grief can so safely grieve: Love that confides, a smile can so deceive: And Ruthven kneeling at the altar's base Guess'd not the idol which profaned the place; But smiles forsake when secret hours bestow The angry self-confessional of woe; When trembling thought and stern-eyed conscience meet, And truth rebukes ev'n duty for deceit.

Ah! what a world were this if all were known, And smiles on others track'd to tears alone!

Oft, had he seem'd less lofty to her eye, Her soul had spoken and confess'd its lie: But sometimes natures least obscured by clay s.h.i.+ne through an awe that scares the meek away; And, near as life may seem to life,--alas!

Each hath closed portals, nought but love can pa.s.s.

Thus the resolve, in absence nursed, forsook Her lip, and died, abash'd, before his look; His foes his virtues--honour seem'd austere, And all most reverenced most provoked the fear.

II.

Pa.s.s by some weeks: to London Seaton went, His genius glorying in its wonted vent; New props are built, and new foundations laid, And once more rose thy crowded temple--Trade!

Then back the sire and daughter bent their way, There, where the troth was pledged, let Hymen claim the day!

With Constance came a friend of earlier years, Partner of childhood's smiles and pangless tears; Leaf intertwined with leaf, their youth together Ripen'd to bloom through life's first April weather.

To Juliet Constance had no care untold, Here grief found sympathy and wept consoled; On woman's pitying heart could woman here Mourn perish'd hope, or pour remorseful fear; And breathe those prayers which woman breathes for one, Who fading from her world is still its sun.

These made their commune, when from darkening skies, Pale as lost joys, stars gleam'd on tearful eyes.

They guess'd not how the credulous gaze of love Dwelt on the moon that rose their roof above, Saw as on Latmos fall the enchanted beams-- And bless'd the Dian for Endymion's dreams.

III.

Meanwhile, to England Harcourt's steps return'd, And Seaton's new-born state the earliest news he learn'd: What the emotions of this injured man?

He had a friend--and thus his letter ran: "Back to this land, where merit starves obscure, Where wisdom says--'Be anything but poor,'

Return'd, my eyes the path to wealth explore, And straight I hear--'Constance is rich once more!'

Thou know'st, my friend, with what a dexterous craft I 'scaped the cup a tenderer dupe had quaff'd; For in the chalice misery holds to life, What drop more nauseous than a dowerless wife?

Yet she was fair, and gentle, charming--all That man would make his partner at a ball!

And, for the partner of a life, what more?

Plate at the board, a porter at the door!

Cupid and Plutus, though they oft divide, If bound to Hymen should walk side by side; A boon companion halves the longest way,-- When Plutus join'd, I own that Love was gay; But Plutus left, where Hymen did begin, The way look'd dreary and the G.o.d gave in: Now his old comrade once more is bestow'd, And Cupid starts refresh'd upon the road.

'But how,' thou ask'st, 'how dupe again the ear, In which thy voice slept silent for a year?

And how explain, how'--Why impute to thee Questions whose folly thy quick glance can see?

Who loves is ever glad to be deceived, Who lies the most is still the most believed.

Somewhat I trust to Eloquence and Art, And where these fail--thank Heaven she has a heart!

More it disturbs me that some rumours run, That Constance, too, can play the faithless one; That, where round pastoral meads blue streamlets purl, Chloe has found a Thyrsis--in an Earl!

And oh! that Ruthven! Hate is not for me; Who loves not, hates not,--both bad policy!

Yet _could_ I hate, through all the earth I know But that one man my soul would honour so.

Through ties remote--by some Scotch grand-dam's side, We are, if scarce related, yet allied; And had his mother been a barren dame, Mine were those lands, and mine that lordly name: Nay, if he die without an heir, ev'n yet-- Oh, while I write, perchance the seal is set!

Farewell! a letter speeds to her retreat, The prayer that wafts her Harcourt to her feet; There to explain the past--his faith defend, And claim, _et cetera_--Yours, in haste, my friend!"

IV.

To Constance came a far less honest scroll, Yet oh, each word seem'd vivid from the soul!