The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 16

Fear, hope--reports that madden'd, yet could stir No faith in one who ne'er could doubt of her: Wild vows renew'd--complaints of no replies To lines unwrit; the eloquence of lies!

And more than all, the a.s.surance still too dear, Of Love surviving that vast age--a year!

Such were the tidings to the maiden borne, And--woe the day--upon her Bridal Morn!

V.

It was the loving twilight's rosiest hour, The Love-star trembled on the ivied tower, As through the frowning archway pa.s.s'd the bride, With Juliet, whispering courage, by her side; For Ruthven went before, that first of all His voice might welcome to his father's hall: There, on the antique walls, the lamp from high Show'd the stern wrecks of battle-storms gone by.

Gleam'd the blue mail, indented with the glaive, Droop'd the dull banner, breezeless, on the stave; Below the Gothic masks, grotesque and grim, Carved from the stonework, like a wizard's whim, Hung the accoutrements that lent a grace To the old warrior-pastime of the chase.

Cross-bows by hands, long dust, once deftly borne; The Hawker's glove, the Huntsman's soundless horn; On the huge hearth the hospitable flame Lit the dark portrait in its mouldering frame; Statesmen in senates, knights in fields, renown'd, On their new daughter ominously frown'd; To the young Stranger, s.h.i.+vering to behold, The Home she enter'd seem'd the tomb of old.

VI.

"Doth it so chill thee, Constance? Dare I own, The charm that haunts what childhood's years have known, How many dreams of fame beyond my sires, Wing'd the proud thought that now no more aspires!

Here, while I paced, at the dusk twilight time, As the deep church-bell toll'd the curfew chime; In the dim Past my spirit seem'd to live, To every relic some weird legend give; And muse such hopes of glorious things to be, As they, the Dead, mused once;--wild dreams--fulfill'd in thee!

Ah, never 'mid those early visions shone, A face so sweet, my Constance, as thine own!

And what if all that charm'd me then, depart?

Clear, through the fading mists, smiles my soft heav'n--thy heart!

What, drooping still! Nay love, we are not all So sad within, as this time-darken'd hall.

Come!"--and they pa.s.s'd (still Juliet by her side) To a fair chamber, deck'd to greet the bride.

There, all of later luxury lent its smile, To cheer, yet still beseem, the reverend pile.

What though the stately tapestry met the eyes, Gay were its pictures, brilliant were its dyes; There, graceful cressets from the gilded roof, In mirrors gla.s.s'd the landscapes of the woof.

There, in the Gothic niche, the harp was placed, There ranged the books most hallow'd by her taste; Through the half-open cas.e.m.e.nt you might view The sweet soil prank'd with flowers of every hue; And on the terrace, crowning the green mountain, Gleam'd the fair statue, play'd the sparkling fountain: Within, without, all plann'd, all deck'd to greet The Queen of all--whose dowry was deceit!

Soft breathed the air, soft shone the moon above-- All save the bride's sad heart, whispering Earth's Hymn to Love!

As Ruthven's hand sought hers, on Juliet's breast She fell; and pa.s.sionate tears, till then supprest, Gush'd from averted eyes. To him the tears Betray'd no secret that could rouse his fears-- For joy, as grief, the tender heart will melt-- The tears but proved how well his love was felt.

And, with the delicate thought that shunn'd to hear Thanks for the cares, which cares themselves endear, He whisper'd, "Linger not!" and closed the door, And Constance sobbed--"Thank Heaven, alone with thee once more!"

VII.

Across his threshold Ruthven lightly strode, And his glad heart from its full deeps o'erflow'd, Pa.s.s'd is the Porch--he gains the balmy air, Still crouch the night winds in their forest lair.

The moonlight silvers the unrustling pines, On the hush'd lake the tremulous glory s.h.i.+nes.

A stately shadow o'er the crystal brink, Reflects the shy stag as its halt to drink; And the slow cygnet, where it midway glides, Breaks into sparkling rings the faintly heaving tides.

Wandering along his boyhood's haunts, he mused; The hour, the heaven, the bliss his soul suffused; It seem'd all hatred from the world had flown, And left to Nature, Love and G.o.d alone!

Ev'n holiest pa.s.sion holier render'd there, His every thought breathed gentle as a prayer.

VIII.

Thus, as the eve grew mellowing into night, Still from yon lattice stream'd the unwelcome light-- "Why loitering yet, and wherefore linger I?"

And at that thought ev'n Nature pall'd his eye; He miss'd that voice, which with low music fill'd The starry heaven of the rapt thoughts it thrill'd; He gain'd the hall--the lofty stair he wound-- Behold, the door of his heart's fairy-ground!

The tapestry veil'd him, as its folds, half-raised, Gave to his eye the scene on which it gazed: Still Constance wept--and hark what sounds are those What awful secret those wild sobs disclose!-- "No, leave me not!--I cannot meet his eyes!

O Heaven! must life be ever one disguise!

What seem'd indifference when we pledged the troth, Now grown--O wretch!--to terrors that but loathe!

Oh that the earth might swallow me!" Again Gush forth the sobs, while Juliet soothes in vain.

"Nay, nay, be cheer'd--we must not more delay; Cease these wild bursts till I his steps can stay; No, for thy sake--for thine--I must begone."

She 'scaped the circling arms, and Constance wept alone.

IX.

By the opposing door, from that unseen, Where Ruthven stood behind the arras-screen, Pa.s.s'd Juliet. Suddenly the startled bride Look'd up, and lo, the Wrong'd One by her side!

They gazed in silence face to face: his own, Sad, stern, and awful, chill'd her heart to stone.

At length the low and hollow accents stirr'd His blanching lip, that writhed with every word: "Hear me a moment, nor recoil to hear; A love so hated wounds no more thine ear.

I thank thee--I--!" His lips would not obey His pride,--and all the manly heart gave way.

Low at his feet she fell: the alter'd course Of grief ran deep'ning into vain remorse; "Forgive me!--O forgive!"

"Forgive!" he cried, And pa.s.sion rush'd in speech, till then denied.

"Vile mockery! Bid me in the desert live Alone with treason--and then say 'Forgive!'

Thou dost not know the ruins thou hast made, Faith in _all_ things thy falsehood has betray'd!

Thou, the last refuge, where my baffled youth Dream'd its safe haven, murmuring--'Here is Truth!'

Thou in whose smile I garner'd up my breast, Exult! thy fraud surpa.s.ses all the rest.

No! close, my heart--grow marble! Human worth Is not; and falsehood is the name for earth!"

X.

Wildly, with long disorder'd strides, he paced The floor to feel the world indeed a waste; For as the earth if G.o.d were not above, Man's hearth without the Lares--Faith and Love!

But what his woe to hers?--for him at least Conscience was calm, though ev'ry hope had ceased.

But she!--all sorrow for herself had paused, To live in that worse anguish she had caused: "No, Ruthven, no! Thy pardon not for me; But oh that Heaven may shed its peace on thee So worthless I, so worthless thy regret; Oh that repentance could requite thee yet!

Oh that a life that henceforth ne'er shall own, One thought, one wish, one hope, but to atone,-- Obedience, honour----"

"These may make the wife A faultless statue:--love but breathes the life!

Poor child! Nay, weep not; bitterer far, in truth, Than mine, the fate to which thou doom'st thy youth: For manhood's pride the love at last may quell, But when could Woman with Indifference dwell?

No sorrow soothed, no joy enhanced since shared.

O Heaven--the solitude thy soul has dared!

But thou hast chosen! Vain for each regret; All that is left--to seem that we forget.

No word of mine my wrongs shall e'er recall; Thine, wealth and pomp, and reverence--take them all!

May they console thee, Constance, for a heart That--but enough! So let the loathed depart; These chambers thine, my step invades them not; Sleep, if thou canst, as in thy virgin cot.

Henceforth all love has lost its hated claim; If wed, be cheer'd; our wedlock but a name.

Much as thou scorn'st me, know this heart above The power of beauty, when disarm'd of love.

And so, may Heaven forgive thee!"

"Ruthven, stay!

Generous--too n.o.ble: can no distant day Win thy forgiveness also, and restore Thy trust, thy friends.h.i.+p, even though love be o'er?"

He paused a moment with a soften'd eye;-- "Alas! thou dreadest, while thou ask'st, reply: If ever, Constance, that blest day should come, When crowds can teach thee what the loss of Home; If ever, when with those who court thee there, The love that chills thee now, thou canst compare, And feel that if thy choice thou couldst recall, Him now unloved, thy love would choose from all Why then, one word, one whisper!--oh, no more--"

And fearful of himself, he closed the door!

PART THE FOURTH.

I.

Ah, yes, Philosopher, thy creed is true!

'Tis our own eyes that give the rainbow's hue: What we call Matter, in this outer earth, Takes from our senses, those warm dupes, its birth.

How fair to sinless Adam Eden smiled; But sin brought tears, and Eden was a wild!

Man's soul is as an everlasting dream, Gla.s.sing life's fictions on a phantom stream: To-day, in glory all the world is clad-- Wherefore, O Man?--because thy heart is glad.

To-morrow, and the self-same scene survey-- _The same!_ Oh no--the pomp hath pa.s.s'd away!