Maurine and Other Poems Part 4

Her sweet voice broke the silence: "Wish, Maurine, Before you speak! you know the moon is new, And anything you wish for will come true Before it wanes. I do believe the sign!

Now tell me your wish, and I'll tell you mine."

I turned and looked up at the slim young moon; And, with an almost superst.i.tious heart, I sighed, "Oh, new moon! help me, by thine art, To grow all grace and goodness, and to be Worthy the love a true heart proffers me."

Then smiling down, I said, "Dear one! my boon, I fear, is quite too silly or too sweet For my repeating: so we'll let it stay Between the moon and me. But if I may I'll listen now to your wish. Tell me, please!"

All suddenly she nestled at my feet, And hid her blus.h.i.+ng face upon my knees.

Then drew my hand against her glowing cheek, And, leaning on my breast, began to speak, Half sighing out the words my tortured ear Reached down to catch, while striving not to hear.

"Can you not guess who 'twas about, Maurine?

Oh, my sweet friend! you must ere this have seen The love I tried to cover from all eyes And from myself. Ah, foolish little heart!

As well it might go seeking for some art Whereby to hide the sun in noonday skies.

When first the strange sound of his voice I heard, Looked on his n.o.ble face, and touched his hand, My slumb'ring heart thrilled through and through, and stirred As if to say, 'I hear, and understand.'

And day by day mine eyes were blest beholding The inner beauty of his life, unfolding In countless words and actions, that portrayed The n.o.ble stuff of which his soul was made.

And more and more I felt my heart upreaching Toward the truth, drawn gently by his teaching, As flowers are drawn by sunlight. And there grew A strange, shy something in its depths, I knew At length was love, because it was so sad, And yet so sweet, and made my heart so glad,

Yet seemed to pain me. Then, for very shame, Lest all should read my secret and its name.

I strove to hide it in my breast away, Where G.o.d could see it only. But each day It seemed to grow within me, and would rise, Like my own soul, and look forth from my eyes, Defying bonds of silence; and would speak, In its red-lettered language, on my cheek, If but his name was uttered. You were kind, My own Maurine! as you alone could be, So long the sharer of my heart and mind, While yet you saw, in seeming not to see.

In all the years we have been friends, my own.

And loved as women very rarely do, My heart no sorrow and no joy has known It has not shared at once, in full, with you And I so longed to speak to you of this, When first I felt its mingled pain and bliss; Yet dared not, lest you, knowing him, should say, In pity for my folly--'Lack-a-day!

You are undone: because no mortal art Can win the love of such a lofty heart.'

And so I waited, silent and in pain, Till I could know I did not love in vain.

And now I know, beyond a doubt or fear.

Did he not say, 'If she I hold most dear Slipped from my life, and no least hope were left, My heart would find the years more lonely here Than if I were of wealth, fame, friends, bereft, And sent, an exile, to a foreign land'?

Oh, darling, you must _love_, to understand The joy that thrilled all through me at those words.

It was as if a thousand singing birds Within my heart broke forth in notes of praise.

I did not look up, but I knew his gaze Was on my face, and that his eyes must see The joy I felt almost transfigured me.

He loves me--loves me! so the birds kept singing, And all my soul with that sweet strain is ringing.

If there were added but one drop of bliss, No more my cup would hold: and so, this eve, I made a wish that I might feel his kiss Upon my lips, ere yon pale moon should leave The stars all lonely, having waned away, Too old and weak and bowed with care to stay."

Her voice sighed into silence. While she spoke My heart writhed in me, praying she would cease-- Each word she uttered falling like a stroke On my bare soul. And now a hush like death, Save that 'twas broken by a quick-drawn breath, Fell 'round me, but brought not the hoped-for peace.

For when the lash no longer leaves its blows, The flesh still quivers, and the blood still flows.

She nestled on my bosom like a child.

And 'neath her head my tortured heart throbbed wild With pain and pity. She had told her tale-- Her self-deceiving story to the end.

How could I look down on her as she lay So fair, and sweet, and lily-like, and frail-- A tender blossom on my breast, and say, "Nay, you are wrong--you do mistake, dear friend!

'Tis I am loved, not you"? Yet that were truth, And she must know it later.

Should I speak, And spread a ghastly pallor o'er the cheek Flushed now with joy?--And while I, doubting, pondered, She spoke again. "Maurine! I oft have wondered Why you and Vivian were not lovers. He Is all a heart could ask its king to be; And you have beauty, intellect and youth.

I think it strange you have not loved each other-- Strange how he could pa.s.s by you for another Not half so fair or worthy. Yet I know A loving Father pre-arranged it so.

I think my heart has known him all these years, And waited for him. And if when he came It had been as a lover of my friend, I should have recognized him, all the same, As my soul-mate, and loved him to the end, Hiding my grief, and forcing back my tears Till on my heart, slow dropping, day by day, Unseen they fell, and wore it all away.

And so a tender Father kept him free, With all the largeness of his love, for me-- For me, unworthy such a precious gift!

Yet I will bend each effort of my life To grow in grace and goodness, and to lift My soul and spirit to his lofty height, So to deserve that holy name, his wife.

Sweet friend, it fills my whole heart with delight To breathe its long hid secret in your ear.

Speak, my Maurine, and say you love to hear!"

The while she spoke, my active brain gave rise To one great thought of mighty sacrifice And self-denial. Oh! it blanched my cheek, And wrung my soul; and from my heart it drove All life and feeling. Coward-like, I strove To send it from me; but I felt it cling And hold fast on my mind like some live thing; And all the Self within me felt its touch And cried, "No, no! I cannot do so much-- I am not strong enough--there is no call."

And then the voice of Helen bade me speak, And with a calmness born of nerve, I said, Scarce knowing what I uttered, "Sweetheart, all Your joys and sorrows are with mine own wed.

I thank you for your confidence, and pray I may deserve it always. But, dear one, Something--perhaps our boat-ride in the sun, Has set my head to aching. I must go To bed directly; and you will, I know, Grant me your pardon, and another day We'll talk of this together. Now good night And angels guard you with their wings of light."

I kissed her lips, and held her on my heart, And viewed her as I ne'er had done before.

I gazed upon her features o'er and o'er; Marked her white, tender face--her fragile form, Like some frail plant that withers in the storm; Saw she was fairer in her new-found joy Than e'er before; and thought, "Can I destroy G.o.d's handiwork, or leave it at the best A broken harp, while I close clasp my bliss?"

I bent my head and gave her one last kiss, And sought my room, and found there such relief As sad hearts feel when first alone with grief.

The moon went down, slow sailing from my sight, And left the stars to watch away the night.

O stars, sweet stars, so changeless and serene!

What depths of woe your pitying eyes have seen!

The proud sun sets, and leaves us with our sorrow, To grope alone in darkness till the morrow.

The languid moon, e'en if she deigns to rise, Soon seeks her couch, grown weary of our sighs; But from the early gloaming till the day Sends golden-liveried heralds forth to say He comes in might; the patient stars s.h.i.+ne on, Steadfast and faithful, from twilight to dawn.

And, as they shone upon Gethsemane, And watched the struggle of a G.o.d-like soul, Now from the same far height they shone on me, And saw the waves of anguish o'er me roll.

The storm had come upon me all unseen: No sound of thunder fell upon my ear; No cloud arose to tell me it was near; But under skies all sunlit, and serene, I floated with the current of the stream, And thought life all one golden-haloed dream.

When lo! a hurricane, with awful force, Swept swift upon its devastating course, Wrecked my frail bark, and cast me on the wave Where all my hopes had found a sudden grave.

Love makes us blind and selfish: otherwise I had seen Helen's secret in her eyes; So used I was to reading every look In her sweet face, as I would read a book.

But now, made sightless by love's blinding rays, I had gone on unseeing, to the end Where Pain dispelled the mist of golden haze That walled me in, and lo! I found my friend Who journeyed with me--at my very side, Had been sore wounded to the heart, while I Both deaf and blind, saw not, nor heard her cry.

And then I sobbed, "O G.o.d! I would have died To save her this." And as I cried in pain, There leaped forth from the still, white realm of Thought Where Conscience dwells, that unimpa.s.sioned spot As widely different from the heart's domain As north from south--the impulse felt before, And put away; but now it rose once more, In greater strength, and said, "Heart, would'st thou prove What lips have uttered? Then go lay thy love On Friends.h.i.+p's altar, as thy offering."

"Nay!" cried my heart, "ask any other thing-- Ask life itself--'twere easier sacrifice.

But ask not love, for that I cannot give."

"But," spoke the voice, "the meanest insect dies, And is no hero! heroes dare to live When all that makes life sweet is s.n.a.t.c.hed away."

So with my heart, in converse, till the day In gold and crimson billows, rose and broke, The voice of Conscience, all unwearied, spoke.

Love warred with Friends.h.i.+p: heart with Conscience fought, Hours rolled away, and yet the end was not.

And wily Self, tricked out like tenderness, Sighed, "Think how one, whose life thou wert to bless, Will be cast down, and grope in doubt and fear!

Wouldst thou wound him, to give thy friend relief?

Can wrong make right?"

"Nay!" Conscience said, "but Pride And Time can heal the saddest hurts of Love.

While Friends.h.i.+p's wounds gape wide and yet more wide, And bitter fountains of the spirit prove."

At length, exhausted with the wearing strife, I cast the new-found burden of my life On G.o.d's broad breast, and sought that deep repose That only he who watched with sorrow knows.

_PART IV._

"Maurine, Maurine! 'tis ten o'clock! arise, My pretty sluggard! open those dark eyes, And see where yonder sun is! Do you know I made my toilet just four hours ago?"

'T was Helen's voice: and Helen's gentle kiss Fell on my cheek. As from a deep abyss, I drew my weary self from that strange sleep That rests not, nor refreshes. Scarce awake Or conscious, yet there seemed a heavy weight Bound on my breast, as by a cruel Fate.

I knew not why, and yet I longed to weep.

Some dark cloud seemed to hang upon the day; And, for a moment, in that trance I lay, When suddenly the truth did o'er me break, Like some great wave upon a helpless child.

The dull pain in my breast grew like a knife-- The heavy throbbing of my heart grew wild, And G.o.d gave back the burden of the life He kept what time I slumbered.

"You are ill,"

Cried Helen, "with that blinding headache still!

You look so pale and weary. Now let me Play nurse, Maurine, and care for you to-day!

And first I'll suit some dainty to your taste, And bring it to you, with a cup of tea."

And off she ran, not waiting my reply.

But, wanting most the suns.h.i.+ne and the light, I left my couch, and clothed myself in haste, And, kneeling, sent to G.o.d an earnest cry For help and guidance.

"Show Thou me the way, Where duty leads; for I am blind! my sight Obscured by self. Oh, lead my steps aright!

Help me see the path: and if it may, Let this cup pa.s.s:--and yet Thou heavenly One Thy will in all things, not mine own, be done."

Rising, I went upon my way, receiving The strength prayer gives alway to hearts believing.

I felt that unseen hands were leading me, And knew the end was peace.

"What! are you up?"

Cried Helen, coming with a tray, and cup, Of tender toast, and fragrant smoking tea.

"You naughty girl! you should have stayed in bed Until you ate your breakfast, and were better I've something hidden for you here--a letter.