Maurine and Other Poems Part 6

There could be nothing easier, than just To let him linger on in this belief Till hourly-fed Suspicion and Distrust Should turn to scorn and anger all his grief.

Compared with me, so doubly sweet and pure Would Helen seem, my purpose would be sure, And certain of completion in the end.

But now, the way was made so straight and clear, My coward heart shrank back in guilty fear, Till Conscience whispered with her "still small voice,"

"The precious time is pa.s.sing--make thy choice-- Resign thy love, or slay thy trusting friend."

The growing moon, watched by the myriad eyes Of countless stars, went sailing through the skies, Like some young prince, rising to rule a nation, To whom all eyes are turned in expectation.

A woman who possesses tact and art And strength of will can take the hand of doom, And walk on, smiling sweetly as she goes, With rosy lips, and rounded cheeks of bloom, Cheating a loud-tongued world that never knows The pain and sorrow of her hidden heart.

And so I joined in Roy's bright changing chat; Answered his sallies--talked of this and that, My brow unruffled as the calm still wave That tells not of the wrecked s.h.i.+p, and the grave Beneath its surface.

Then we heard, ere long, The sound of Helen's gentle voice in song, And, rising, entered where the subtle power Of Vivian's eyes, forgiving while accusing, Finding me weak, had won me, in that hour; But Roy, alway polite and debonair Where ladies were, now hung about my chair With nameless delicate attentions, using That air devotional, and those small arts Acquaintance with society imparts To men gallant by nature.

'T was my s.e.x And not myself he bowed to. Had my place Been filled that evening by a dowager, Twice his own age, he would have given her The same attentions. But they served to vex Whatever hope in Vivian's heart remained.

The cold, white look crept back upon his face, Which told how deeply he was hurt and pained.

Little by little all things had conspired, To bring events I dreaded, yet desired.

We were in constant intercourse: walks, rides, Picnics and sails, filled weeks of golden weather, And almost hourly we were thrown together.

No words were spoken of rebuke or scorn: Good friends we seemed. But as a gulf divides This land and that, though lying side by side, So rolled a gulf between us--deep and wide-- The gulf of doubt, which widened slowly morn And noon and night.

Free and informal were These picnics and excursions. Yet, although Helen and I would sometimes choose to go Without our escorts, leaving them quite free.

It happened alway Roy would seek out me Ere pa.s.sed the day, while Vivian walked with her.

I had no thought of flirting. Roy was just Like some dear brother, and I quite forgot The kins.h.i.+p was so distant it was not Safe to rely upon in perfect trust, Without reserve or caution. Many a time When there was some steep mountain side to climb, And I grew weary, he would say, "Maurine, Come rest you here." And I would go and lean My head upon his shoulder, or would stand And let him hold in his my willing hand.

The while he stroked it gently with his own.

Or I would let him clasp me with his arm, Nor entertained a thought of any harm, Nor once supposed but Vivian was alone In his suspicions. But ere long the truth I learned in consternation! both Aunt Ruth And Helen, honestly, in faith believed That Roy and I were lovers.

Undeceived, Some careless words might open Vivian's eyes And spoil my plans. So reasoning in this wise, To all their sallies I in jest replied, To naught a.s.sented, and yet naught denied, With Roy unchanged remaining, confident Each understood just what the other meant.

If I grew weary of this double part, And self-imposed deception caused my heart Sometimes to shrink, I needed but to gaze On Helen's face: that wore a look ethereal, As if she dwelt above the things material And held communion with the angels. So I fed my strength and courage through the days.

What time the harvest moon rose full and clear And cast its ling'ring radiance on the earth, We made a feast; and called from far and near, Our friends, who came to share the scene of mirth.

Fair forms and faces flitted to and fro; But none more sweet than Helen's. Robed in white, She floated like a vision through the dance.

So frailly fragile and so phantom fair, She seemed like some stray spirit of the air, And was pursued by many an anxious glance That looked to see her fading from the sight Like figures that a dreamer sees at night.

And n.o.ble men and gallants graced the scene: Yet none more n.o.ble or more grand of mien Than Vivian--broad of chest and shoulder, tall And finely formed, as any Grecian G.o.d Whose high-arched foot on Mount Olympus trod.

His clear-cut face was beardless; and, like those Same Grecian statues, when in calm repose, Was it in hue and feature. Framed in hair Dark and abundant; lighted by large eyes That could be cold as steel in winter air, Or warm and sunny as Italian skies.

Weary of mirth and music, and the sound Of tripping feet, I sought a moment's rest Within the lib'ry, where a group I found Of guests, discussing with apparent zest Some theme of interest--Vivian, near the while, Leaning and listening with his slow odd smile.

"Now Miss La Pelle, we will appeal to you,"

Cried young Guy Semple, as I entered. "We Have been discussing right before his face, All unrebuked by him, as you may see, A poem lately published by our friend: And we are quite divided. I contend The poem is a libel and untrue I hold the fickle women are but few, Compared with those who are like yon fair moon That, ever faithful, rises in her place Whether she's greeted by the flowers of June, Or cold and dreary stretches of white s.p.a.ce."

"Oh!" cried another, "Mr. Dangerfield, Look to your laurels! or you needs must yield The crown to Semple, who, 'tis very plain, Has mounted Pegasus and grasped his mane."

All laughed: and then, as Guy appealed to me I answered lightly, "My young friend, I fear You chose a most unlucky simile To prove the truth of woman. To her place The moon does rise--but with a different face Each time she comes. But now I needs must hear The poem read, before I can consent To pa.s.s my judgment on the sentiment."

All clamored that the author was the man To read the poem: and, with tones that said More than the cutting, scornful words he read, Taking the book Guy gave him, he began:

HER LOVE.

The sands upon the ocean side That change about with every tide, And never true to one abide, A woman's love I liken to.

The summer zephyrs, light and vain, That sing the same alluring strain To every gra.s.s blade on the plain-- A woman's love is nothing more.

The suns.h.i.+ne of an April day That comes to warm you with its ray, But while you smile has flown away-- A woman's love is like to this.

G.o.d made poor woman with no heart, But gave her skill, and tact, and art, And so she lives, and plays her part.

We must not blame, but pity her.

She leans to man--but just to hear The praise he whispers in her ear, Herself, not him, she holdeth dear-- O fool! to be deceived by her.

To sate her selfish thirst she quaffs The love of strong hearts in sweet draughts Then throws them lightly by and laughs, Too weak to understand their pain.

As changeful as the winds that blow From every region, to and fro, Devoid of heart, she cannot know The suffering of a human heart.

I knew the cold, fixed gaze of Vivian's eyes Saw the slow color to my forehead rise; But lightly answered, toying with my fan, "That sentiment is very like a man!

Men call us fickle, but they do us wrong; We're only frail and helpless, men are strong; And when love dies, they take the poor dead thing And make a shroud out of their suffering, And drag the corpse about with them for years.

But we?--we mourn it for a day with tears!

And then we robe it for its last long rest, And being women, feeble things at best, We cannot dig the grave ourselves. And so We call strong-limbed New Love to lay it low: Immortal s.e.xton he! whom Venus sends To do this service for her earthly friends, The trusty fellow digs the grave so deep Nothing disturbs the dead laid there to sleep."

The laugh that followed had not died away Ere Roy Montaine came seeking me, to say The band was tuning for our waltz, and so Back to the ball-room bore me. In the glow And heat and whirl, my strength ere long was spent, And I grew faint and dizzy, and we went Out on the cool moonlighted portico, And, sitting there, Roy drew my languid head Upon the shelter of his breast, and bent His smiling eyes upon me, as he said, "I'll try the mesmerism of my touch To work a cure: be very quiet now, And let me make some pa.s.ses o'er your brow.

Why, how it throbs! you've exercised too much!

I shall not let you dance again to-night."

Just then before us, in the broad moonlight, Two forms were mirrored: and I turned my face To catch the teasing and mischievous glance Of Helen's eyes, as, heated by the dance, Leaning on Vivian's arm, she sought this place.

"I beg your pardon," came in that round tone Of his low voice. "I think we do intrude."

Bowing, they turned, and left us quite alone Ere I could speak, or change my att.i.tude.

_PART V._

A visit to a cave some miles away Was next in order. So, one sunny day, Four prancing steeds conveyed a laughing load Of merry pleasure-seekers o'er the road.

A basket picnic, music and croquet Were in the programme. Skies were blue and clear, And cool winds whispered of the Autumn near.

The merry-makers filled the time with pleasure: Some floated to the music's rhythmic measure, Some played, some promenaded on the green.

Ticked off by happy hearts, the moments pa.s.sed.

The afternoon, all glow and glimmer, came.

Helen and Roy were leaders of some game, And Vivian was not visible.

"Maurine, I challenge you to climb yon cliff with me!

And who shall tire, or reach the summit last Must pay a forfeit," cried a romping maid.

"Come! start at once, or own you are afraid."

So challenged I made ready for the race, Deciding first the forfeit was to be A handsome pair of bootees to replace The victor's loss who made the rough ascent.

The cliff was steep and stony. On we went As eagerly as if the path was Fame, And what we climbed for, glory and a name.

My hands were bruised; my garments sadly rent, But on I clambered. Soon I heard a cry, "Maurine! Maurine! my strength is wholly spent!

You've won the boots! I'm going back--good bye!"

And back she turned, in spite of laugh and jeer.

I reached the summit: and its solitude, Wherein no living creature did intrude, Save some sad birds that wheeled and circled near, I found far sweeter than the scene below.

Alone with One who knew my hidden woe, I did not feel so much alone as when I mixed with th' unthinking throngs of men.

Some flowers that decked the barren, sterile place I plucked, and read the lesson they conveyed, That in our lives, albeit dark with shade And rough and hard with labor, yet may grow The flowers of Patience, Sympathy, and Grace.

As I walked on in meditative thought, A serpent writhed across my pathway; not A large or deadly serpent; yet the sight Filled me with ghastly terror and affright.

I shrieked aloud: a darkness veiled my eyes-- And I fell fainting 'neath the watchful skies.

I was no coward. Country-bred and born, I had no feeling but the keenest scorn For those fine lady "ah's" and "oh's" of fear So much a.s.sumed (when any man is near).