Love or Fame; and Other Poems Part 4

'Tis true that once a careless, heedless child, Bewildered by the world, by fame beguiled, I have allowed my heart to hear thy prayer."

"Yes, yes, Arline," he speaks with eager air, "I know full well your love was mine, and I Now claim the hand your heart cannot deny."

"Lorraine, how can you speak such words to me?

My love was never thine, my heart is free; You know full well I was but kind, Lorraine, When from thy love I fled to save thee pain.

When first I met the world a vision came So bright--of glorious power and wealth and fame; A part of that bright dream your wors.h.i.+p seemed, That you could claim my heart I little dreamed.

Yet soon I woke and with an earnest will I sought thy mind with deeper thoughts to fill.

It mattered not, your heart's bright flame still burned;-- What were your flowers, your jeweled love to me?-- I loved thee not; each one I would have spurned, Had not my woman's heart been kind to thee.

At last to fly from thee, the season o'er, I refuge sought upon this lonely sh.o.r.e; And though the riches of the world were thine, They could not win for thee one thought of mine."

His face grows darker with a fiery pride, His eyes flash forth the love he cannot hide; He rises to his feet, across his soul A pa.s.sionate fury his will cannot control, Bursts forth:

"Arline, you know not what is love!

To tell me this, for by the fates above, You shall be mine! See, yonder is my boat, Upon the waves with me you soon shall float.

Hus.h.!.+ rouse me not or you shall see What angry might your scorn has wrought in me."

"Lorraine!" she meets his gaze with fearless eyes, Though on each cheek a burning crimson lies.

She folds her arms and stands before him there A womanly woman, pure, and good, and fair.

She says no word, but who can tell the power An earnest woman wields in such an hour?

He turns away--a silence falls--the night Is coming on, the sun has taken flight, Upon the skies a veiling shadow lies.

She moves not--from her face the color dies And leaves it pale and calm.

Unto her side He comes again: "Forgive my hasty pride, Arline, for me thou are too purely good, And far above me is thy womanhood."

For answer she extends her jeweled hand, He takes it with a loving awe, as though It were a sacred thing, and thus they stand.

At last he speaks: "Arline, before I go The secrets of thy life I'll tell to thee, That you may see 'tis not unknown to me.

You say you ne'er have loved--'tis false, before You sought for fame, upon a wild, dark sh.o.r.e, You lived and loved"--to Arline's questioning eyes There came a startled look--a vague surprise-- "The one you loved, Arline, no more loves you, Although, perchance, you dream that he is true."

Why grow so pale, Arline, why stand so still?

Have you no woman's pride? no woman's will?

Why should you care? the world is yours and fame, And worldly hearts will love you all the same.

It matters not, you parted long ago, To meet no more. Why bend your head so low!

Lorraine is watching you with searching eyes, Before his gaze your poor heart quivering lies; He still speaks on, his words are sure, though slow, They find the truth he long has sought to know.

Back from her face she sweeps the heavy hair, And looks up with a proud, unconquered air; Ah! few have wills like hers to do or die, To hide each wound, to still each longing cry.

"Lorraine, the secrets of my life are mine, You have no right to solve its mystery; Why seek to penetrate my heat's design?

How sensitive a human heart can be, You do not seem to know nor even care; You tell me that you love, yet love is rare And generous, its truth you ne'er can know, If thus within the dust you trail it low."

The night has come, the clouds are hanging low, Their splendor gone, the wind begins to blow, It s.h.i.+fts the clouds across the gloomy sky, Now lashed to foam the troubled waters lie.

The sails are hurrying home, the sea bird flies Around and round with frightened, screaming cries.

From rock to rock across the frowning hill, And deep within the vale, a muttering sound Of far-off thunder rolls along the ground, A herald of the storm, then all is still.

And yet they heed it not, "Arline! Arline!"

He cries with flas.h.i.+ng eyes, "my peerless queen, I cannot give you up, you must be mine; You thrill my heart, your beauty divine.

What matters it though you have loved before, You cannot love him now, that dream is o'er.

Look up, Arline, within your starry eyes There lies for me the only paradise; I care not for the heaven or earth below-- If you are mine, what care I more to know?

A woman's love can make man what it will, For love and thee my heart is throbbing still.

Oh! quick, Arline, for see on yonder height The lightning circles round with flas.h.i.+ng light, It grows so dark--I scarce can see your face, Give me your hand, I'll lead you to the place Where waits my boat; before the storm comes on We'll reach the farther coast, for I am strong And young."

His face is close to hers--she starts And with a shudder shuts her frightened eyes; A silence as of death--the storm-cloud parts; A sheet of lightning flashes o'er the skies, It blinds his eyes, then all is dark again.

Where is Arline? She is not there, in vain His search--how fierce the storm, how black the night!

Another lurid flash--what fearful sight Is this? Arline upon the ground, her head Against the rocks, as pallid as the dead.

And look! on one fair temple lies a stain Of blood, and on her dusky veil of hair, The crimson moisture too--what cruel pain The rocks have caused; and yet how pale and fair She lies, unconscious of the rain and storm.

"Oh, G.o.d! what fearful sight is this to see!"

Half frantic he attempts to lift her form Into his arms--but no, it shall not be, For suddenly a hand is laid on his With iron grasp; upon the stormy air A voice rings out, "To touch her do not dare, Or you shall pay the penalty of this; If she is dead 'tis by your hand alone-- One pitying thought your dark soul does not own.

Begone, or here beneath this angry sky, Upon these rocks one of us two must die.

Ah! think you not, you fair-faced, proud Lorraine, I know you not; and well I know the pain You gave Arline; her lovely grace is far Above you as the highest, holiest star That decks G.o.d's throne; then go and leave her here, For sacred as the dead she is to me."

'Tis Adrian--he drops upon one knee And looks upon her face with dread and fear, Then tenderly he wipes away the red, Dark stains, and with a strong, yet tender grace, Uplifts her to his arms.

Her marble face Lies close unto his own--he bends his head And is he any less the man because one tear Falls on that wayward face so proud and dear?

What thoughts are his! they parted long ago To meet again, but how? Ah! who can know What bitterness he feels--that slender form Within his arms. Beneath the fierce wild storm He hurries to her stately home, and there Her followers wait with hushed and frightened air.

Oh! can it be that she is dead, Arline-- The idol of his heart, the world's proud queen?

No, no; it must not be, her white lids move, She wakes once more to life and song and love.

The pale lips quiver with a sudden pain, The lashes half unveil the eyes again.

He gives her up, and leaves her to their care-- When she awakes she must not find him there.

Oh! brave, warm heart, your love indeed is true, You give your all though naught is given you.

True love is like the watching stars of night, They s.h.i.+ne for aye though eyes see not their light.

And Adrian, fear not, G.o.d hears your cry, In His strong hand your fears and sorrows lie.

Part V.

Love

And what is life?--a pleasure and a pain, A vision of the sun--a day of rain.

And what is love?--a dream, a chain of gold That turns to iron bands when love is cold.

What matters they?--the visions of our youth, Through years of sorrow we must pa.s.s to truth.

A woman's life is full of longing days, Her heart is not content to live on praise; She must have more; a woman measures life By length of love, a man by deeds and strife.

Arline! once more we greet thy sunny face.

Once more behold thy n.o.ble, earnest grace; But ah, how changed! the hopes of youth are dead; Life's dark unrest has bowed thy proud young head, And fame the mocking vision of thy youth, Has led thee from the paths of peace and truth.

With longing eyes Arline is standing now, Her arms are folded with a weary air; The same deep pride is written on her brow, As once was there of old; her gold-brown hair Is gathered back in careless waves of light That hide a scar--the memory of one night.

Her eyes look down, her dark robes sweep the floor-- She starts, for some one pa.s.ses through the door; She glances up--recoils with haughty pride, Which all her self-possession cannot hide; Then with a look of pity on her face She meets Lorraine with kind, forgiving grace.

"Arline, I would that I had died indeed Before I gave thee pain, my heart has need Of thy forgiveness, else I cannot live, I crave the boon that only thou canst give."

"Lorraine, the highest graces of a woman's heart Are purity and truth, no cunning art Can e'er replace these gifts; 'gainst sin and wrong They are her surest safe-guards, and her guide In life. With these she conquers man's dark pride And wins the tributes that to Heaven belong.

To womanhood belongs forgiveness too, And therefore is my pardon given you."

With humbled pride he bowed his proud young head, Then looking in her face he gently said: "'Tis n.o.bly given; if women were all like thee, Arline, how many truer men would be Within this world; for man will ever go Where woman leads. And on this earth below The grandest masterpiece of Nature's art Must ever be a woman's sinless heart.

For thee, Arline, the pa.s.sion of my life is dead; The feverish dream is o'er, and in its stead, There comes a reverence for all thy kind, And thou, the n.o.blest ideal of my mind.