Love or Fame; and Other Poems Part 5

And now I could not offer thee my love, For like some pure and upward-soaring dove, I see thee fly beyond my own weak soul, To reach a n.o.bler and far higher goal.

Yet, fair Arline, oh, with thy lovely grace, Uplift my soul unto the realm of thine; And with thy tender eyes and pitying face, Oh lead to worthier deeds this heart of mine!"

"Lorraine, each one must know the price of sin, Each erring heart must know what lies within; If we would live aright we must be true Unto ourselves; I cannot govern you; For ah! we may not read another's mind, G.o.d puts there thoughts that we may never find.

"We should not judge, for hearts indeed are weak, And vain and selfish, are the ends we seek; But each temptation, if we do not fall, Will tend to make us stronger, all in all.

Think not thy way is right nor full of power, For every heart must have its wayward hour; And though men grieve thee with their outward sin, Remember n.o.bler thoughts may dwell within.

"And now I thank you for your refeverent love, And yet I feel you place me far above My own right sphere. I am a woman weak, As all proud women are, and soon, too soon, I feel the world another queen will seek To wear its crown of fame, and then my noon Of life will pa.s.s as others pa.s.s away, Unto the shadows of the dying day, And like the foam upon the waves' bright crest, My life will glide unheeded to its rest; Like other hearts forgotten and unknown, My own will wear itself away alone.

And yet"--and here the dark eyes flashed again-- "The world shall never know its hidden pain, For late, too late, I feel the world is cold, It wounds the brow that wears its crown of gold.

Ah! many in the gay and pa.s.sing crowd Have thought me cold and even deemed me proud, When, had they known the truth of that cold pride, They'd known 'twas but my better thoughts to hide, When 'mid the bitterness of worldly strife, I felt for what I'd given my longing life-- To wear upon my head a senseless crown, On which in scorn my own true self looked down.

Oh, Fame! I chose thee with a girl's weak hand, And now on life's dark sh.o.r.es alone I stand; Too late I see the sad mistake I made When at a worldly shrine my life I laid.

I thought to purify the world by song, But ah! the world's too full of heedless wrong For one weak hand to lead it back to truth; It mocked to scorn my innocence and youth; To n.o.bler work had I my life but lent, My restless heart e'en now might be content, Oh, woman's life was never made for fame, Her soul is burnt to ashes in its flame."

"You wrong yourself!" he cries at last, "untrue Your words, for worldly hearts look up to you And bless your song,--I know, for I am one Of these, and know the good that you have done.

'Tis true, Arline, an earnest womanhood Can always do unto the world some good.

One heart in truth has felt your better power, And that is mine, in this last happy hour; and have you n.o.bler made even one weak heart, You've done within this world a worthy part.

And many hearts, Arline, have heard your song And turned away ashamed from sin and wrong.

No man, however dark his heart, could gaze Upon a face like yours, where all is pure, And not regret, oh! bitterly, his days Of sin. If every woman would allure By graces true as thine, there would be less Of sorrow and of pain, and man would bless The day that G.o.d gave woman to him."

Her eyes Are turned to him with eager, glad surprise; "I thank you for these words," she says, "for true I feel they are, and in my heart anew I welcome hope. And we are friends again, The past indeed is dead."

A look of pain Came in his eyes, yet with a new-born pride He turned away, that look from her to hide.

"To-night I go, Arline, we meet no more, Yet in my heart thy image will be there, To soothe each wayward hour, to lighten care; Thy simple teachings have unlocked the door Of life's best thoughts to me, and if I grow to better manhood, you have made me so."

Upon her bending head and gentle face A sunbeam fell and lit with mystic grace Her dark, uplifted eyes, then quickly fled To mingle with the sunset's dying red.

A sunny face--a n.o.ble womanhood, A heart's wild pa.s.sion dead, a new-born pride; One moment looking on her face he stood, Then turned and went forever from her side.

The twilight comes, the first-born child of night, A warning monitor of time's quick flight; A dear, enchanted hour, when all are near We love on earth, and yet an hour of fear When shadows of the past around us fall And joy and hope have fled beyond recall.

Within the twilight of the present day, And shadows of the years now past away, Arline is standing with a sad, sad air, Her heart cries out with longing pride and pain, "Oh, G.o.d! what mystery is this of care And endless doubts; will faith ne'er come again?"

Oh, striving heart, no mind the problem yet Has solved of life--'tis happier to forget; When once the mind is roused to questioning thought With endless misery it may be wrought; The happiest minds are those that question not-- To live in faith is mankind's fairest lot.

And darker grow the shadows of the night, She looks upon the sea, the distant height; Upon the waves the s.h.i.+ps go gliding by, The lonesome clouds throughout the sky Are wandering with brooding wings, and grim And shadowy the far-off mountains seem; Oh! Fame, where is thy joy? oh! love's bright dream, Where is thy spell? life, like the night, is dim And sorrowful.

Low droops her young head fair, Her whispered words steal on the silent air: "Oh, what is life, my soul, when love has fled?-- And every one that I have loved is dead, Save one, and he--oh, must I say it now,-- He loves me not, I dare not claim his vow.

Adrian, too late I prize thee--what is fame When 'tis not shared with thee! No other name Can touch me like thine own; but now, indeed, Where is the love that answers to my need?

I had a dream amid the storm that night, A vision strange--'mid flashes of the light Methought I saw your face, your well-known form; You held me close and safe from rain and storm, Within the shelter of your arms I lay And breathed no, lest the dream should pa.s.s away; Oh, Adrian, it seemed as though a tear Fell from your eyes upon my face, and dear That mark of pitying love was unto me.

My hair seemed wet with blood--with dreadful pain My temples throbbed, yet there with love and thee I felt it not, nor heeded I the rain.

Too soon, howe'er, the vision pa.s.sed away, And I was left alone.

"Oh! waves at play, Mock not my hollow heart with songs of eve, For olden days I evermore must grieve, My own sad song forever must be still, Of empty fame my life has had its fill.

Oh! heart be still, keep back your hungry cry, Our griefs we all can conquer if we try; Oh! soul shrink back into thy smallest s.p.a.ce, For thee the heedless world will give no place.

Oh! what is life when only shadows fall!

Oh! what is love, when love is past recall!

My laurel wreath unto the winds I fling, For worldly praise I never more will sing.

Oh! tears, what do you here--keep back, I say, Each human life must know a sunless day."

Unto her breast her hands are tightly pressed, She bravely struggles with the old unrest; Yet lower droops her form, the lashes sweep Across her cheeks. Dark memories seem to creep Upon her heavy heart and weigh it down.

As shadows fall at night o'er vale and town; And still and white as some pale form of death She stands, with folded hands and faint drawn breath.

But suddenly through the silence of the room The one word "Hilda" pierces through the gloom; A whispered word, yet see! it makes her start, And sends the life-blood throbbing to her heart.

she turns--her face is stained with crimson o'er, It dies and leaves her paler than before.

Oh, life is dark, and hearts are weak and wild!

With one faint cry she sees his longing eyes, His outstretched arms, and as a tired child, Unto that last, safe refuge quickly flies.

Then presently her head droops low again, She draws away--there comes a bitter pain.

"Oh, Adrian, my life has all been wrong; I am not worthy now your love to claim, My erring heart is selfish, and to blame, To sorrow and to grief it should belong.

I left thee with a willful, proud design, And cared not that a hopeless life was thine.

To give unto thy care, what have I now?

A worn and wasted life--a broken vow."

"No, no! look up, Arline, bend not your head; You wrong yourself--your life is good and true, And pure the motive that your actions fed; Life's highest meed of praise belongs to you; Few hearts possess your true and earnest thought, Else would the world with n.o.bler deeds be fraught.

No man could look into your earnest eyes, And claim that truth in woman never lies, Nor could he gaze upon that lovely face, And scorn again a woman's pleading grace.

I wonder not the world has wors.h.i.+pped thee, For well thy beauty's spell is known to me.

A strain of music can awake the soul, A kindly grace may touch the hardest heart.

Then weep no more, Arline--you've reached the goal-- The world is better for your sweet-voiced art.

And, Hilda, had thy power not been good, My love these years could never have withstood."

Her face is turned to his with eager gaze She drinks in all his words with ecstasy.

"Oh, Adrian, far dearer than the praise Of all the world those words come now to me; Yet tell me, Adrian, is woman's life Naught but a shadowy dream--a pain--a strife?"

A grave, sweet smile stole o'er his face, his eyes Met hers with earnest look, yet half surprise: "G.o.d knows the longings of each human heart, And each a.s.signs some n.o.ble, worthy part, And they who seek will find; the battle's won When thought is true, and duty is well done.

From world to world the deeds of man may fly, Yet in each heart a woman's grace may lie.

Few men may comprehend her longing need-- She lives in thought, he lives in strife and deed.

His boasted deeds may live but for a day Her purity and truth will live for aye.

The man who claims a woman's hand and heart, Knows not what boon he craves, what precious thing; She gives her all--he only gives a part-- She gives her freedom up and crowns him king.

'Tis true she murmurs not,--when love is there No duty is too great, she feels no care; 'Tis only when that love is cold and dead She feels the galling chains--the hand of lead.

And therefore do I say to you, Arline, Of love, and not of fame, she should be queen.

'Tis love that wakes a man to woman's grace; He first finds heaven when looking in her face, He sees the trusting soul, the wealth untold Of n.o.ble thoughts that G.o.d has written there.

Love binds his heart to hers with chains of gold, And makes him comprehend the beauty rare Of womanhood; 'tis this unlocks the door And shows him truths he ne'er has known before.

Grieve not, Arline; your song has done some good, An emblem of the true your life has stood.

Your aims were high; your art was truly grand, Hearts n.o.bler grew, Arline, at your command.

Then do not weep,--Oh, save those precious tears!

The light of heaven s.h.i.+nes on the past few years.

And see! the shadows all have fled--the night Is clear, the stars s.h.i.+ne out, the moon's pale light Is falling on your face; look up and know The fading of the shadows 'neath the glow Of night, is but the emblem of the rays Of happiness that now shall gild your days."

He takes her hand in his--and love's sweet thrill Runs through her veins, vague dreams her sense fill.

Her face grows childlike in its faith again, He heart yields up its wealth of doubt and pain, Her soft, dark eyes reveal their depths of fire.

"For fame my heart has never more desire, Were all our planets moons, night could not know The glory of the day, nor evening show The splendor of the sun--his light is best.

So, were each heart to wors.h.i.+p at my shrine, All filled with love, it could not equal thine, For thine is more to me than all the rest.

Then, like the purple pansies, bending low, That yield unto the sun their royal glow, Unto the sun-G.o.d of my life and years I'll yield my love, and know no idle fears.

The meteor has flashed across the skies, Yet in its place a star of beauty lies; Adrift into the azure seas above That star shall sail on wings of hope and love, While fame, the meteor that mocks the sight, Shall die upon the earth--a faded light.

And now, for thee alone, my heart shall sing, Far from my sight my crown of fame I'll fling, And in its stead, the diadem I'll wear Of love and womanhood--earth's crown most fair."

Out on the terrace, where the moonlight falls In silver radiance o'er the time-stained walls, A man and woman stand--he, strong and fair, She, lovelier than the flowers that scent the air.

Her eyes are velvety and soft and brown, Her hair--a s.h.i.+mmering splendor falls low down, Her dark robes sweep the marble floor; one hand Is clasped in his; in silence now they stand, No need of words when silence speaketh more Than all the wealth of speech, or written lore.

Her eyes are turned to his; no more they grieve; Oh, who can tell the spell that love doth weave?

The music of the stars, a faint, sweet strain, Floats down--an echo of their heart's refrain.