Part 5 (2/2)
The ordinary young man takes it for granted that he and the world are far ahead of ”the governor;” the father may have left behind him, as nebulae sinking below the horizon of youth, questions the world is but just waking to put.
The blame, however, may lie in part at the parent's door. The hearts of the fathers need turning to the children, as much as the hearts of the children need turning to the fathers. Few men open up to their children; and where a man does not, the schism, the separation begins with him, for all his love be deep and true. That it is unmanly to show one's feelings, is a superst.i.tion prevalent with all English-speaking people.
Now, wherever feeling means weakness, falsehood, or excitement, it ought not merely not be shown, but not to exist; but for a man to hide from his son his loving and his loathing, is to refuse him the divinest fas.h.i.+on of teaching. Richard read the best things, and loved best the best writers: never once had he read a poem with his son, or talked to him about any poet! If Walter had even suspected his father's insight into certain things, he would have loved him more. Closely bound as they were, neither knew the other. Each would have been astonished at what he might have found in the other. The father might have discovered many handles by which to lay hold of his son; the son might have seen the lamp bright in his father's chamber which he was but tr.i.m.m.i.n.g in his.
CHAPTER XI.
THE SONG.
AT length came the summons from Lady Lufa to hear her music to his verses.
It was not much of a song, neither did he think it was.
Mist and vapor and cloud Filled the earth and the air!
My heart was wrapt in a shroud.
And death was everywhere.
The sun went silently down To his rest in the unseen wave; But my heart, in its purple and crown.
Lay already in its grave.
For a cloud had darkened the brow Of the lady who is my queen; I had been a monarch, but now All things had only been!
I sprung from the couch of death: Who called my soul? Who spake?
No sound! no answer! no breath!
Yet my soul was wide awake!
And my heart began to blunder Into rhythmic pulse the while; I turned--away was the wonder-- My queen had begun to smile!
Outbrake the sun in the west!
Outlaughed the crested sea!
And my heart was alive in my breast With light, and love, and thee!
There was a little music in the verses, and they had a meaning--though not a very new or valuable one.
He went in the morning--the real, not the conventional--and was shown into the drawing-room, his heart beating with expectation. Lady Lufa was alone, and already at the piano. She was in a gray stuff with red rosebuds, and looked as simple as any country parson's daughter. She gave him no greeting beyond a little nod, at once struck a chord or two, and began to sing.
Walter was charmed. The singing, and the song through the singing, altogether exceeded his expectation. He had feared he should not be able to laud heartily, for he had not lost his desire to be truthful--but she was an artist! There was indeed nothing original in her music; it was mainly a reconstruction of common phrases afloat in the musical atmosphere; but she managed the slight dramatic element in the lyric with taste and skill, following tone and sentiment with chord and inflection; so that the music was worthy of the verses--which is not saying very much for either; while the expression the girl threw into the song went to the heart of the youth, and made him foolish.
She ceased; he was silent for a moment, then fervent in thanks and admiration.
”The verses are mine no more,” he said. ”I shall care for them now!”
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