Part 4 (1/2)
'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?