Legends and Lyrics-2 [18]
result expected,
For how could it fail, since merit and renown go side by side:
And the neighbours who first fancied genius ought to be suspected,
Might at last give up their caution, and could own him now with
pride.
Years flowed on. These empty honours led to others they called
better,
He had saved some slender fortune, and might claim his bride at
last:
Mildred, grown so used to waiting, felt half startled by the letter
That now made her future certain, and would consecrate her past.
And he came: grown sterner, older--changed indeed: a grave
reliance
Had replaced his eager manner, and the quick short speech of old:
He had gone forth with a spirit half of hope and half defiance;
He returned with proud assurance half disdainful and half cold.
Yet his old self seemed returning while he stood sometimes, and
listened
To her calm soft voice, relating all the thoughts of these long
years;
And if Mildred's heart was heavy, and at times her blue eyes
glistened,
Still in thought she would not whisper aught of sorrow or of fears.
Autumn with its golden corn-fields, autumn with its storms and
showers,
Had been there to greet his coming with its forests gold and brown;
And the last leaves still were falling, fading still the year's
last flowers,
When he left the quiet village, and took back his bride to town.
Home--the home that she had pictured many a time in twilight,
dwelling
On that tender gentle fancy, folded round with loving care;
Here was home--the end, the haven; and what spirit voice seemed
telling,
That she only held the casket, with the gem no longer there?
Sad it may be to be longing, with a patience faint and weary,
For a hope deferred--and sadder still to see it fade and fall;
Yet to grasp the thing we long for, and, with sorrow sick and
dreary,
THEN to find how it can fail us, is the saddest pain of all.
What was wanting? He was gentle, kind, and generous still,
deferring
To her wishes always; nothing seemed to mar their tranquil life:
There are skies so calm and leaden that we long for storm-winds
stirring,
There is peace so cold and bitter, that we almost welcome strife.
Darker grew the clouds above her, and the slow conviction clearer,
That he gave her home and pity, but that heart, and soul, and mind
Were beyond her now; he loved her, and in youth he had been near
her,
But he now had gone far onward, and had left her there behind.
Yes, beyond her: yes, quick-hearted, her Love helped her in
revealing
It was worthless, while so mighty; was too weak, although so
strong;
There were courts she could not enter; depths she could not sound;
yet feeling
It was vain to strive or struggle, vainer still to mourn or long.
He would give her words of kindness, he would talk of home, but
seeming
With an absent look, forgetting if he held or dropped her hand;
And then turn with eager pleasure to his writing, reading,
dreaming,
Or to speak of things with others that she could not understand.
He had paid, and paid most nobly, all he owed; no need of blaming;
It had cost him something, may be, that no future could restore:
In her heart of hearts she knew it; Love and Sorrow, not
complaining,
Only suffered all the deeper, only loved him all the more.
Sometimes then a stronger anguish, and more cruel, weighed upon
her,
That through all those years of waiting, he had slowly learnt the
truth;
He had known himself mistaken, but that, bound to her in honour,
He renounced his life, to pay her for the patience of her youth.
But a star was slowly rising from that mist of grief, and brighter
Grew her eyes, for each slow hour surer comfort seemed to bring;
And she watched with strange sad smiling, how her trembling hands
grew slighter,
And how thin her slender finger, and how large her wedding-ring.
And the tears dropped slowly on it, as she kissed that golden token
With a deeper love, it may be, than was in the far-off past;
And remembering Philip's fancy, that so long ago was spoken,
Thought her Ring's bright angel guardian had
For how could it fail, since merit and renown go side by side:
And the neighbours who first fancied genius ought to be suspected,
Might at last give up their caution, and could own him now with
pride.
Years flowed on. These empty honours led to others they called
better,
He had saved some slender fortune, and might claim his bride at
last:
Mildred, grown so used to waiting, felt half startled by the letter
That now made her future certain, and would consecrate her past.
And he came: grown sterner, older--changed indeed: a grave
reliance
Had replaced his eager manner, and the quick short speech of old:
He had gone forth with a spirit half of hope and half defiance;
He returned with proud assurance half disdainful and half cold.
Yet his old self seemed returning while he stood sometimes, and
listened
To her calm soft voice, relating all the thoughts of these long
years;
And if Mildred's heart was heavy, and at times her blue eyes
glistened,
Still in thought she would not whisper aught of sorrow or of fears.
Autumn with its golden corn-fields, autumn with its storms and
showers,
Had been there to greet his coming with its forests gold and brown;
And the last leaves still were falling, fading still the year's
last flowers,
When he left the quiet village, and took back his bride to town.
Home--the home that she had pictured many a time in twilight,
dwelling
On that tender gentle fancy, folded round with loving care;
Here was home--the end, the haven; and what spirit voice seemed
telling,
That she only held the casket, with the gem no longer there?
Sad it may be to be longing, with a patience faint and weary,
For a hope deferred--and sadder still to see it fade and fall;
Yet to grasp the thing we long for, and, with sorrow sick and
dreary,
THEN to find how it can fail us, is the saddest pain of all.
What was wanting? He was gentle, kind, and generous still,
deferring
To her wishes always; nothing seemed to mar their tranquil life:
There are skies so calm and leaden that we long for storm-winds
stirring,
There is peace so cold and bitter, that we almost welcome strife.
Darker grew the clouds above her, and the slow conviction clearer,
That he gave her home and pity, but that heart, and soul, and mind
Were beyond her now; he loved her, and in youth he had been near
her,
But he now had gone far onward, and had left her there behind.
Yes, beyond her: yes, quick-hearted, her Love helped her in
revealing
It was worthless, while so mighty; was too weak, although so
strong;
There were courts she could not enter; depths she could not sound;
yet feeling
It was vain to strive or struggle, vainer still to mourn or long.
He would give her words of kindness, he would talk of home, but
seeming
With an absent look, forgetting if he held or dropped her hand;
And then turn with eager pleasure to his writing, reading,
dreaming,
Or to speak of things with others that she could not understand.
He had paid, and paid most nobly, all he owed; no need of blaming;
It had cost him something, may be, that no future could restore:
In her heart of hearts she knew it; Love and Sorrow, not
complaining,
Only suffered all the deeper, only loved him all the more.
Sometimes then a stronger anguish, and more cruel, weighed upon
her,
That through all those years of waiting, he had slowly learnt the
truth;
He had known himself mistaken, but that, bound to her in honour,
He renounced his life, to pay her for the patience of her youth.
But a star was slowly rising from that mist of grief, and brighter
Grew her eyes, for each slow hour surer comfort seemed to bring;
And she watched with strange sad smiling, how her trembling hands
grew slighter,
And how thin her slender finger, and how large her wedding-ring.
And the tears dropped slowly on it, as she kissed that golden token
With a deeper love, it may be, than was in the far-off past;
And remembering Philip's fancy, that so long ago was spoken,
Thought her Ring's bright angel guardian had