Lucile [78]
the cave in the desert, and sought Not repose, but employment in action or thought, Life's strong earnest, in all things! oh, think not of me, But yourself! for I plead for your own destiny: I plead for your life, with its duties undone, With its claims unappeased, and its trophies unwon; And in pleading for life's fair fulfilment, I plead For all that you miss, and for all that you need."
XI.
Through the calm crystal air, faint and far, as she spoke, A clear, chilly chime from a church-turret broke; And the sound of her voice, with the sound of the bell, On his ear, where he kneel'd, softly, soothingly fell. All within him was wild and confused, as within A chamber deserted in some roadside inn, Where, passing, wild travellers paused, over-night, To quaff and carouse; in each socket each light Is extinct; crash'd the glasses, and scrawl'd is the wall With wild ribald ballads; serenely o'er all, For the first time perceived, where the dawn-light creeps faint Through the wrecks of that orgy, the face of a saint, Seen through some broken frame, appears noting meanwhile The ruin all round with a sorrowful smile. And he gazed round. The curtains of Darkness half drawn Oped behind her; and pure as the pure light of dawn She stood, bathed in morning, and seem'd to his eyes From their sight to be melting away in the skies That expanded around her.
XII.
There pass'd through his head A fancy--a vision. That woman was dead He had loved long ago--loved and lost! dead to him, Dead to all the life left him; but there, in the dim Dewy light of the dawn, stood a spirit; 'twas hers; And he said to the soul of Lucile de Nevers: "O soul to its sources departing away! Pray for mine, if one soul for another may pray. I to ask have no right, thou to give hast no power, One hope to my heart. But in this parting hour I name not my heart, and I speak not to thine. Answer, soul of Lucile, to this dark soul of mine, Does not soul owe to soul, what to heart heart denies, Hope, when hope is salvation? Behold, in yon skies, This wild night is passing away while I speak: Lo, above us, the day-spring beginning to break! Something wakens within me, and warms to the beam: Is it hope that awakens? or do I but dream? I know not. It may be, perchance, the first spark Of a new light within me to solace the dark Unto which I return; or perchance it may be The last spark of fires half extinguish'd in me. I know not. Thou goest thy way: I my own; For good or for evil, I know not. Alone This I know; we are parting. I wish'd to say more, But no matter! 'twill pass. All between us is o'er. Forget the wild words of to-night. 'Twas the pain For long years hoarded up, that rush'd from me again. I was unjust: forgive me. Spare now to reprove Other words, other deeds. It was madness, not love, That you thwarted this night. What is done is now done. Death remains to avenge it, or life to atone. I was madden'd, delirious! I saw you return To him--not to me; and I felt my heart burn With a fierce thirst for vengeance--and thus . . . let it pass! Long thoughts these, and so brief the moments, alas! Thou goest thy way, and I mine. I suppose 'Tis to meet nevermore. Is it not so? Who knows, Or who heeds, where the exile from Paradise flies? Or what altars of his in the desert may rise? Is it not so, Lucile? Well, well! Thus then we part Once again, soul from soul, as before heart from heart!"
XIII.
And again clearer far than the chime of a bell, That voice on his sense softly, soothingly fell. "Our two paths must part us, Eugene; for my own Seems no more through that world in which henceforth alone You must work out (as now I believe that you will) The hope which you speak of. That work I shall still (If I live) watch and welcome, and bless far away. Doubt not this. But mistake not the thought, if I say That the great moral combat between human life And each human soul must be single. The strife None can share, though by all its results may be known. When the soul arms for battle, she goes forth alone.
XI.
Through the calm crystal air, faint and far, as she spoke, A clear, chilly chime from a church-turret broke; And the sound of her voice, with the sound of the bell, On his ear, where he kneel'd, softly, soothingly fell. All within him was wild and confused, as within A chamber deserted in some roadside inn, Where, passing, wild travellers paused, over-night, To quaff and carouse; in each socket each light Is extinct; crash'd the glasses, and scrawl'd is the wall With wild ribald ballads; serenely o'er all, For the first time perceived, where the dawn-light creeps faint Through the wrecks of that orgy, the face of a saint, Seen through some broken frame, appears noting meanwhile The ruin all round with a sorrowful smile. And he gazed round. The curtains of Darkness half drawn Oped behind her; and pure as the pure light of dawn She stood, bathed in morning, and seem'd to his eyes From their sight to be melting away in the skies That expanded around her.
XII.
There pass'd through his head A fancy--a vision. That woman was dead He had loved long ago--loved and lost! dead to him, Dead to all the life left him; but there, in the dim Dewy light of the dawn, stood a spirit; 'twas hers; And he said to the soul of Lucile de Nevers: "O soul to its sources departing away! Pray for mine, if one soul for another may pray. I to ask have no right, thou to give hast no power, One hope to my heart. But in this parting hour I name not my heart, and I speak not to thine. Answer, soul of Lucile, to this dark soul of mine, Does not soul owe to soul, what to heart heart denies, Hope, when hope is salvation? Behold, in yon skies, This wild night is passing away while I speak: Lo, above us, the day-spring beginning to break! Something wakens within me, and warms to the beam: Is it hope that awakens? or do I but dream? I know not. It may be, perchance, the first spark Of a new light within me to solace the dark Unto which I return; or perchance it may be The last spark of fires half extinguish'd in me. I know not. Thou goest thy way: I my own; For good or for evil, I know not. Alone This I know; we are parting. I wish'd to say more, But no matter! 'twill pass. All between us is o'er. Forget the wild words of to-night. 'Twas the pain For long years hoarded up, that rush'd from me again. I was unjust: forgive me. Spare now to reprove Other words, other deeds. It was madness, not love, That you thwarted this night. What is done is now done. Death remains to avenge it, or life to atone. I was madden'd, delirious! I saw you return To him--not to me; and I felt my heart burn With a fierce thirst for vengeance--and thus . . . let it pass! Long thoughts these, and so brief the moments, alas! Thou goest thy way, and I mine. I suppose 'Tis to meet nevermore. Is it not so? Who knows, Or who heeds, where the exile from Paradise flies? Or what altars of his in the desert may rise? Is it not so, Lucile? Well, well! Thus then we part Once again, soul from soul, as before heart from heart!"
XIII.
And again clearer far than the chime of a bell, That voice on his sense softly, soothingly fell. "Our two paths must part us, Eugene; for my own Seems no more through that world in which henceforth alone You must work out (as now I believe that you will) The hope which you speak of. That work I shall still (If I live) watch and welcome, and bless far away. Doubt not this. But mistake not the thought, if I say That the great moral combat between human life And each human soul must be single. The strife None can share, though by all its results may be known. When the soul arms for battle, she goes forth alone.