Lucile [91]
one joy In the son:---the son now--wounded, dying! She told Of the father's stern struggle with life: the boy's bold, Pure, and beautiful nature: the fair life before him If that life were but spared . . . yet a word might restore him! The boy's broken love for the niece of Eugene! Its pathos: the girl's love for him; how, half slain In his tent, she had found him: won from him the tale; Sought to nurse back his life; found her efforts still fail Beaten back by a love that was stronger than life; Of how bravely till then he had stood in that strife Wherein England and France in their best blood, at last, Had bathed from remembrance the wounds of the past. And shall nations be nobler than men? Are not great Men the models of nations? For what is a state But the many's confused imitation of one? Shall he, the fair hero of France, on the son Of his ally seek vengeance, destroying perchance An innocent life,--here, when England and France Have forgiven the sins of their fathers of yore, And baptized a new hope in their sons' recent gore? She went on to tell how the boy had clung still To life, for the sake of life's uses, until From his weak hands the strong effort dropp'd, stricken down By the news that the heart of Constance, like his own, Was breaking beneath . . . But there "Hold!" he exclaim'd, Interrupting, "Forbear!" . . . his whole face was inflamed With the heart's swarthy thunder which yet, while she spoke, Had been gathering silent--at last the storm broke In grief or in wrath . . . "'Tis to him, then," he cried, . . . Checking suddenly short the tumultuous stride, "That I owe these late greetings--for him you are here-- For his sake you seek me--for him, it is clear, You have deign'd at the last to bethink you again Of this long-forgotten existence!" "Eugene!" "Ha! fool that I was!" . . . he went on, . . . "and just now, While you spoke yet, my heart was beginning to grow Almost boyish again, almost sure of ONE friend! Yet this was the meaning of all--this the end! Be it so! There's a sort of slow justice (admit!) In this--that the word that man's finger hath writ In fire on my heart, I return him at last. Let him learn that word--Never!" "Ah, still to the past Must the present be vassal?" she said. "In the hour We last parted I urged you to put forth the power Which I felt to be yours, in the conquest of life. Yours, the promise to strive: mine--to watch o'er the strife. I foresaw you would conquer; you HAVE conquer'd much, Much, indeed, that is noble! I hail it as such, And am here to record and applaud it. I saw Not the less in your nature, Eugene de Luvois, One peril--one point where I feared you would fail To subdue that worst foe which a man can assail,-- Himself: and I promised that, if I should see My champion once falter, or bend the brave knee, That moment would bring me again to his side. That moment is come! for that peril was pride, And you falter. I plead for yourself, and another, For that gentle child without father or mother, To whom you are both. I plead, soldier of France, For your own nobler nature--and plead for Constance!" At the sound of that name he averted his head. "Constance! . . . Ay, she enter'd MY lone life" (he said) "When its sun was long set; and hung over its night Her own starry childhood. I have but that light, In the midst of much darkness! Who names me but she With titles of love? And what rests there for me In the silence of age save the voice of that child? The child of my own better life, undefiled! My creature, carved out of my heart of hearts!" "Say," Said the Soeur Seraphine--"are you able to lay Your hand as a knight on your heart as a man And swear that, whatever may happen, you can Feel assured for the life you thus cherish?" "How so?" He look'd up. "if the boy should die thus?" "Yes, I know What