The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe - Edgar Allan Poe [1041]
But like, oh very like in its despair, —
Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily
A thousand hearts, losing at length her own.
She died. Thus endeth the history, and her maids
Lean over her and weep — two gentle maids
With gentle names, Eiros and Charmion.
Rainbow and Dove — Jacinta! . . . . .
[Jacinta finally in a discussion about certain jewels, insults her mistress, who bursts into tears.]
Lalaye. Poor Lalage! and is it come to this?
Thy servant maid! — but courage! — 'tis but a viper
Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul!
[Taking up the mirror.]
Ha! here at least 's a friend — too much a friend
In earlier days — a friend will not deceive thee.
Fair mirror and true! now tell me, for thou canst,
A tale — a pretty tale — and heed thou not
Though it be rife with wo. It answers me,
It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks,
And beauty long deceased — remembers me
Of Joy departed — Hope, the Seraph Hope
Inurned and entombed! — now, in a tone
Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible
Whispers of early grave untimely yawning
For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true! thou liest not!
Thou hast no end to gain — no heart to break.
Castiglione lied who said he loved —
Thou true — he false! — false! — false!
[While she speaks a Monk enters her apartment, and approaches unobserved.]
Monk. Refuge thou hast
Sweet daughter! in Heaven. Think of eternal things!
Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray.
Lalage. I cannot pray! — my soul is at war with God!
[Arising hurriedly.]
The frightful sounds of merriment below
Disturb my senses — go, I cannot pray!
The sweet airs from the garden worry me!
Thy presence grieves me — go! — thy priestly raiment
Fills me with dread — thy ebony crucifix
With horror and awe!
Monk. Think of thy precious soul!
Lalage. Think of my early days! — think of my father
And mother in Heaven! think of our quiet home
And the rivulet that ran before the door!
Think of my little sisters! — think of them!
And think of me! — think of my trusting love
And confidence — his vows — my ruin — think — think
Of my unspeakable misery! — begone!
Yet stay! yet stay! what was it thou saidst of prayer
And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith
And vows before the throne?
Monk. I did.
Lalage. 'Tis well.
There is a vow were fitting should be made —
A sacred vow, imperative, and urgent —
A solemn vow.
Monk. Daughter; this zeal is well.
Lalage. Father! this zeal is anything but well.
Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing?
A crucifix whereon to register
A pious vow? [He hands her his own.]
Not that — oh! no! — no! no! [Shuddering.]
Not that! not that! I tell thee, holy man,
Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me!
Stand back! I have a crucifix myself —
I have a crucifix! Methinks 'twere fitting
The deed — the vow — the symbol of the deed —
And the deed's register should tally, father!
Behold the cross wherewith a vow like mine
Is written in Heaven!
[Draws a cross-handled dagger and raises it on high.]
Monk. Thy words are madness, daughter!
And speak a purpose unholy — thy lips are livid —
Thine eyes are wild — tempt not the wrath divine —
Pause ere too late! — oh! be not — be not rash!
Swear not the oath — oh! swear it not!
Lalage. 'Tis sworn!
The coincidences here are too markedly peculiar to be gainsayed. The sitting at the table with books, etc. — the flowers on the one hand, and the garden on the other — the presence of the pert maid — the reading aloud from the book — the pausing and commenting — the plaintiveness of what is read, in accordance with the sorrow of the reader — the abstraction — the frequent calling of the maid by name — the refusal of the maid to answer — the jewels — the "begone" — the unseen entrance of a third person from behind — and the drawing of the dagger — are points sufficiently noticeable to establish at least the imitation beyond all doubt. Let us now compare the concluding lines of Mr. Longfellow's "Autumn" with that of Mr. Bryant's "Thanatopsis." Mr. B. has it thus: