  Woman of the House. He died last night at three—quite easily. The Lady. Alone? Woman of the House. A surgeon from the camp was here. The Lady. Where is the man? Woman of the House. Gone back. The Lady. Send for him. See, Here is a trifle; though it cannot clear Our debt to you, yet take it. Woman of the House. But you give Too much. The Lady. Keep it. The Maiden (kneeling by the bedside). O Willie! can I live Without you? Love, my love, why are you dead And I alive? O noble, golden head, Whose every curl I know, how still you lie On this poor pillow, and how dreamlessly You sleep! But waken now; look on me, dear; Open those close-shut eyes, for I am here— Speak to me, Willie.—Ah, how cold his cheek— How icy cold! O God! he’s dead, he’s dead! Woman of the House. Yes, he is dead, dead as King David. Truth He was right handsome for a Yankee youth— Rode his horse well. The Lady (aside). I love you, Meredith. The Maiden. What’s this upon the table near his hand? [Opens the package. My picture—yes, my letters—all! Herewith I know—I know he loved me! The Lady (thinking). Cover worn, Creased in its folds, unopened, and forlorn— Yes, I remember it. I would not look Within;—unopened since that day. He took The poor thing forth with dying loyalty To send to her. The Maiden. O Lord, I understand Thy purpose; ’twas to try my faith. I kneel To thank thee that mercy doth reveal The whole to my poor heart. He loved me—me, Me only! Woman of the House. Would you like to see the wound Here in his arm?—Why, if she hasn’t swooned! The Lady. Take her below, and care for her, poor child! [Exit woman, carrying the maiden in her arms. Brain, art thou wild, Distraught, that thou canst all things calmly hear And answer, when my pulses reel, my heart Stands still, and cold through every vital part Death breathes his icy breath? Oh, my own love! I clasp thee in my arms, come back to me! O ice-cold lips I kiss, ye are as dear As ever! Come! Thy idol waits for thee, Waits—weeps. Dost thou not hear me there above Where thou hast gone? Come back and take the bride Who nestles weeping, longing, at the side Thy earthly tenement, the golden hair Curls as when my poor fingers twined it last, Thy head upon my breast. O brownÈd cheek! Can I not warm thee with mine own? Oh, speak— Speak to me, Meredith! Poor wounded arm, Dear blood; here will I hold thee close and warm Upon my heart. Dost thou not feel me now? And now? And now? Do I not hold thee fast? Hast thou not longed for me? I gave my vow To be thine own. See! I am come. My hand I lay in thine. Oh, speak to me! Command My every breath; full humbly I obey, The true wife longs to feel a master’s sway, Longs to do homage, so her idol prove Ruler—nay, despot of her willing love. Didst thou not hear me whisper while she spake. “I love thee—oh, I love thee, Meredith?” I would not that her childish grief should break Thy peace up in thy heaven; even there Thou longest for my love, and near the stair Where souls come up from earth thou’rt standing now Watching for me. O darling, from thy brow I catch the radiance! Thou art not hers. The boyish pledge wherewith She strives to hold thee was the radiancy Of early dawn, which now the mighty sun Hath swept away in fervent heat; nor thee Nor her it binds. Her pretty youth will run Its swift course to some other love; Fate Ne’er lets such sweet maids pine, though they may try; A few months lent to tearful constancy, The next to chastened sorrow, slow decline To resignation; then, the well-masked bait Of making some one happy, though at cost Of sweet self-sacrifice, which soon is lost In that content which, if not real love, Looks strangely like it! But why should I prove What thou dost know already, freed from time And finite bonds, my darling? Love sublime, Art thou not God? Then let him down to me For one short moment. See! in agony I cling to the cold body; let him touch Me once with this dear hand; it is not much I ask—one clasp, one word. What! nothing? Then I call down vengeance on this God of men Only to rend them in a hundred parts, And see them quiver—bleed! I, creature, dare To call aloud for justice; my despair Our great far-off Creator doth arraign Before the bar to answer for the pain I suffer now. It is too much—too much! O woe! woe! woe! the human soul can such Intensity of sorrow not withstand, But, lifting up on high its fettered hand, Can only cry aloud in agony, And blindly, wildly curse its God and die! How dare you take, You Death, my love away from me? The old, The weak, the loveless, the forlorn, were there In crowds, and none to miss them. But your cold And heartless eye did mark that he was fair, And that I loved him? From your dreadful hold I snatch my darling, and he yet shall wake From out your sleep by my caresses. See, See how I love him! Ah, shall I not win His life back with my lips, that lovingly Do cling to his? And, though you do begin Your icy work, these arms shall keep him warm— Nay, more: my loving verily disarm And give him back to me; a heart shall burn Under your ribs at last from very sight Of my fierce, tearless grief. —O sorry plight Of my poor darling in this barren room, Where only his gold curls do light the gloom! But we will change all that. This evening, dear, Shall be our bridal: wilt thou take me, here, And thus?—in this array—this falling hair— Crushed robes? And yet, believe me, I am fair As ever. Love, love, love! oh, speak to me! I will not listen in my misery If thy heart beat— God! it is cold! [Falls to the floor. Enter the Surgeon. Surgeon. Art ill, Madam?— The Lady (rising). Thanks, sir. But sorrow cannot kill. Would that it could! Nay, I sit by his side— Thus. Now tell all—all—all. Surgeon. You cannot hide The deadly faintness that has paled your cheek; Let me get— The Lady. Nothing. Nothing can avail, Good sir; my very heart’s blood has turned pale. Struck by God’s lightning, do you talk to me Of faintness? Only tell your tale—speak, speak; You saw him die? Surgeon. I did; right tranquilly He passed away this morning, with your name Upon his lips—for you are Helena? The Lady. I am. Surgeon. I saw your picture. (Aside.) Yes, the same. Hair, eyes. What Titian tints! (Speaks.) He made me lay Your letters and your picture on his heart Before he died; he would not from them part For e’en one moment. The Lady. Lift them not, they’re mine; My hand alone must touch the holy shrine Of love and death where the poor relics lie— Darling (bends, and kisses the letters), because you loved them! Let them die, Go to the grave with him, there on his breast, Where I would gladly die too—be at rest Forever.—And he spake of me? Surgeon. He said That you would come, for he had sent you word. The Lady. I ne’er received it; ’twas by chance I heard, A passing chance. Surgeon. The lines were down— The Lady. And may They never rise again that failed that day, And left him dying here! Go on; he said— Surgeon. That you would come, and grieved that o’er his head The turf might close ere you could reach his side And give him one last kiss. And then—he died. The Lady. No more? Surgeon. No more. Ah, yes, one other thing: Short time before, he feebly bade me bring That package on the table—but ’tis torn— Some one has opened it! It looked well worn, In old, unbroken foldings when I brought It from his satchel. Who could thus have wrought On other’s property? The Lady. The owner.—Then He said— Surgeon. To give it you, for you would know Its history, and where it swift should go; The name was writ within. The Lady (aside). Yes, love; amen! Be it according to thy wish. This fee, good sir. I would that for his sake— Your kindness to him—I could send your name Ringing through all the West in silver fame.— At dawn, you said, the burial? Then leave Me here alone with him. I well believe You’ll show me further kindness. Speak no word Beyond your doctor’s art to that poor child Who weeps below. I would not that she heard Aught more of grief. [Exit Surgeon. Ah! all my passion wild Has gone; now come the softening woman tears.— Forgive me, great Creator, that I spake In my sharp agony. O do thou take The bitterness from out my soul; I know Naught, but thou knowest all! Then let my woe, The poor blind woe we short-lived mortals bear, Be my sad plea.— I knew, through my despair, You loved me to the last. Death had no fears For you, my love; you met him with my name, As talisman of the undying flame That leaps o’er the black chasm of the grave And mounts to heaven. But I will not rave, When you died softly. Ah! you love me there As well as here. God never made me fair For nothing; now, I know the gift he gave That I might take my place with you at last, Equal in loveliness, though years had passed Since you first breathed the air above the skies, The beauty-giving air of paradise. Fair are you now, my love, but not like me: Mine is the goddess-bloom, the rarity Of perfect loveliness; yours, the bright charm Of strong young manhood, whose encircling arm Could bend me like a reed. Oh, for one clasp Of that strong arm!— Hist! was not that the hasp Of the old door below? She comes; I hear Her light step on the stair. Darling, no fear Need trouble you upon your couch; to me A sacred trust this gentle girl shall be Through life. Did you not love her once? The Maiden (entering). The Lady. Thanks. There was no wrong; I liked the vigil. The Maiden (going to the bedside). Sweet those eyes—the brow How calm! I would not bring life to him now E’en if I could; gone to his God—at rest From all earth’s toil. Dear love, upon thy breast I lay my hand; I yield thee back to Him Who gave thee to me; and, if thou hast wrought Wrong to our troth in deed, or word, or thought, I now forgive thee. Sleep in peace; the dim, Dark grave has its awaking. As the hart Longed for the water-brooks, so have I yearned For token, Willie, that thy love returned To me at last. Lo! now I can depart In peace.—My picture, letters! Thou wast true, Wast true to me, thank God!— (Turning.) Madam, to you I owe apology. The Lady. Never! But throw Give me a blessing. The Maiden. But I’ve robbed you—you Who loved him also; though to me was due This love of his; at least— The Lady. Sweet doubter, yes; I grant thee all. But, as I kneel, O bless This heart that bows before thee; all its sin— If it be sin—forgive; and take, within Thy pure love, me, thy sister, who must live Long years—long years! O child, who dost forgive More than thou knowest, lay thy sister-hand In blessing! The Maiden. Though I do not understand, Yet will I thus content thee: Now the Lord Bless thee, and keep thee by his holy word; Be gracious to thee, that thy faith increase; Lift up his countenance, and give thee peace, Now and forever! The Lady. Amen. May it prove— This peace—what thou dost think it. The Maiden. I must go; The horses wait for me. Now that I know He’s safe with God, the living claim my care.— My mother—ah, full selfish was the love That made me leave her so; I could despair Of mine own self, if God were not so good, Long-suffering, and kind. O could I stay! But I must reach the train at break of day. I take my letters and the picture.—Should Your duties call you not so soon, oh wait, See his dear head laid low by careful hand, And say a prayer above the grave. The Lady (aside). O Fate, How doth she innocently torture—rack My soul with hard realities! I stand And hear her talk of graves!—O God, the black, Damp earth over my darling! The Maiden (turning to the bedside). Love, farewell! I kiss thee once.—Lady, you do not mind? It was but once. I would not seem unkind; I would not wound you needlessly. The Lady (aside). O swell, Proud heart, to bursting, but gainsay her not! The Maiden. I know full well that yours the harder lot, Dear lady; but, forgive me, he was mine Long, long before. It were too much to ask That I should not be glad his heart returned To me, his bride betrothed—to know he yearned For me before he died. I cannot mask My joy because you loved him too. The Lady. Nay, thine All joy that thou canst take; I would not rob Thee of one little hair’s-breadth. The Maiden (laying her head on the pillow). Oh, farewell, My love! my love! my love! [Weeps. The Lady. Child, do not sob. Come to me—let me hold you; who can tell, Perhaps he hears you, though so still. We’ll stand And gaze on his calm face. Woman of the House (below). The wagon’s here. The Maiden. Alas! and I must hasten. Kiss me, dear; Indeed, I love you now. The Lady. And I have tried To make you. [They embrace.—Exit Maiden. The Lady (throwing herself down beside the body). Meredith, art satisfied? |
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