Harry

by Fanny Wheeler Hart

PART IV.

I know not how long I was lying dead;

I know not what happen'd day after day:

But I know whose breast supported my head;

I know in whose arms I passively lay.

I know whose voice I was hearing again;

With no vivid emotion through me sent,

But only with that sweet absence of pain

The young call repose, and the old, content.

I know of the presence that o'er me shed

Through all that I suffer'd a perfect ease;

I know all this because I am dead—

I suppose the dead can know what they please!

Can I be dead? It is foolish to die,

Earth shining brighter than any bright star.

Death, do you know it is Harry and I?

Heaven is here—must I seek it afar?

Death, seize thy prey from the world-weary track;

Let not the happy by thee be remov'd;

Slowly and softly and sweetly come back,

Life that she loves to a girl that is lov'd!

---

Cut through the waves, happy ship 'neath my feet;

Scatter thy prow with beneficent spray!

Never an admiral leading a fleet

Felt as triumphant as I do to-day!

Ocean around us, and Heaven above;

Hands clasp'd together in innocent bliss;

Heart meeting heart with the fulness of love—

Can there be anything sweeter than this?

Seeking a home on a far-distant shore,

Mid gigantic forests and splendid flow'rs,

Where sorrow cannot bewilder us more,

Or fear reach a solitude perfect as ours.

Crossing blue oceans 'neath heavens as blue,

Seeking new worlds with new winters and springs;

Even the old stars are changing to new,

Lovely confusion of wonderful things!

Almost forgetting to feel a regret—

Almost forgotten the world whence we came—

Only our hearts, Harry, cannot forget;

Only our love will be ever the same!

Talking together through nights and through days;

Talking together through days and through nights;

Facing futurity's fathomless haze;

Piercing its shadows with delicate lights.

Forward our glances immutably cast

(Pillars of salt will not garnish our way!)

Just for the present forgetting the past,

Planning the future in all that we say.

Where neither sorrow nor sin has beguil'd,

Deep in a forest, a home will be made;

Nature contrasting with hand undefil'd

Novel creations of sunlight and shade.

Softness and grandeur enchantingly blent,

Deep in a forest two lives pass away;

Wrapp'd in each other, supremely content,

Lighted by love's irrefrangible ray.

So the ship flew on that contain'd us two,

With ocean around and heaven above;

It seem'd there was nothing for us to do

But to love and live, and to live and love.

So the ship flew on to the sinless shore,

Where a younger world from the deep sea starts;

Where sorrow cannot bewilder us more,

Or fear lay her cold hand over our hearts.

It is just as lovely as what we plann'd,

With its exquisite air of bright repose;

And 'tis Harry himself must till the land,

And 'tis I must sweep and cook, I suppose!

Is it playing at life, this life of ours?

Has childhood come back with its pleasant plays?

Mid gigantic trees and delicious flow'rs

We are passing our happy nights and days.

But the little cloud—O the little cloud—

So little at first it might almost please—

That covers us up like a dead man's shroud,

Growing bigger and bigger by degrees.

Alas! is it only in some bright past

That love can be perfect and bliss secure?

O days of delight that flew by too fast,

Leaving the present too empty and poor!

I had sometimes fancied a pang like this,

From a passing tone, or a look in his face;

But the meeting was such unclouded bliss,

And the days that follow'd it full of grace.

In the sweet content of finding a home,

There was not leisure for joy to grow dim;

But the cloud was there, and ready to come,

And the cloud was the fear of change in him!

Harry is changed—he is graver,—I think

Never I'll see the old Harry again:

There's a look in his face that makes my heart sink,

For it is a look of a hopeless pain.

Sometimes I hardly can keep down my cries—

I could wring my hands—I could tear my hair—

When an expression comes into his eyes,

Which is the expression of a despair.

He never alludes to the dreadful past;

But when his lips tremble and brow is knit,

I cannot bear it, and cry out at last,

'O talk of it, Harry—O talk of it!'

His eyes are full of a helpless regret

(And I almost wish I was lying dead);

Will he not talk of it? not even yet?—

He speaks in a whisper, and shakes his head.

'I cannot—I dare not.' 'You can—you dare—

You must do it, Harry—just for my sake;

For this burthen, which it is not to bear,

Is crushing my heart, and my heart will break.'

He kisses my lips—he presses my hand—

Looking straight in my face without surprise;

But it seems that he cannot understand,

And very wide of the mark he replies—

'I will not shadow that innocent heart

With the lightest cloud that may dim its light.'

'But my life in your life must take its part,

Or I am lost in the darkness of night.

I married you, Harry, for good or ill,

For better or worse, for sickness or health.

O let me the beautiful vow fulfil,

Joyously, utterly—never by stealth!

I am not your wife while you treat me thus,

And life is becoming too hard to bear;

Is there that in the heart of one of us,

That the heart of the other must not share?

'I almost died when you left me, my dear;

Yet you did it quite for my good, you know;

O where should I be if I was not here?

'Neath a little grass hillock lying low!

You would be living, to labour and strive,

And I should be lying quite dead—quite dead!

You would be thinking of me as alive,

While daisies were growing over my head.

And now—for my good—will you crush my life

With a burthen it cannot bear, I know?

O Harry, my darling, I am your wife—

O what have I done that you treat me so?'

He stared in my eyes with a sort of frown,

That more than a smile gave promise of grace;

The mask that he wore fell suddenly down,

A wonderful change came over his face.

He sat at my feet, and his head he laid

Low down on my lap, and he did not move,

But he murmur'd softly, 'I am afraid

I shall make a fool of myself, my love.'

And then he suddenly burst into tears

(I had never seen tears in Harry's eyes),

And he cried, 'If I live a hundred years,

I shall see the wild face of Jack Devize!'

Then I felt the doom that was o'er us laid,

And our lives stood before me pale and gray;

My heart turn'd sick—I was feeling afraid—

As I kept kissing Harry's tears away.

And must his life be so faint and so dim?

And his heart be rack'd by a useless pain?

While I'm always trying to comfort him,

And always trying to comfort in vain?

Ah no, my beloved, it shall not be so,

I will try so hard—I will pray so much;

Comfort will come to you, Harry, I know,

And grief die out 'neath her delicate touch.

We must both be brave and must play our parts;

We must fight the battle with weapons fit;

Time will take sorrow out of our hearts,

But oh, the pity—the pity of it!

There are no more secrets 'twixt you and me;

Our hearts may reveal their thoughts as they pass;

There is a ripple the less on the sea,

And a purer light flits over the grass.

If shadows are dark, and lights are not clear,

It is only the common lot of man;

We must live our actual lives, my dear,

And make the best of those lives that we can.

I used to be certain of perfect bliss,

And find it in every breath I drew;

And now the height of my happiness is

To lessen the sorrow that burthens you!

Thank God that we met when our lives were bright,

And earth was as fair as heaven above,

And stood in the lovely religious light,

And vowed the sweet vows to cherish and love.

O Harry, my dear! if we had not met,

What would you do with your desolate life?

O merciful God, can I ever forget

Your goodness in letting me be his wife?

---

We walk 'neath the weight that we have to bear

(I suppose all people walk under weights);

They say that a road of trouble and care

Is the straightest road to the Heaven-gates.

I hope we shall find the gates open far,

So that close together we both come in;

I shrink from the thoughts of the gates ajar,

When only the one might an entrance win.

I wonder if Heaven is brighter yet,

Than the home that lies o'er a distant main;

I wonder if there we shall quite forget

That we never saw that dear home again!

I must not be tired, or think of my load;

I must try to walk with a step more free;

I have to help Harry along the road,

That is so much harder for him than me.

Living alone in the depths of a wood,

Life catches meanings, and things become clear;

But Harry is growing so very good,

That it almost gives me a sort of fear.

'O little May-blossom!' he softly cries,

As together we tread the well-worn way,

'There is nothing sweeter beneath the skies,

Than a little shining blossom of May!

O lie on my heart, as you ever do,

Till my heart grows lighter under your touch;

O little May-blossom! while I have you

No shaft of misfortune can hurt me much!'

He has work'd all day on the virgin sod;

We have eaten the meal that my hands prepare;

We have said our prayers to the Father-God,

And Harry is placidly sleeping there.

He is sleeping there, while I work away—

My busy needle has plenty to do;

And my thoughts turn idly to yesterday,

And a world where troubles were very few;

To a world that shines in a distance fair,

Like a fairy dream, impossibly sweet,—

Was life what it seem'd when we liv'd out there?

Or was it only a lovely deceit?

Slumber approach'd not my eyes—open'd wide—

My wide-open eyes that so seldom weep!

Harry turn'd in his sleep, and turning sigh'd—

It breaks my heart when he sighs in his sleep.

And while I sat there in the twilight-gloom,

Looking at life with my wide-open eyes,

A ghost slipp'd suddenly into the room,

And that ghost was the ghost of Jack Devize!

A shiver ran o'er me from head to foot—

The crisis had come, and fate wrought her worst—

I tried to speak, but my tongue was quite mute,

And I knew that a ghost could not speak first.

O ought I to wake my Harry, or no?

To question the Thing, and let it depart?

The good God would never frighten me so,

If it was not to ease my Harry's heart.

But while I was doubting in fear and pain,

And praying for light to see my way clear,

The ghost said—'My goodness! it's Mrs. Vane!

How in the world did the woman come here?'

The ghost stalk'd towards me with outstretch'd hand:

I put mine behind me, and back'd away;

My terrified brain could not understand,

And my arid lips had nothing to say.

Yet for Harry's sake no time must be lost:

I must ask the dreadful Thing why it came;

Then I remember'd 'twas he kill'd the ghost,

And I hung down my head and blush'd for shame.

Suddenly turning, my Harry it saw;

Suddenly sprang t'wards the couch where he lay;—

A deadlier terror conquering awe,

Brave as a lion, I stood in its way.

I wav'd both my hands to signal it back:

'You shall not come near him!' I wildly said;

'He never intended to kill you, Jack—

O Jack, I hope you don't mind being dead!'

Strive as we will, fate can calmly defeat—

What is to be, happens—and always will;

Harry awoke, and stood up on his feet,

And my heart leapt madly and then stood still.

I trembled for Harry, all unprepar'd!

I stood between the Alive and the Dead!

The man and the ghost at each other star'd—

And the man got white, and the ghost got red.

The man kept on staring with hungry eyes,

Pointing at it, till I trembled to see;

Then said in a whisper, 'It's Jack Devize!'—

Shook himself wildly and turn'd upon me.

His hand sought his brow in a weak sad way,

A pitiful look came into his face:

'It is a brain-phantom,' I heard him say,

'Which my weary brain engenders in space!'

'No, Harry,' I whisper'd, 'it is not so;

I wish that it was—from my heart I do'—

I held him tight, whispering very low,

'Tis a real ghost, for—I see it too!'

I felt his arm quiver under my clasp;

He started backwards with such a great start;

He flung up his arms, and cried with a gasp,

'Oh speak to me, Jack, whatever thou art!'

The ghost caught his hands with a cheer almost,

And shook them right manfully where it stood,

Shouting 'I'm neither a phantom nor ghost;

I am Jack Devize, and am flesh and blood!'

And so the sorrow was only a dream

(As the sun uprises the dream departs);

And the false false sorrow did only seem,

And the true true joy came into our hearts.

I had so determin'd to be resign'd,

And to school myself to a patient mood,

That I felt a little ill-used to find

There was no occasion for being good.

But oh the joy, like the sweetest surprise,

With a light light heart and nothing to bear!

And oh to be looking in Harry's eyes

And never a fear of what I see there!

And when earth is deck'd in eternal spring,

Singing we go on a flowery way;

And happiness is such a happy thing,

And it seems so natural to be gay.

I think that the dullest will understand

Jack was not drown'd when he fell from the height;

A ship passing by, as if it was plann'd,

Carried him off mid the darkness of night.

He was up to the neck in debts and scrapes;

And when the west wind refreshingly blew,

He thought it the pleasantest of escapes

To sail for new worlds with nothing to do.

Strolling and idling by day and by night,

He liv'd by his wits, with a laugh for fate;

And his wits not being extremely bright,

He accomplish'd nothing remarkably great.

Wandering ev'rywhere, ragged and poor,

With nothing to do and plenty to say,

By the merest chance he enter'd our door

To ask for a meal and a bed by the way.

So the three of us met delighted there,

And set sail together that perfect spring,

When the skies were fine and the winds were fair,

And our hearts were lighter than anything.

From the midst of the sea the white cliffs rise—

The snowy white cliffs of the ocean gem!

And they smile their welcome into our eyes

As Harry and I smile it back on them.

Standing together alone on the deck,

With a hope that almost becomes a fear,

We can watch that wonderful little speck

Grow into places unspeakably dear.

Is it years or days since we sail'd away?

And are we returning the self-same track?

Did we cross the ocean but yesterday?

And is it to-day we are coming back?

Back to the home whence he vanish'd that night,

In through the hall where I talk'd with the men,—

Can it be true that our hearts are so light?

When did we dream? Is it now? Was it then?

And oh! to stand on the well-known road

In the bright uncertain English weather;

And oh! the hearts that are free from a load,

And oh! the hands that are knit together!

And oh! to see Rover leap to his side

With a yell as if he doubted his sight!

I thought the old dog would have really died

In his vehement agony of delight.

And I know the present is not a dream,

For I feel a touch and a well-known kiss;

And they are not phantoms that shine and gleam

From days that are past with a solemn bliss.

From days that are lit by a heaven-ray,

To kindle our hearts and strengthen our faith;

For Harry and I are changed in a way,

Like people whose eyes have looked upon death.[²]

My Harry has won such a patient mood,

And has grown so resolute and so wise;

He is always trying to do some good,

And always succeeding in what he tries.

The trials I trembled that he should bear,

His noble heart has accepted as such;

And I see they were sent with a tender care,

And never intended to be too much.

My heart is too full of its joy, I fear,

When he whispers in fond caressing tone—

'It was not my trials that won me, dear;

It was watching my darling bear her own.

Afar from the hut in the dusky wood,

We sometimes recall with a yearning sigh,

The days of our sorrowful solitude,

When the world was nothing but he and I.

Footnote 1: [(return) ]

See 'Life of Prince Consort,' vol. i.

Footnote 2: [(return) ]

For she had look'd upon a great man's death

And she was changed.

Queen Isabel, by Menella Smedley.

---