THE TEST.
She stands with head demurely bent,
A village maiden, young and comely,
And he beside her, talking low
And earnestly, is Lord of Bromleigh.
"Now raise thine eyes, and look at me,
And place thy little hand in mine,
And tell me thou my bride will be,
And I and Bromleigh shall be thine;
In richest silks thou shalt be drest—
Have diamonds flashing on each hand,
And in all splendor shalt outshine
The proudest lady in the land.
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On softest carpets thou shalt tread,
On velvet cushions shalt recline;
Whatever is most rich and rare
That thou mayst wish for shall be thine."
"I do not covet silk attire,
Nor glittering gold, nor flashing gem;
There is no longing in my heart
To change my simple dress for them.
A village maiden I was born—
A Village maiden I was bred—
A happy life for eighteen years
In that low station I have led.
How do I know if I should change
My state for one so high, but then
The world might change, and never be
The thing it is to me again;
But from the field, and from the sky,
The glory and the joy would go;
The greenness from the meadow grass,
The beauty from all flowers that blow;
The sweetness from the breath of spring,
The music from the skylark's song:
Content, and all sweet thoughts that bring
A gladness to me all day long?"
"Thy fears are idle fears," he said;
"Love, loyal heart, and generous mind,
Can happiness in lordly halls
As well as in a cottage find.
For this is of the soul, and bound
To no degrees of wealth or state:
Then put thy little hand in mine
And speak the word that seals my fate!
I love thee, Marian, more than life—
Have loved thee, ah! thou dost not guess
How long, unknown to thee, my soul
Hath shrined in thee its happiness.
More precious than the light of day,
Thy beauty is unto mine eyes;
More sweet than all earth's music else
Thy voice that now to me replies.
Oh! would it speak the words I long
More than all other words to hear,
I were the happiest man this day
That breathes the breath of earthly air."
She raised her head, and in her eyes
A tender look his glances met,
But 'twas not love—though kin to it—
A look of pity and regret.
"It pains me more than I can tell
To speak the words I ought; but yet
They must be said; and for your sake
I would that we had never met
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For if you love me as you say,
I can conceive how great the pain
I give when I declare the troth,
I cannot love you, sir, again.
And I should sin a grievous sin,
Should do a grievous wrong to you,
If I should put my hand in yours
Unless my heart went with it too.
Not joy and pride, but grief and shame,
Go with the bridegroom and the bride
Into the house where they shall dwell,
Unless love enter side by side.
And I, because my heart is given
To one I love beyond my life.
Could find no joy in Bromleigh Hall
Am all unfit for Bromleigh's wife:
But did I love you, then, indeed,
Although my state be poor and mean,
I were as worthy Bromleigh Hall,
As were I daughter of a queen.
For love hath such divinity
That it ennobles every one
That owns its mast'ry, and can make
A beggar worthy of a throne.
This I have learned—love taught me this;
The love that is my breath of life:
That will not leave me till I die,
That will not let me be your wife.
Forbear to urge me more, my lord;
It gives me pain to give such pain;
Here let us part, and for the sake
Of both, to never meet again."
"Stay yet a little, Marian, stay!
My heart was wholly thine before.
Or what thou sayst would make me swear
That now I love thee more and more.
A beauty brighter than a queen's,
A mind with noble thoughts so graced.
Among the highest in the land,
Were best esteemed, and fittest placed.
Yes, there thy rightful station is.
Amongst the noble of the earth:
And 'twere a sin unto a clown
To mate such beauty and such worth.
Thou could'st not live thy truest life;
Thy fullest joy thou could'st not find.
Chained to a poor cot's drudgery.
Wed to a dull, unlettered hind."
Then flushed her face with maiden scorn.
And thrilled her voice with proud disdain;
And proudly looked her eyes at him
Who dared not look at her again.
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"For shame! my lord; for shame! my lord;
You shame your rank to slander so
A man, I doubt if you have seen;
A man I'm sure you do not know.
The man I love is no base churl,
No poor unlettered village hind;
But in my soul he lives and reigns,
The wisest, noblest of mankind.
I grant him poor; I know he works
With head and hands for daily bread;
And nobler so in my esteem
Than if a useless life he led.
'Tis not the accident of birth
Though with the flood the line began,
Nor having lands and countless wealth,
That makes and marks the gentleman.
For these are earthly, of the earth,
And by the vilest oft possessed;
But 'tis the spirit makes the man,
The soul that rules in brain and breast:
The generous heart, the noble mind,
The soul aspiring still to climb
To higher heights, to truer truths,
To faith more heavenly and sublime.
These make the noble of the earth;
And he I love is one of these:—
And shall I for a title fall
From such a soul and love as his?
Believe me, no! Ten thousand times,
A cot with him I'd rather share
Than yonder hall with you, my lord,"
And then she turned and left him there.
Off fell the curls and thick moustache
That hid the true look of his face.
A step—and ere she was aware
She struggled in a strong embrace;
Whilst kisses rained on cheek and lips,
She would have cried for help; but, lo!
The voice was one she knew so well,
Not that which spoke awhile ago.
"Forgive me, oh! my dear, true love,
If I have seemed thy love to test;
I knew 'twas good, and pure, and true,
As ever filled a maiden's breast:
But I had something to reveal,
And so I put on this deceit.
Deceit! not so—for now I'm true,
The past it is that was a cheat;
For I this happy twelvemonth past,
This year that gave thy love to me,
Have lived a life not truly mine,
Have lived it for the sake of thee.
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And though I Harry Nugent am,
The master of the village school,
So am I Harry Nugent Vane,
Lord of a higher rank and rule,
The which I left to win thy love;
And now I know that it is mine,
I take it back, my own true wife.
And Bromleigh Hall is mine and thine.