"Of one," he said, continuing, "of these
The young especially should be suspicious;
Seeing no ailment in Hippocrates
Could be at once so tedious and capricious;
No seeming apple of Hesperides
More fatal, deadlier, and more delicious—
Pernicious,—he should say,—for all its seeming...."
It seemed to him he simply was blaspheming.
If she had only turned askance, or uttered
Word in reply, or trifled with her brooch,
Or sighed, or cried, grown petulant, or fluttered,
He might (in metaphor) have "called his coach";
Yet still, while patiently he hemmed and stuttered,
She wore her look of wondering reproach;
(And those who read the "Shakespeare of Romances"
Know of what stuff a girl's "dynamic glance" is.)
"But there was still a cure, the wise insisted,
In Love,—or rather, in Philosophy.
Philosophy—no, Love—at best existed
But as an ill for that to remedy:
There was no knot so intricately twisted,
There was no riddle but at last should be
By Love—he meant Philosophy—resolved...."
The truth is, he was getting quite involved.
O sovran Love! how far thy power surpasses
Aught that is taught of Logic or the Schools!
Here was a man, "far seen" in all the classes,
Strengthened of precept, fortified of rules,
Mute as the least articulate of asses;
Nay, at an age when every passion cools,
Conscious of nothing but a sudden yearning
Stronger by far than any force of learning!
Therefore he changed his tone, flung down his wallet,
Described his lot, how pitiable and poor;
The hut of mud,—the miserable pallet,—
The alms solicited from door to door;
The scanty fare of bitter bread and sallet,—
Could she this shame,—this poverty endure?
I scarcely think he knew what he was doing,
But that last line had quite a touch of wooing.
And so she answered him,—those early Greeks
Took little care to keep concealment preying
At any length upon their damask cheeks,—
She answered him by very simply saying,
She could and would:—and said it as one speaks
Who takes no course without much careful weighing....
Was this, perchance, the answer that he hoped?
It might, or might not be. But they eloped.
Sought the free pine-wood and the larger air,—
The leafy sanctuaries, remote and inner,
Where the great heart of nature, beating bare,
Receives benignantly both saint and sinner;—
Leaving propriety to gasp and stare,
And shake its head, like Burleigh, after dinner,
From pure incompetence to mar or mend them:
They fled and wed;—though, mind, I don't defend them.
I don't defend them. 'Twas a serious act,
No doubt too much determined by the senses;
(Alas! when these affinities attract,
We lose the future in the present tenses!)
Besides, the least establishment's a fact
Involving nice adjustment of expenses;
Moreover, too, reflection should reveal
That not remote contingent—la famille.
Yet these, maybe, were happy in their lot.
Milton has said (and surely Milton knows)
That after all, philosophy is "not,—
Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose;"
And some, no doubt, for Love's sake have forgot
Much that is needful in this world of prose:—
Perchance 'twas so with these. But who shall say?
Time has long since swept them and theirs away.