"'When first my home you deign'd
To seek, what found you?—cheeks no tears had stain'd!
Untroubled hearts, and conscience clear as day:
And lips that loved, where now they fear, to pray:
'Twixt kin and kin, sweet commune undefiled—
The grateful father—the confiding child!
What now that home?—behold! its change may speak
In hair thus silver'd—in this furrow'd cheek!
My child'—(he paused, and in his voice, not eyes,
Tears seek the vent indignant pride denies)
'My child—God pardon me!—I was too proud
To call her "daughter!"—what shall call the crowd?
Man—man, she cowers beneath a Father's eye,
And shuns his blessing—with one wish to die;
And I that death-bed will resign'd endure
If—speak the word—the soul that parts is pure?'
"'Who dares deny it?' I began, but check'd
In the warm burst—cold wisdom hiss'd—'Reflect;
Thy fears had outstripp'd truth—as yet unknown,
The vows, the bond!—are these for thee to own?'
The father mark'd my pause, and changing cheek,
'Go on!—why falter if the truth thou speak?'
"Who dares deny it?"—Thou!—thy lip—thine eye—
Thy heart—thy conscience—these are what deny?
O Heaven, that I were not thy priest!'
"His look
Grew stern and dark—the natural Adam shook
The reverend form an instant;—like a charm
The pious memory stay'd the lifted arm;
And shrunk to self-rebuke the threatening word,
'Man's not my weapons—I thy servant, Lord!'
Moved, I replied—'Could love suffice alone }
In this hard world,—the love to thee made known, }
A bliss to cherish, 'twere a pride to own: }
And if I pause, and if I falter—yet
I hide no shame, I strive with no regret.
Believe mine honour—wait the ripening hour;
Time hides the germ, the season brings the flower.'
Wildly he cried—'What words are these?—but one
Sentence I ask—her sire should call thee son!
Hist, let the heavens but hear us!—in her life
Another lives—if pure she is thy wife!
Now answer!'
I had answer'd, as became
The native manhood and the knightly name;
But shall I own it? the suspicious chill,
The world-wise know, froze up the arrested will.
Whose but her lips, sworn never to betray,
Had fail'd their oath, and dragg'd my name to day?
True, she had left the veil upon the shrine,
But set the snare to make confession mine.
Thus half resentment, half disdain, repell'd
The man's frank justice, and the truth withheld.
Yet, so invoked, I scorn'd at least the lie,
And met the question with this proud reply:—
'If thou dost doubt thy child, depart secure,
My love is sinless, and her soul is pure.
This by mine honour, and to Heaven, I swear!
Dost thou ask more?—then bid thy child declare;
What she proclaims as truth, myself will own;
What she withholds, alike I leave unknown;
What she demands, I am prepared to yield;
Now doubt or spurn me—but my lips are seal'd.'
I ceased, and stood with haughty mien and eye,
That seem'd all further question to defy;
He gazed, as if still spell'd in hope or fear,
And hungering for the word that fail'd the ear.
At last, and half unconscious, in the thrall
Of the cold awe, he groan'd—
'And is this all?
Courage, poor child—there may be justice yet—
Justice, Heaven, justice!'
With this doubtful threat
He turn'd, was gone!—that look of stern despair,
The uncertain footstep tottering down the stair,
The clapping door; and then that void and chill,
Which would be silence, were the conscience still;
That sense of something gone, we would recall;
The soul's dim stun before it feels its fall.
VII.
"Next day, the sire my noble kinsman sought;
One ruling senates must be just, he thought.
What chanced, untold—what follow'd may declare: }
Behold me summon'd to my uncle's chair! }
See his cold eye—I saw my ruin there! }
I saw and shrunk not, for a sullen pride
Embraced alike the kinsman and the bride:
Scorn'd here, the seeming snare by cunning set;
And there, coarse thraldom, with rebellion met.
"Brief was my Lord—
'An old man tells me, sir,
You woo his child, to wed her you demur;
Who knows, perhaps (and such his shrewd surmise),
The noose is knit—you but conceal the ties!
Please to inform me, ere I go to court,
How stands the matter?—sir, my time is short.'