And such is, after all, a maiden’s heart,
Unknown to her, unsearchable to man,
It quotes one thing, while feeling quite another,
Though guileless like a sister to her brother,
Her head and heart are like a sprightly span
Of untrained colts which ever pull apart.
But we must shun continuous digression,
And turn to him, the hero of our tale,
Who made the rather sad discovery,
That Stella ne’ertheless did worship Chivalry,
But not in men of fifty, though all hale,
For he received a “No” to his confession.
Her heart cleaved to a youth in far off land,
A youth of prowess in her country’s cause,
Though not bethrothed, she hoped the day would come,
When that should be, ev’n in her father’s home,
This to Sordino a great sorrow was,
Since he had hoped to win her heart and hand.
He said adieu to these his friends, by chance,
And drew away, he cared but little whither,
Since wounded love has lost its grip on life,
And sees it like a night with horror rife,
Until the victim on some morning blither,
Does damn such meetings as that one in France.
For men at fifty may as truly love,
As boys of fifteen, and a little truer,
And, disappointed, feel the keenest pang,
But yet I have not heard a suitor hang
Himself, because he flatly failed to woo her,
Nor worth the while with rivals, have a row.
For wisdom grows with years, and manly reason
Becomes the load-star of the wanderer,
And man doth cease to be a woman’s slave,
For which she may despise him as a knave;
The “superman” she made, doth ponder her,
And knows, beneath her love is sometimes treason.
XIV
Vienna has a noble shrine; ev’n then
It vied in glory with all Europe’s fanes,
St. Stephen;—thither did he go one day,
To see its beauty, more perchance, to pray,
For he would fain seek solace ’mongst the manes
Of the departed than the crowds of men.
There in the dimness of the lofty nave
He tarried long and mused upon the past,
On visored knights who thither came to find
Forgiveness, and assurance to their mind,
That God did sanction that their lot was cast
With them who fought for the Redeemer’s grave.
Their sacred task he almost envied them,
To have a noble aim and be assured
That heaven its benediction on it smiles,
And loving hearts are with the weary miles,
For such a quest all things might be endured,
And death itself be life’s great diadem.