TO SANSON
Then, love, I'll give thee back thy perjured vow;
I would not hold thee with one pleading breath;
It may be best to leave the pathway now,
That can but lead to death.
I'll crush the agonies that burning swell,
And say farewell.
REVENITA.
TO REVENITA
"Farewell?" No, not farewell, I'll worship ever
Thy form divine.
No death's despair, no voice of doom shall sever
My heart from thine.
Thou'st crowned me with they love and bade me wear it,
I kiss the shrine.
I will not give thee up, nay, here I swear it,
That thou art mine.
* * * * * * * * * *
A desecrated holiness is o'er me,
I've held the Thyrsus cup;
I've dared the thunderbolts of Heaven for thee,
I will not give up.
SANSON.
World, farewell!
And thou pale tape light, by whose fast-dying flame I write these words—the last my hand shall pen—farewell! What is't to die? To be shut in a dungeon's walls and starved to death? She knows, and soon will I. She sought to learn of me, and I to teach to her, the mystery of life. Ha, ha! Who claimed her by the church's law has given us both to learn the mystery of death. What was't I loved? The eyes that thrilled me through and through with their magnetic subtlety? They're there, set on my face; but where's their lifened light? What was't I loved? The mouth whose coral redness I have buried in my own? 'Tis there, shrunk 'gainst two rows of dead pale pearls, and cold and colorless as lip of statue carved of marble. Was it the form whose perfect outline stamped it with divinity? It's there, but 'reft of all its winsome roundness, and stiffening in the chill of death. It makes me cold to look upon its rigidness. But just this hour the breath went out; was't that I loved? 'Twas this I clasped and kissed. What is it that we've christened love, that glamours men to madness, and stains with falsehood virgin purity? It made this grewsome charnel vault a part of Heaven—the graves there of those murdered knaves made rests of roses for our heads; it made him spring the bolt and lock us in. Where is the creed's foundation? I've shrived a thousand souls—I cannot now absolve my own. To quench this awful thirst, I cut an artery in my arm and sucked its blood. The thirstness did not cease. They lied. 'Twas not the vultures at Prometeus' heart, 'twas hunger at his vitals gnawed. The salt drops that I swallowed from that vein have set my brain on fire. What's that? The ground's a-tremble 'neath my feet as touched with life. Earth, rend your breast and let me in! For anything but this dire darkness, made alive with vengeful eye-balls—his eyes! They glare with hate at me. I heard him laugh but now. For anything but this most loving corpse whose head caressing rests it on my feet. Ah, no, I did not mean it thus; I would not get away alone. I loved that corpse. It was the sweetest bit of human frailty that to man e'er brought a blessing or a curse. I turned from Dias' holy grail to taste its nectar. Hell, throw a-wide your sulphur-blazoned gates, I'll grasp it in my arms and make the plunge! Hist! what was that? I heard him laugh again. Laugh, fiend, you cannot hurt me more. Ah! Reyenita, mine in life you were, in death you shall be mine. When this clogged blood has stopped the wheels of life, I'll put my arms around your neck, I'll lay my face against your frozen one, and thus I'll die. When this foul place has crumbled to the sunlight, some relic-hunting lunatic will stumble o'er our bones, and pitiless will weave a tale for eyes more pitiless to read. Back, Stygian ghoul! Death's on me now. I feel his rattle in my throat! My limbs are blocks of ice! My heart has tuned it with the muffled dead-march drum! A jar of crashing worlds is in my ears! A drowsy faintness creeps upon——
The seal is broken, the mystery tell;
You have read the letters, what do they tell?
Do they tell you the story they told that day
To me, in the Mission old and gray—
The Mission Carmel at Monterey?
WASTED HOURS.
If that thy hand with heart-will sought,
To work with Christ-love underlying,
But ere thou hadst accomplished aught
Time passed thee by while vainly trying,
The wasted hour, the vain endeavor,
Will wait thee in the far forever.