[Exeunt Maurice and Roger.
SCENE II.—The Same.
ORAN.
ORAN.
Not love her! O my God! thou knowest me—
Thou, looking through me as the sun at noon
That searches through the being of the world—
Thou setting life against thy glory light,
As men hold up a crystal 'gainst the sun,
Making its frame as nothing in the blaze!
Lo! my heart was like a chaotic world,
Still, silent, 'mid the dreary waste of time.
Man there was not in all its desert bounds,
But hoary ruins of past wondrous things,
Old unbeliefs, fierce doubts, unsightly dreams,
That wearing out their wild hot-breathing life,
Wearily stretch'd their writhing shapes to die;
Then came she moving o'er my awe-hush'd soul,
Like God's own Spirit over earth's void waters,
And there arose order and life through all.
She was my sun, set high to rule the day,
And make my world all bright and beautiful;
She was my moon, amid the stilly night
Subduing darkness with her quiet smiles,
And stealing softly through my anxious dreams,
A sweet-soul'd hostage for departed day;
She was my summer, clothing all my life
With fragrant blossoms of delight and joy.
[A pause.
Not love her! 'Tis as yesterday the time
When first my love stole fainting to her ear,
In deep scarce-worded murmurs of desire.
'Twas evening, and above the weary land
Silence lay dreaming in a golden hush;
The summer's sunset yellow'd in the wheat,
And the ripe year, with harvest promise full,
Slept on the wavy slopes and verdant leas,
Like one who through long hours of toil at last
Sees the glad work accomplish'd, and in peace
Flings him along the meadows to repose;
Below, the bells of even faintly chimed,
And sent their hymnal music up the breeze
To where I stood, half-praying, by her side.
Then all my words and thoughts that came and went,
Waving about the secret of my love,
Like billows plashing on a silent shore,
All at one gush flow'd from me o'er her heart,
And broke the banks of silence; then my love
Sank through her liquid eyes to read her soul,
Like diver that through waving water-floods
Seeketh the priceless pearl that lies below,
And there found life—found joy for evermore:
It is as yesterday that time to me,—
Sweet time, when love entwines the locks of life
With fragrant blossoms, like a one-hour's bride,
And claspeth summer with soft pleading arms,
That she, though ne'er so eager to be gone,
Still tarries smiling for a last embrace,
And drops her hoarded flowers upon the way:
It is as yesterday—my love the same—
The love that led me through all heavy tasks,
All lonely watchings by the midnight lamp,
To win the fame that still might shine on her;
And e'en—how dear the thought!—this wondrous power,
This godlike influence which has dawn'd on me,
Thus from my love takes colouring and aim!
Not love her! Well, well, I'll forget the word—
The sun shines on, though blind eyes see it not.
[A pause.
It cannot be—this aim so deeply—weigh'd,
So long and calmly sifted, cannot fail.
O wondrous power! great mystery of life!
Reserved for me of all the sons of men;
Fruit ripening high upon the wall of heaven
For me to pluck with eager, trembling hands,
And press its vintage out for thirsting worlds
More blessed still that into her sweet cup
First may I pour the clearest of the wine—
For her—for her—ah, yes! for her supreme,
I struggle onward through this blinding light,
E'en at whose dazzling threshold I might stand,
Pale, trembling, like a terror-smitten soul,
Waiting bewilder'd at the gate of heaven.
Yet once again let me the plan review,
Searching within my soul of souls each part,
That doubt or danger, lurking there, may thus
By love's keen-scented instincts hunted be.—