Out of that Past the humble Present makes.And yet, what matter to ourselves the Great?
What the heart touches—that controls our fate! From the full galaxy we turn to one, Dim to all else, but to ourselves the sun; And still, to each, some poor, obscurest life, Breathes all the bliss, or kindles all the strife. Wake up the countless dead!—ask every ghost Whose influence tortured or consoled the most: How each pale spectre of the host would turn From the fresh laurel and the glorious urn, To point where rots beneath a nameless stone, Some heart in which had ebb'd and flow'd its own!
So one by one, Calantha listlessly
Beheld and heeded not the Great pass by.
But now, why sudden that electric start?
She stands—the pale lips soundless, yet apart!
She stands, with claspèd hands and strainèd eye—
A moment's silence—one convulsive cry,
And sinking to the earth, a seeming death
Smites into chill suspense the senses and the breath:
Quick by the unconscious hostess knelt the guest,
Bathed the wan brows, and loosed the stifling vest;
As loosed the vest—like one whose sleep of fear
Is keen with dreams that warn of danger near—
Calantha's hand repell'd the friendly care,
And faintly clasp'd some token hoarded there,
Perchance some witness of the untold grief—
Some sainted relic of a lost belief,
Some mournful talisman, whose touch recalls
The ghost of time in Memory's desolate halls,
And, like the vessels that, of old, enshrined
The soil of lands the exile left behind—
Holds all youth rescues from that native shore
Of hope and passion, life shall tread no more.
Calantha wakes, but not to sense restored,
The mind still trembled on the jarring chord,
And troubled reason flicker'd in the eye,
As gleams and wanes a star in some perturbèd sky.
Yet still, through all the fever of the brain,
Terror, more strong, can Frenzy's self restrain.
Few are her words, and if at times they seem
To touch the dark truths shadow'd on her dream,
She starts, with whitening lip—looks round in fear,
And murmurs, "Nay! my brother did not hear!"
Then smiles, as if the fear were laid at rest,
And clasps the token treasured at her breast,
And whispers, "Lucy, guard my sleep;—they say
That sleep is faithless, and that dreams betray!"
Yet oft the while—to watch without the door,
The brother's step glides noiseless o'er the floor—
There meekly waits, until the welcome ray
Of Lucy's smile gives comfort to the day,
Till Lucy's whisper murmurs, "Be of cheer,"
And Pity dupes Affection's willing ear.
Once, and but once, within the room he crept,
When all was silent, and they deem'd she slept,
Not softer to the infant's cradle steals
The mother's step;—she hears not, yet she feels,
As by strange instinct, the approach;—her frame
Convulsed and shuddering as he nearer came;
Till the wild cry—the waiving hand convey
The frantic prayer, so bitter to obey;
And with stern brow, belying the wrung heart,
And voiceless lips compress'd, he turns him to depart.
VIII.
Much wondering Lucy mused—nor yet could find
Why one so mournful shrunk from one so kind.
Awe that had chill'd the gratitude she felt
For Morvale, now in pity learn'd to melt:
This tender patience in a man so stern,
This love untiring—fear the sole return,
This rough exterior, with this gentle breast,
Awoke a sympathy that would not rest;
The wistful eye, the changing lip, the tone
Whose accents droop'd, or gladden'd, from her own,
Haunted the woman's heart, which ever heaves
Its echo back to every sound that grieves.
Light as the gossamer its tissue spins
O'er freshest dews when summer morn begins,
Will Fancy weave its airy web above
The dews of Pity, in the dawn of Love.—
At length, Calantha's reason wakes;—the strife
Calms back—the soul re-settles to the life.
Freed from her post, flies Lucy to rejoice
The anxious heart, so wistful for her voice;
Not at his wonted watch the brother found,
She seeks his door—no answer to her sound;
She halts in vain, till, eager to begin
The joyous tale, the bright shape glides within.
For the first time beheld, she views the lone
And gloomy rooms the master calls his own;
Not there the luxury elsewhere, which enthralls
With pomp the gazer in the rich man's halls;
