pride of lofty hearts to show,And robing Art's lone outlaw with the air
Of nameless state the lords of Nature wear;—
This kingly mien contrasting this mean form,
This calm exterior with this heart of storm,
Touch'd with vague interest, undefined and strange,
The world's quick pupil whose career was change.
Forth from the crowded streets one summer day, }
Rode the new friends; and cool and silent lay }
Through shadowy lanes the chance-directed way. }
As with slow pace and slacken'd rein they rode,
Men's wonted talk to deeper converse flow'd.
"Think'st thou," said Arden, "that the Care, whose speed
Climbs the tall bark and mounts the flying steed,
And (still to quote old Horace) hovers round
Our fretted roofs, forbears yon village ground?—
Think'st thou that Toil drives trouble from the door;
And does God's sun shine brightest on the Poor?"
"I know not," answer'd Morvale, "but I know
Each state feels envy for the state below;
Kings for their subjects—for the obscure, the great:
The smallest circle guards the happiest state.
Earth's real wealth is in the heart;—in truth,
As life looks brightest in the eyes of youth,
So simple wants—the simple state most far
From that entangled maze in which we are,
Seem unto nations what youth is to man,"—
"'When wild in woods the noble savage ran,'"
Said Arden, smiling. "Well, we disagree;
Even youth itself reflects no charms for me;
And all the shade upon my life bestow'd
Spreads from the myrtle which my boyhood sow'd."
His bright face fell—he sigh'd. "And canst thou guess
Why all once coveted now fails to bless?—
Why all around me palls upon the eye,
And the heart saddens in the summer sky?
It is that youth expended life too soon:
A morn too glowing sets in storm at noon."
"Nay," answer'd Morvale, gently, "hast thou tried
That second youth, to which ev'n follies guide; Which to the wanderer Sense, when tired and spent, Proclaims the fount by which to fix the tent? The heart but rests when sense forbears to roam; We win back freshness when Love smiles on Home;— Home not to thee, O happy one! denied." } } "To me of all," the impatient listener cried, } "Thy words but probe the wounds I vainly hide; } That which I pine for, thou hast pictured now;— The hearth, the home, the altar, and the vow; The tranquil love, unintertwined with shame; The child's sweet kiss;—the Father's holy name; The link to lengthen a time-honour'd line;— These not for me, and yet these should be mine." "If," said the Indian, "counsel could avail, Or pity soothe, a friend invites thy tale."
"Alas!" sigh'd Arden, "nor confession's balm
Can heal, nor wisdom whisper back to calm.
Yet hear the tale—thou wilt esteem me less—
But Grief, the Egoist, yearneth to confess.
I tell of guilt—and guilt all men must own,
Who but avow the loves their youth has known.
Preach as we will, in this wrong world of ours,
Man's fate and woman's are contending powers;
Each strives to dupe the other in the game—
Guilt to the victor—to the vanquish'd shame!"
He paused, and noting how austerely gloom'd
His friend's dark visage, blush'd, and thus resumed.
"Nay, I approve not of the code I find,
Not less the wrong to which the world is kind.
But, to be frank, how oft with praise we scan
Men's actions only when they deal with man;
Lo, gallant Lovelace, free from every art
That stains the honour or defiles the heart—
With men;—but how, if woman the pursuit? What lies degrade him, and what frauds pollute; Yet still to Lovelace either sex is mild, And new Clarissas only sigh—'How wild!'"
"Enough," said Morvale; "I perforce believe:
Strong Adam owns no equal in his Eve;
But worse the bondage in your bland disguise;
Europe destroys—kind Asia only buys!
If dull the Harem, yet its roof protects,
And Power, when sated, still its slave respects.
With you, ev'n pity fades away with love—
No gilded cage gives refuge to the dove;
Worse than the sin the curse it leaves behind:
Here the crush'd heart, or there the poison'd mind—
Your streets a charnel or a market made,
For the lorn hunger, or the loathsome trade.
Pardon—Pass on!"
"Behold, the Preface done,"
Arden resumed, "now opens Chapter One!"
III. LORD ARDEN'S TALE.
"Rear'd in a court, a man while yet a boy,
Hermes said 'Rise,' and Venus sigh'd 'Enjoy;'
My earlier dreams, like tints in rainbows given,
Caught from the Muse, glow'd but in clasping heaven;
The bird-like instinct of a sphere afar
Pined for the air,
