And with a warmer clasp his host's wan hand he took:"Joy to thee, friend, thy race is not yet o'er,
Thy fortunes still thy genius shall restore:
Thy house from ruin reascends, to stand
Firm as of old, a column of the land.—
Joy, Seaton, joy!"—"O mock me not—Explain!
The bark once sunk beneath the obdurate main,
No tide throws up!"—"New galleons Fortune gives.
Fortune ne'er dies for him whose honour lives."—
"Is fortune not the usurer?—Kind while yet
The hand that borrows may repay the debt;
When all is lavish'd, she hath nought to lend!"
"But can she give not? Hast thou call'd me Friend?"
He paused, and glanced on Constance—while his breast
Heaved with the tumult which the lip represt.
Till she, but looking on her father's face,
In his joy joyous—sprang from his embrace,
Before the Benefactor paused, and bow'd;
Falter'd a blessing, knelt, and wept aloud:
"Not there, not there, O Constance," Ruthven cried,
"Here be thy place—for ever side by side!
Thanks—and to me!—Ah no! the boon be thine,
Thy heart the generous, and the grateful mine.
Oh pardon—if my soul its suit delay'd
Till the world's dross the worldly equal made;
And left to thee to grant and me receive
Man's earliest treasures—Paradise and Eve!
Beloved one, speak! Not mine the silver tongue,
And toil leaves manhood nought that lures the young;
But in these looks is truth—these accents, love:
And in thy faith all that survive above
The graves of Time, as in Elysium meet!—
Hope flies to thee as to its last retreat."
Speechless she heard—till, as he paused, the voice
Of the fond Sire usurp'd and doom'd the choice:
"May she repay thee!" In his own he drew
Her hand and Ruthven's, smiled and join'd the two—
"Ah! could I make thee happy,"—thus she said
And ceased:—her sentence in his eyes she read—
Eyes that the rashness of delight reveal:
Love gave the kiss, and Fate received the seal.
PART THE THIRD.
I.
Between two moments in the life of man
An airy bridge divided worlds may span;
Fine as the hair which sways beneath a soul
By Azrael summon'd to the spectre goal,
It springs abrupt from that sharp point in time
Where, soft behind us in its orient clime,
Lies the lost garden-land of young Romance:
Beyond, with cloud upon the cold expanse,
Looms rugged Duty;—and betwixt them swell
Abysmal deeps, in which to fall were hell.
O thou, who tread'st along that trembling line,
The stedfast step, the onward gaze be thine!
Dread Memory most!—the light thou leav'st would blind,
Thy foot betrays thee if thou look behind!
If Constance yet escaped not from the past,
At least she strove:—the chain may break at last.
Veil'd by the smile, Grief can so safely grieve:
Love that confides, a smile can so deceive:
And Ruthven kneeling at the altar's base
Guess'd not the idol which profaned the place;
But smiles forsake when secret hours bestow
The angry self-confessional of woe;
When trembling thought and stern-eyed conscience meet,
And truth rebukes ev'n duty for deceit.
Ah! what a world were this if all were known,
And smiles on others track'd to tears alone!
Oft, had he seem'd less lofty to her eye,
Her soul had spoken and confess'd its lie:
But sometimes natures least obscured by clay
Shine through an awe that scares the meek away;
And, near as life may seem to life—alas!
Each hath closed portals, nought but love can pass.
Thus the resolve, in absence nursed, forsook
Her lip, and died, abash'd, before his look;
His foes his virtues—honour seem'd austere,
And all most reverenced most provoked the fear.
II.
Pass by some weeks: to London Seaton went,
His genius glorying in its wonted vent;
New props are built, and new foundations laid,
And once more rose thy crowded temple—Trade!
Then back the sire and daughter bent their way,
There, where the troth was pledged, let Hymen claim the day!
