author:Metta Victoria Fuller Victor

“ And list to the night-wind's whispered moan,
That is not as sad as my spirit's tone,
⁠Nor any thing else can be;
For in this starless, moonless night,
With not a ray save the spirit's light,
I am musing o'er leaves, some sad, some bright,
⁠In the book of memory.
A thousand dim forms around me glide,
And circle me in on every side,
And their presence urges the burning tide
⁠Of thought upon my soul.
A fever is scorching heart and brain,
And burning in every throbbing vein,
And sudden thrills of a wild, fierce pain
⁠Are mocking all control. ”

“ Were pressed upon my brow;
I loved you—but oh! agony!
I dare not love you now!
Why did they come, those dearest ones.
And whisper in my ear
The words of fearful meaning,
That I shuddered but to hear?
They told me of such hateful things
In all thy bygone life:—
They said no woman pure and good
Should ever be thy wife!
And o'er my girlish innocence
Distrustful shadows flung,
And o'er love's, sunny radiance
A cloud of sorrow hung!
Oh! bitter, bitter knowledge,
At my bosom entered in!
I can not love thee, Clarence Vane,
Thy soul is stained with sin! ”

“ I thought 'twas night—O such a night!
⁠A night so strangely fair,
When the stars smile down so angel-like,
⁠And through the lucid air
The moonbeams poured in a shining cloud
⁠Like a mass of golden hair!
The shadows of the summer trees
⁠Made columns dark and long
Across the brightly sparkling turf,
⁠And their leaves kept up a song—
A song they'd learned of the dreamy brook
⁠That sung as it flowed along.
Oft have I heard that tune at night,
⁠As it came from the waving wood,
When the breeze was reveling 'mong the boughs,
⁠And stirring the solitude ”

“ With visions of the future, which were blent
⁠Of hope and trust, the trust of our first years,
Which ne'er returns when once it hath been lent
⁠To a false faith, to be dissolved in tears.
That glowing dream is not yet wholly fled,
⁠But its fair hues have taken a deeper dye;
As the pale light the twilight stars have shed,
⁠Is deepened to full radiance in the sky.
The heart still sadly longeth, and in vain;
⁠For earth is insufficient to its love,
And many a wild and startling thrill of pain,
⁠Its too keen sensitiveness still doth prove. ”

“ From the gay, bright-plumed choir, or by the quick,
Low, musical chattering of the small,
And many habitants of the old wood—
To find a flower, that half-concealed by leaves,
Had bloomed unseen (so many flowers of life
Are passed unheeded by, and careless feet
Trample them in the dust) ; all these have tongues,
That murmur in soft discourse to the heart.
The very shadows on the dusty way,
Changeful and restless, mock the swinging boughs
That suit their motion to the fitful breeze,
And whisper music to the dream-bound soul. ”

“ Oh! wild, proud Clarence Vane!
You'll taunt me with this faithlessness,
Unknowing of this pain!
And we must meet in bitterness,
Who in full faith did part!
Why should I heed reproach or scorn
Breathed by thy lips of art?
And yet I knew that thy strong soul
Gives purest love to me—
Can I not tell a star in heaven
From a star in the sea?
I feel that did an angel sit
And smile upon my brow.
No holier your tenderness
Could be to me than now;
But still I cast that love away—
I banish my sweet trust—
I can not soil my soul's white wings
By stooping them to dust! ”

“ If thou hast seen me, Azlea, in thy dreams,
Waking and sleeping, 'twas because my soul
Was in thy keeping. It will follow thee;
'Tis linked with thine existence, and will go
Whither thou goest. When thou art by the sea,
Mark how the tides obey their heavenly queen;
Beautiful mystery! Thus, by some influence
Which you may never learn to understand,
My spirit follows thine. If in visions
My look is stern, or even dark and fierce,
Think of the fires that make life agony,
And marvel if thou canst, that they should shine
Through my distorted features. ”

“ Azlea, I say it—and would be believed!
⁠Azlea. Alvernon, I have never until now
Listened to words of passion; never felt
Aught of a love other than children feel
For parents best and fondest—so that now
Thy words sound through my spirit; but my heart
Is hoarded up from passion. Did I feel
That in my inmost soul which you describe,
I would not let it live!
⁠Alver. Azlea, I have thought thee, and thou art,
The tender girl of nature, full of love ”

“ If the world is void of truth and honor,
It is because they all are taught to doubt
Each other's love and faith; and doubting thus,
Grow proud and self-dependent; and the cloak
Of love and virtue is too often worn
To hide the soul's corruption. Were there more
Of love and gentleness, there would be less
Of all the evil passions. Azlea,
Reject such evil counsel; let thy soul,
Pure as it is, and beautiful, shine forth,
Unhidden by distrust; for purity
Is mightier to banish evil thoughts,
From hearts howe'er degraded, than stern coldness.
Say not again thou wilt not list to love ”

“ Till his sorrow seemed to give her strength, and she looked up, essaying
⁠Such a faint, slow, sad, and flickering smile, more touching than mere pain,
That her father's heart was broken yet once more, and without staying,
⁠All the fountains of his tears run o'er in hot and sudden rain.
Yet he wept not long—'twas not his mood—his was a different mould;
⁠And this the only spell by which his soul could e'er be shaken;
For to all besides his daughter was his bearing proud and cold,
⁠And men knew no other theme his softness could awaken. ”

“ That leaves the heart the lighter for the shedding;
But drops of anguish, from a fountain full
Of bitter waters—troubled, too, and deep.
Till the moon rose to the horizon's brim
And looking o'er the earth with a calm smile,
Went on her peaceful way among the stars,
I sat with brow bared to the balmy breath
Of the soft breeze of evening, as it came
Whispering around me with a lulling song,
Kissing most tenderly my fevered brow,
Wooing the agony from my wild pulse,
And striving by its blandishments to steal
My soul away into forgetfulness. ”

“ For 'mid the false of earth, a very few
⁠Still keep their trust holy, and high, and pure."
"There may be yet a few, and may it be
⁠Thy blessed fate to meet them in thy life;
But I reck not for any, for to me
⁠All life is weariness—all passion strife.
Yet place thy hand upon my heart and feel
⁠How wildly rushes life's impatient tide;
But let it chafe! it has no power to steal
⁠The strength away of a yet mightier pride. ”

“ And gird your spirit up for slight and wound,
⁠Lest, like the sleeper's, your soul sink in gloom.
A broken heart! ah, 'tis a bitter thing
⁠To know the gentle in the world must die;
That man must steel his heart by force to wring
⁠From his unfeeling fellow equity,
Or perish, name and fame, in calumny.
Each blessing has its bane, and thy complaining
⁠Is that thy gifts are not unmixed with pain;
So finely strung thy heart-chords, some are straining,
⁠And if they be but touched will snap in twain. ”

“ Thy young, sweet lip robbed of its loving breath,
Thy fairy form in a dishonored grave!
"And thou, proud, broken-hearted Isidore!
Thy wild reproach, thy scorn, and thy strange curse—
Away! away! this suffering is more
Than thy wild prayer invoked for me, far worse
Than any nature less than mine could brook,
Or even dream of in its maddest power!
Away! with that dark, scornful, fearful look,
And leave me to the anguish of this hour !
"Ye haunting spirits of the past, away!
Eyes once so soft now burn my very soul! ”

“ Else how didst thou learn to be stern to love?
⁠Azlea. Thou art right in guessing it is not
The natural promptings of my untaught heart
To harden my soul's softness; and I fear
I am not cautious to propriety;
And knowing nothing of life's varied ways,
I would avoid all evil.
⁠Alver.⁠Surely thou
Hast had a gloomy teacher for thy youth;
And wouldst thou live forever without love,
Fearing thou shouldst do wrong in being trustful?
Nay, Azlea, for once thou hast been wrong.
⁠Azlea. 'Tis true I may be wrong in fostering doubt ”

“ Of the marriage of Duke Louis, with his daughter's story blended,
⁠And he waited for her answer in unwonted trepidation;
For his heart could not but quail to think the answer that might follow,
⁠And his father's love could not but hope she would accept his offer—
For who that longs with all his soul believes his hopes are hollow?
⁠Or who that thought to be refused, his daughter's hand would proffer?
Listen, Crozat! for she speaketh, and her voice is the completeness
⁠Of all softness and smooth accent, all delightful modulation ”

“ Thou canst not measure with thine utmost thought
The depth of my wild passion.
⁠Azlea.⁠This is why I fear thee:
My different spirit shrinks away with dread,
⁠And shuddereth to see
The fierce, wild passions by seclusion fed,
⁠And nourished in the gloom
Of the deep cloister, and the dim recess
⁠Of monastery and tomb,
Till this mad phrensy is called love's excess!
⁠Her. No more, no more! True, in my burning brain
Are thoughts of phrensied wildness; but say not
They are the offspring of dark phantasy,
Nurtured in silence and dim solitude. ”

“ And one—a student with a pale, clear face,
⁠Through which the soul within shone like a light,
And on whose brow yet lingered many a trace
⁠Of passionate struggle with the spoiler's might—
Had faltered in the race, and sunk and died
⁠Unblest in his dim garret by a prayer;
Not even a friend to stand his bed beside,
⁠And wipe his brow, or straighten his dank hair;
Frail, delicate girls, upon whose cheeks of snow
⁠The bright red hectic of consumption burned
In strange delusive beauty, while the flow
⁠Of life grew fainter as each day returned ”

“ And I might look on you from my retreat.
⁠Azlea. Hermon, O why pursue me?
Is not my life poisoned with thoughts of thee?
Do you not, now you view me,
The work of weariness and sorrow see?
⁠Her. Thou thinkest of me, Azlea, but thy thoughts
Are cold and shrinking—not of tenderness.
Why mock me with the mention of such thoughts?
Vainly and long I've striven, until I
Can strive no longer; and my only hope
Is in thy pitying gentleness. Then
Think of me as of earth's other children ”

“ His beloved—his own heart's idol—she whose soul, so true and tender,
⁠Long ago to him was given—they would sell her hand for gold!
Oh! he cursed the wretched barter! and swore wildly to defend her
⁠With his good sword at the altar—but he would not see her sold!
Thus he raved, upbraiding Heaven—and his ancestors upbraiding,
⁠That the scion of their princely house was heir of wealth so mean;
That he—a duke, too—must endure a grievance so degrading
⁠As that an equal should intrude he and his love between. ”

“ This suffering racking me must be the worst
Of mental pain that man can live and bear!
Another pang would kill me; and to die,
And let her know the depth of my despair—
Better live on in endless agony!
"False! false! O God of heaven! is this so?
And has another kissed that brow so bright,
And held those tiny hands of moulded snow,
And drank from those soft eyes their dewy light!
Peace, tortured soul! why did I dream of her
For years and years before I saw her face?
Why did my fiery soul its proud depths stir
To give to her alone its hallowed place? ”

“ Oh, starry dream of love? all gone! all gone!
A dumb, cold, aching hollow is your grave—
No beautiful emotion there doth dwell!
The holiest, highest love that man e'er gave
I lost when I lost thee, oh, false Adel!
"But shall I mourn thee or thy treachery?
Am I a woman to bewail my fate?
Shall I sigh over this great misery,
And of my sorrow piteously prate?
No! every tone shall freeze like dropping ice,
And she shall shrink from my cold, steady eye,
And dainty scorn ray chosen words shall spice,
While mockery upon my lip doth lie!" ”

“ Where fancy's restless golden wings are glittering unfurled—
Where love sits like a household form, a dear, familiar thing,
And countless fairy visions float forever on the wing;
And here amid the whispered strains of spirit-minstrelsy,
I listen with my dreaming soul for one wild note from thee.
I have not seen thee, Edith May—they call thy youthful face
The lovely index of the soul, its poetry and grace;
And blest I deem that thou must be, so gifted, young, and fair,
Yet these alone fill not the heart if love be wanting there ”