Sobrante

“ Again the face is barely more than pale. The deep color has faded away, leaving but a faint, delicate trace, and a pinky tinge which reaches out until it kisses the utmost tip of her perfect little ear. How deep, tender, and wondrous sad those eyes have grown! Down in their dark depths her very soul seems to tremble into sight. It is only one who has suffered who can have such eyes. And, in truth, it is worth almost a lifetime of suffering to look deep down into such eyes of sad beauty. ”

“ Sobe—
You reason too simply. I cannot promise you life. Perhaps your pleasure will be only that of one who greets a phantom lover. A moment of loveliness and the thought of eternal beauty embalmed in a dark dream, may be all that shall be given to you before death.
Fana
And what else is possible?
Sobe
It is possible that you will become so beautiful that you cannot die. It is possible that Death, feeding your{79} beauty, will exhaust itself in a last gentle caress. Then you will still live, and Death, a eunuch, will drag himself after you.
Fana
But why do you speak so eagerly? ”

“ Some of the passing globes were brighter than others; and, it was from one of these, that a face looked, suddenly. A face, human in its outline; but so tortured with woe, that I stared, aghast. I had not thought there was such sorrow, as I saw there. I was conscious of an added sense of pain, on perceiving that the eyes, which glared so wildly, were sightless. A while longer, I saw it; then it had passed on, into the surrounding gloom. After this, I saw others—all wearing that look of hopeless sorrow; and blind. ”

“ When she looked him in the face with such grave, surprised eyes of innocent confidence, and promised to pray for him, he felt a remorseful tenderness as if he had profaned a shrine. All that was passionate, poetic, and romantic in his nature was awakened to blend itself in a strange mingling of despairing sadness and of tender veneration about this sweet image of perfect purity and faith. Never does love strike so deep and immediate a root as in a sorrowful and desolated nature; there it has nothing to dispute the soil, and soon fills it with its interlacing fibres. ”

“ Sorrow bent back a branch and beheld Peace with his heavenly eyes, calm like a deep lake, and his radiant face of blooming youth. Sorrow was so sunk in contemplation that she forgot herself, her existence, and the sufferings she had endured. Her soul was in her eyes and quaffed eagerly [Pg 211] this first refreshment. Then another face came to view. Sorrow at once recognized Work by her bright blue eyes and the waving of her golden locks. ”

“ Sabrina began to fear him exceedingly. Did the poor helpless foundling sometimes conjecture why she was thus adopted, flurried, maintained, and persecuted by her self-appointed guardian? Did her girlish heart yearn in wistful fancy to the dim image of her lost, her unknown parents, with a yearning for something less philosophical and more tender than the training process of Thomas Day? Did it ever occur to her that the peasant’s hovel, where, on the very threshold, the affections blossom, might be more congenial to her than all the beauties and comforts of Stowe Vale? ”

“ And thus it was, when like an omen drear That summoned all her kindred to the grave, The cruel mandate reached Sophronia's ear, Who, brave as bashful, yet discreet as brave, Mused how her people she from death might save; Courage inspired, but virginal alarm Repressed the thought, till maiden shyness gave Place to resolve, or joined to share the harm; Boldness awoke her shame, shame made her boldness charm. Alone amidst the crowd the maid proceeds, Nor seeks to hide her beauty, nor display ”

“ AUNT MARGARET’S MIRROR. “There are times When Fancy plays her gambols, in despite Even of our watchful senses—when in sooth Substance seems shadow, shadow substance seems— When the broad, palpable, and mark’d partition ‘Twixt that which is and is not seems dissolved, As if the mental eye gain’d power to gaze Beyond the limits of the existing world. Such hours of shadowy dreams I better love Than all the gross realities of life.” ”

“ Then she brushed her hair back from her forehead, and smiling strangely she said to him, ‘What men call the shadow of the body is not the shadow of the body, but is the body of the soul. Stand on the sea-shore with thy back to the moon, and cut away from around thy feet thy shadow, which is thy soul’s body, and bid thy soul leave thee, and it will do so.’
The young Fisherman trembled. ”

“ He lived then before me; he lived as much as he had ever lived—a shadow insatiable of splendid appearances, of frightful realities; a shadow darker than the shadow of the night, and draped nobly in the folds of a gorgeous eloquence. The vision seemed to enter the house with me—the stretcher, the phantom-bearers, the wild crowd of obedient worshippers, the gloom of the forests, the glitter of the reach between the murky bends, the beat of the drum, regular and muffled like the beating of a heart—the heart of a conquering darkness. ”

“ SONNET XIV. Ingratitude, how deadly is thy smart
Proceeding from the Form we fondly love!
How light, compared, all other sorrows prove!
Thou shed'st a Night of Woe, from whence depart
The gentle beams of Patience, that the heart
'Mid lesser ills, illume.—Thy Victims rove
Unquiet as the Ghost that haunts the Grove
Where Murder spilt the life-blood.—O! thy dart
Kills more than Life,—e'en all that makes Life dear ”

“ The Heart estranged no anguish can regain.
July 1773.
[Pg 15]
SONNET XIII. Thou child of Night, and Silence, balmy Sleep,
Shed thy soft poppies on my aching brow!
And charm to rest the thoughts of whence, or how
Vanish'd that priz'd Affection, wont to keep
Each grief of mine from rankling into woe.
Then stern Misfortune from her bended bow
Loos'd the dire strings;—and Care, and anxious Dread
From my cheer'd heart, on sullen pinion, fled.
But now, the spell dissolv'd, th' Enchantress gone,
Ceaseless those cruel Fiends infest my day,
And sunny hours but light them to their prey. ”

“ What hath befallen thee?" The other arose forthright and kissing ground cried, "Pardon, O King of the Age, before whom I have sinned." The Sovran asked, "How didst thou know this?" and he answered, "Because none other was with us and news of us goeth not out of doors; so needs must thou have been one of the twain and he who wrote the writ was thyself; for well we know that the kings read not in schools. ”

“ Of the two females, the aunt now required the most soothing, for she was perfectly beside herself with terror. As to the young lady, there was something, even in the specter of her lover, that seemed endearing. There was still the semblance of manly beauty; and though the shadow of a man is but little calculated to satisfy the affections of a love-sick girl, yet, where the substance is not to be had, even that is consoling. ”

“ No vision of the Goddess was vouchsafed her, no Priest comforted her, no wonder of music, no beauties of chancel or cloister drugged her soul or shampooed her senses: drawn by a legend not in itself necessary to salvation she but crawled to some dust-laden tree standing, may be, by a sun-baked highway. Perhaps she found there an image of Shoshti: perhaps not, it mattered nothing: and she tied to one of the branches her little prayer of rags, that was all. ...
Such people should be easy to kill or to make alive. ”

“ Yonder, opposite the bed, the pale goddess in her drapery of a thousand changing colors, and with her withered garland, again appears before me; but this time I hold out my hand to her with a grateful smile.
“Adieu, beloved year! whom I but now unjustly accused. That which I have suffered must not be laid to thee; for thou wast but a tract through which God had marked out my road—a ground where I had reaped the harvest I had sown. I will love thee, thou wayside shelter, for those hours of happiness thou hast seen me enjoy; I will love thee even for the suffering thou hast seen me endure. ”

“ For me the flames ascend; 't is mine, that funeral pyre!" Sophronia raised to him her face,—her eye Was filled with pity and a starting tear: She spoke—the soul of sad humanity Was in her voice, "What frenzy brings thee here, Unhappy innocent! is death so dear, Or am I so ill able to sustain A mortal's wrath, that thou must needs appear? I have a heart, too, that can death disdain, Nor ask for life's last hour companionship in pain." ”

“ I felt that she was a shrine, for was not Seraphina sleeping in her, as safe as a child in its cradle? And presently the beauty, the serenity, the purity, and the splendour of the world would be reflected in her clear eyes, and made over to me by her glance.
There are times when an austere and just Providence, in its march along the inscrutable way, brings our hearts to the test of their own unreason. ”

“ Sobbed as the infant that each mood doth borrow
⁠Sobs for the mother's woe.
Wild grew my voice and stormy with his passion,
⁠Lifted at last unto a tragic might;
Then swift it changed in sad and subtile fashion
⁠To pathos infinite,
Swooning away beneath his faltering fingers
⁠Till the grieved plaint seemed, echoless, to die;
When, calm, he rose, and with a touch that lingers,
⁠Laid me forever by.
Forever! Ah, he comes no more—my lover! ”

“ But the rest of the face was too long; and its pallor, the singularly dark circles round the eyes, the great thinness of the temples and cheeks, together with the emaciation of the whole delicate frame, made a rather painful impression on a stranger. It was a face of experience, a face of grief; timid, yet with many strange capacities and suggestions both of vehemence and pride. It could still tremble into youth and delight. ”

“ I long for warm lips that will kiss my face and eyes and give unto my soul those impassioned tendernesses that I so strangely remember in my dreams,” she cried, as she listened to the moaning of the waves and sighing forest trees of shadowland. ”

“ Weeping softly, the girl stoops until her loose flowing hair falls about his head and neck, and her lips, so rich with the blood of life and youth, touch his, upon which the chill of death is settling. ”

“ I WILL not tell you which I love the best
⁠Of all your sonnets, for in telling this
I should tell more, and all would be confessed,
⁠That I so long have hidden in my breast,
My soul’s sad secret, my heart’s poisoned bliss. ”

“ It was pure darkness, also. All the shameful things of the body revealed themselves to him now with a sort of sinister, tropical beauty. All the shameful, natural and unnatural acts of sensual voluptuousness which he and the woman partook of together, created together, they had their heavy beauty and their delight. Shame, what was it? It was part of extreme delight. It was that part of delight of which man is usually afraid. Why afraid? The secret, shameful things are most terribly beautiful. ”

“ But the restless maid went further, and she came to a large silent lake. Here nothing stirred, only Evening stepped across the waters, wrapped in shade, while round about him red rays darted through the lake, and here and there a star fell into it and remained unmoved on its quiet expanse. Sorrow dipped her hand into the waters and laid it on her brow. Evening came by and whispered, "Good-night; sleep dreamlessly, forget thy woe." ”

“ Then the young man gave way beneath his emotion, and fell all of a heap upon the floor amidst a rush of sobs—loud, endless sobs, which flowed forth in billows, coming as it were not only from himself but from all the wretched, from the whole world in whose veins sorrow coursed mingled with the very blood of life. ”

“ The foreground of the picture is all in shadow, and in the depths of that shadow kneels one prostrate form in an abandon of anxiety or grief. Behind it, unseen, stands a wondrous, pitying, strongly supporting figure with hand outstretched, an aura of light about it, love and understanding emanating from it. ”

“ Brought to bay by the wild appeal, the excited woman realized that she dare not confer with either Alynton, Endicott or Conyers. The still unsoiled woman-heart revolted at the unveiling of all the sorrows of a shadowed life—those secret sorrows which had haunted her in all the gilded scenes of a strange prosperity, her burden carried under the veil of secrecy—her galling chain of secret sorrows. ”

“ This picture of Sorrow as an ancient hag who pursues mankind throughout life is peculiarly Russian and is the theme of very many beautiful ballads. She is described as a lovely beggar woman, with a pale face, low stature, and hare's blood in her veins, and her cheeks of poppy red, and she entices men to drink their sorrow away in the public-houses, and is frequently turned into a moral lesson against over-indulgence. ”

“ I went and leaned upon a gloomy old wall which happened to be near, and, burying my face in my hands, I broke into heart-rending sobs. My sturdy breast heaved convulsively, but tears would not bring the relief I longed for. I could have roared in my anguish, and I had to bite my handkerchief to prevent myself from yielding to the temptation. The weird noise of my stifled sobs attracted the attention of some one who was praying in the little chapel on the other side of the wall which I had chanced to lean against. ”

“ Would forgetting her own hurt mean forgetting the world's pain? She walked swiftly on in half-ecstatic weariness. Just now it seemed that the glory and the grief of life are one.
As she entered the Square she was conscious of colour and of fragrance. The young leaves on the elms and the willows shimmered in the sun. Flower-boys stood at the corners with their baskets. The odour of new grass was in the air. ”