The Lay of Marie and Vignettes in Verse Part 5

Almost before I heard thee cry Perfidious Osvalde! look and die!

"'Oppose them? No! I did not dare!

I am not as a many are, Ruling themselves: my spirits fly, My force expires before reply.

Instinctively a coward, free In speech, in act, I could not be With any in my life, but thee!

Nor strength, nor power do I possess, Except, indeed, to bear distress!

Except to pour the aching sigh, Which only can my pain relieve; Inhuman ye who ask me why, And pause, to wonder that I grieve: Mine are the wounds which never close, Mine is a deep, untiring care; A horror flying from repose, A weight the sickening soul must bear.

The tears that from these eyelids flow, The sad confusion of my brain, All waking phantoms of its woe, Your anger, and the world's disdain,-- Seek not to sooth me!--they are sent This feeble frame and heart to try!

It is establish'd, be content!

They never leave me till I die!'

"So little here is understood, So little known the great and good, The deep regret that Eustace prov'd, Brought home conviction that he lov'd To many: others thought, her dower, The loss of lords.h.i.+ps, wealth, and power, Full cause for sorrow; and the king Hop'd he might consolation bring, And bind a wavering servant o'er, (Not found too loyal heretofore,) By linking his sole daughter's fate In wedlock with an English mate-- His favourite too! whose own domain Spread over valley, hill, and plain; Whose far-trac'd lineage did evince A birth-right worthy of a prince; Whose feats of arms, whose honour, worth, Were even n.o.bler than his birth; Who, in his own bright self, did bring A presence worthy of a king-- A form to catch and charm the eye, Make proud men gracious, ladies sigh; The boldest, wisest, and the best, Greater than each presuming guest;-- I speak from judgment, not from love,-- In all endowments far above Who tastes this day of festal cheer, And whom his death a.s.sembles here!

"That he is known those look avow, The mantling cheek, the knitting brow: I could not hope it did he live, But now, O! now, ye must forgive!

Most recreant they who dare offend One who has lost her only friend!

De Stafford's widow here appears-- For him, my Eustace, flow these tears!

Ye may not blame me! ye have wives, Who yet may sorrow for your lives!

Who, in the outset of their grief, Upon a father's neck may spring; Or find in innocence relief, And to a cherish'd infant cling; Or thus, like me, forlornly shed Their lonely wailing o'er the dead!

"Can eyes that briny torrents steep, Others in strong subjection keep?

Yes! here are some that mine obey, And, self-indignant at the sway I hold upon them, turn away!

Some, too, who have no cause for shame, Whom even the injur'd cannot blame, Now here, now there, above, below, Their looks of wild avoidance throw!

Nay, gentle cousin, blush not so!

And do not, pray thee, rise to go!

I am bewilder'd with my woe; But hear me fairly to the end, I will not pain thee, nor offend.

O no! I would thy favour win; For, when I die, as next of kin, So 'reft am I of human ties, It is thy place to close my eyes!

"With state and wealth to thee I part, But could not with De Stafford's heart!

Nor could I mute and prudent be When all at once I found 'twas thee, Doom'd ever, in thy own despite, To take my rank, usurp my right!

I told, alas! my father's name, The n.o.ble stock from which I came:-- 'Marie de Brehan, sounds as well, Perhaps,' I cried, 'as Isabel!

And were the elder branch restor'd, (My grandsire was the rightful lord,) I, in my injur'd father's place, Those large domains, that name would grace.'

"I never saw a joy so bright, So full, so fledg'd with sparkling light, As that which on the instant flew To his quick eye, when Eustace knew He had not yielded to a yoke Which prudence blam'd, or reason broke.

'O! trebly blest this hour,' he cried; 'I take not now another bride!

I bow'd to duty and to pride; But, here I pledge my solemn vow, To wealth alone I will not bow!

The only offspring of a race No misalliance did disgrace; Nurtur'd, school'd, fas.h.i.+on'd by their laws, Not wis.h.i.+ng an exceptive clause, Till thee, my only choice, I met; And then, with useless, deep regret, I found in birth, and that alone, Thou wert unworthy of a throne!

My ancestors appear'd too nice; Their grandeur bore too high a price, If, with it, on the altar laid, Freedom and happiness were paid!

Yet, could I give my father pain, Or treat those lessons with disdain, I heard a child upon his knee; And, at the present, knew to be Entwin'd with every vital part?

To scorn them were to break his heart!

My mother too, though meek and kind, Possessing such a stately mind, That once perceiving what was fit, If 'twere to die, must still submit; Knowing no question in the right, Would not have borne me in her sight; Though quick her sands of life would run, Deserting, angry with her son!

Yet n.o.ble both, by honour bound, To take no other vantage ground, They will not use a meaner plea, Nor sordid reasons urge to me!

Good and high-minded, they will yield: I shall be victor in that field; And for my sovereign, we shall find Some inlet to his eager mind; At once not rashly all disclose, His plans or bidding to oppose,-- That his quick temper would not brook; But I will watch a gracious look, And foster an auspicious hour, To try both love and reason's power.

Zealous I cannot fail to be, Thou canst not guess to what degree, Dear Marie, when I plead for thee!'

"That the result was plain, I knew, For I had often heard him sue, And never known a boon denied.

In secret I became his bride: But heaven the union disapprov'd-- The father he so truly lov'd, Before this first offence was told, Though neither sick, infirm, or old, Without a moment's warning, died!

"This seal'd his silence for awhile; For, till he saw his mother smile, Till time the cloud of woe should chace From her pale, venerable face, He felt the tale he dar'd not break,-- He could not on the subject speak!

And oh! the gentle mourn so long, The faint lament outlasts the strong!

"Her waning health was fair pretence To keep his voyage in suspence; But still the king, averse or mute, Heard coldly his dejected suit, To give the lingering treaty o'er; And once exclaim'd, 'Persuade no more!

This measure 'tis resolv'd to try!

We must that veering subject buy; Else, let the enemy advance, De Brehan surely sides with France!'"

The harp again was silent; still No fiat of the general will Bade her to cease or to proceed: Oft an inquiring eye, indeed, The strangers rais'd; but instant check'd, Lest the new va.s.sals should suspect They thought the monarch's reasons just, And faith so varying brought mistrust.

De Brehan, with a bitter smile, Eyes closing, lips compress'd the while, Although Remorse, with keenest dart, And disappointment wrung his heart; Although he long'd to thunder--"Cease!"

Restrain'd his fury, kept his peace.

The Lay of Marie.

CANTO FOURTH.

Marie, as if upon the brink Of some abyss, had paus'd to think; And seem'd from her sad task to shrink.

One hand was on her forehead prest, The other clasping tight her vest; As if she fear'd the throbbing heart Would let its very life depart.

Yet, in that sad, bewilder'd mien, Traces of glory still were seen; Traces of greatness from above, Of n.o.ble scorn, devoted love; Of pity such as angels feel, Of clinging faith and martyr'd zeal!

Can one, who by experience knows So much of trial and of woes, Late p.r.o.ne to kindle and to melt, To feel whatever could be felt, To suffer, and without complaint, All anxious hopes, depressing fears; Her heart with untold sorrows faint, Eyes heavy with unshedden tears, Through every keen affliction past, Can that high spirit sink at last?

Or shall it yet victorious rise, Beneath the most inclement skies, See all it loves to ruin hurl'd, Smile on the gay, the careless world; And, finely temper'd, turn aside Its sorrow and despair to hide?

Or burst at once the useless chain, To seem and be itself again?

Will Memory evermore controul, And Thought still lord it o'er her soul?

Queen of all wonders and delight, Say, canst not thou possess her quite, Sweet Poesy! and balm distil For every ache, and every ill?

Like as in infancy, thy art Could lull to rest that throbbing heart!

Could say to each emotion, Cease!

And render it a realm of peace, Where beckoning Hope led on Surprize To see thy magic forms arise!

Oh! come! all awful and sublime, Arm'd close in stately, nervous rhyme, With wheeling chariot, towering crest And Amazonian splendors drest!

Or a fair nymph, with airy grace, And playful dimples in thy face, Light let the spiral ringlets flow, And chaplet wreath along thy brow-- Thou art her sovereign! Hear her now Again renew her early vow!

The fondest votary in thy train, If all past service be not vain, Might surely be receiv'd again!

Behold those hands in anguish wrung One instant!--and but that alone!

When, waving grief, again she sang, Though in a low, imploring tone.

"Awake, my lyre! thy echoes bring!

Now, while yon phoenix spreads her wing!

From her ashes, when she dies, Another brighter self shall rise!

'Tis Hope! the charmer! fickle, wild; But I lov'd her from a child; And, could we catch the distant strain, Sure to be sweet, though false and vain, Most dear and welcome would it be!-- Thy silence says 'tis not for me!

"With Pity's softer-flowing strain, Awake thy sleeping wires again!

For she must somewhere wander near, In following danger, death, and fear!

From her regard no shade conceals; Her ear e'en sorrow's whisper steals: She leads us on all griefs to find; To raise the fall'n, their wounds to bind-- Oh! not in that reproachful tone, Advise me first to heal my own!

"Alas! I cannot blame the lyre!