The Mistress of the Manse Part 5

But needlessly the mandate fell of silence on the crowd, For when the Empress swept the path, ten thousand heads were bowed, And drum and vina ceased their din, and no one spoke aloud.

As comes the moon from out the sea with her attendant breeze, As sweeps the morning up the hills and blossoms in the trees, So Nourmahal to Selim came: then fell upon her knees!

The envious jewels looked at her with chill, barbaric stare, The cloth-of-gold she knelt upon grew l.u.s.terless and bare, And all the place was cooler in the darkness of her hair.

And while she knelt in queenly pride and beauty strange and wild, And held her breast with both her palms and looked on him and smiled, She seemed no more of common earth, but Casyapa's child.

He bent to her as thus she smiled; he kissed her lifted cheek; "Oh Nourmahal," he murmured low, "more dear than I can speak, I'm weary of my lonely life: give me the rest I seek."

She rose and paced the silken floor, as if in mad caprice, Then paused, and from the Empress changed to improvisatrice, And wove this song--a golden chain--that led him into peace:

Lovely children of the light, Draped in radiant locks and pinions,-- Red and purple, blue and white-- In their beautiful dominions, On the earth and in the spheres, Dwell the little glendoveers.

And the red can know no change, And the blue are blue forever, And the yellow wings may range Toward the white or purple never.

But they mingle free from strife, For their color is their life.

When their color dies, they die,-- Blent with earth or ether slowly-- Leaving where their spirits lie, Not a stain, so pure and holy Is the essence and the thought Which their fading brings to naught!

Each contented with the hue Which indues his wings of beauty, Red or yellow, white or blue, Sings the measure of his duty Through the summer clouds in peace, And delights that never cease.

Not with envy love they more Locks and pinions purple-tinted, Nor with jealousy adore Those whose pleasures are unstinted, And whose purple hair and wings Give them place with queens and kings.

When a purple glendoveer Flits along the mute expanses, They surround him, far and near, With their glancing wings and dances, And do honor to the hue Loved by all and worn by few.

In the days long gone, alas!

Two upon a cloud, low-seated, Saw their pinions in the gla.s.s Of a silver lake repeated.

One was blue and one was red, And the lovely pair were wed.

"Purple wings are very fine,"

Spoke the voice of Ruby, gently: "Ay" said Sapphire, "they're divine!"-- Looking at his blue intently.

"But we're blest," said Ruby, then, "And we'll not complain like men."

Sapphire stretched his loving arms, And she nestled on his bosom, While his heart inhaled her charms As the sense inhales a blossom;-- Drank her wholly, tint and tone, Blent her being with his own.

Rapture pa.s.sed, they raised their eyes, But were startled into clamor Of a marvellous surprise!

Was it color! was it glamour!

Purple-tinted, sweet and warm, Was each wing and folded form!

Who had wrought it--how it came-- These were what the twain disputed.

How were mingled smoke and flame Into royal hue trans.m.u.ted?

Each was right, the other wrong: But their quarrel was not long,

For the moment that their speech Differed o'er their little story, Swiftly faded off from each Every trace of purple glory, Blue was bluer than before, And the red was red once more.

Then they knew that both were wrong, And in sympathy of sorrow Learned that each was only strong In the power to lend and borrow,-- That the purple never grew But by grace of red to blue.

So, embracing in content, Hearts and wings again united, Red and blue in purple blent, And their holy troth replighted, Both, as happy as the day, Kissed, and rose, and flew away!

And for twice a thousand years, Floating through the radiant ether, Lived the happy glendoveers, Of the other, jealous neither,-- Sapphire naught without the red, Ruby still by blue bested.

But when weary of their life, They came down to earth at even-- Purple husband, purple wife-- From the upper deeps of heaven, And reclined upon the gra.s.s, That their little lives might pa.s.s.

Wing to wing and arms enwreathed, Sank they from their life's long dreaming;-- Into earth their souls they breathed; But when morning's light was streaming, All their joys and sweet regrets Bloomed in banks of violets!

As from its dimpled fountain, at its own capricious will, Each step a note of music, and each fall and flash a thrill, The rill goes singing to the meadow levels and is still,

So fell from Nourmahal her song upon the captive sense; It dashed in spray against the throne, it tinkled through the tents, And died at last among the flowery banks of recompense;

For when great Selim marked her fire, and read her riddle well, And watched her from the flus.h.i.+ng to the fading of the spell, He sprang forgetful, from his seat, and caught her as she fell.

He raised her in his tender arms; he bore her to his throne: "No more, oh! Nourmahal, my wife, no more I sit alone; And the future for the dreary past shall royally atone!"

He called to him the princes and the n.o.bles of the land, Then took the signet-ring from his, and placed it on her hand, And bade them honor as his own, fair Nourmahal's command.

And on the minted silver that his largess scattered wide, And on the gold of commerce, till the mighty Selim died, Her name and his in s.h.i.+ning boss stood equal, side by side.

XXII.

The opening of the wondrous tome Was like the opening of a door Into a vast and pictured dome, Crowded, from vaulted roof to floor, With secrets of her life and home.

To be like Philip was to be Another Philip--only less!

To win his wit in full degree Would bear to him but nothingness, From one no wiser grown than he!

If blue and red in Hindostan Were blue and red at home, she knew That she--a woman, he--a man, Could never wear the royal hue Till blue and red together ran

In complement of each to each; She might not tint his life at all By learning wisdom he could teach; So what she gave, though poor and small, Should be of that beyond his reach.

Where Philip fed, she would not feed; Where Philip walked, she would not go; The books he read she would not read, But live her separate life, and, so, Have sole supplies to meet his need.

He held his mission and his range; His way and work were all his own; And she would give him in exchange What she could win and she alone, Of life and learning, fresh and strange.

XXIII.

While thus she sat in musing mood, Determining her life's emprise, The sunlight flushed the distant wood, Then, coming closer, filled her eyes, And glorified her solitude.

The clouds were s.h.i.+vered by the lance Sped downward by the morning sun, And from her heart, in swift advance, The shadows vanished, one by one, Till more than sunlight filled the manse.

She closed the volume with a gust That sprent the light with powdered gold; Then placed it high to hide and rust Where, curious and over-bold She found it, lying in its dust.

Her soul was light, her path was plain; One shadow only drooped above,-- The shadow of a heart and brain So charged with overwhelming love That it oppressed and gave her pain.

The modest comb that kept her hair; To Philip was a golden crown; And every ringlet was a snare, And every hat, and every gown And slipper, something more than fair.