And because I was a poet, and because the public praised me, With a critical deduction for the modern writer"s fault, I could sit at rich men"s tables,--though the courtesies that raised me, Still suggested clear between us the pale spectrum of the salt.
X.
And they praised me in her presence--"Will your book appear this summer?"
Then returning to each other--"Yes, our plans are for the moors."
Then with whisper dropped behind me--"There he is! the latest comer.
Oh, she only likes his verses! what is over, she endures.
XI.
"Quite low-born, self-educated! somewhat gifted though by nature, And we make a point of asking him,--of being very kind.
You may speak, he does not hear you! and, besides, he writes no satire,-- All these serpents kept by charmers leave the natural sting behind."
XII.
I grew scornfuller, grew colder, as I stood up there among them, Till as frost intense will burn you, the cold scorning scorched my brow; When a sudden silver speaking, gravely cadenced, over-rung them, And a sudden silken stirring touched my inner nature through.
XIII.
I looked upward and beheld her: with a calm and regnant spirit, Slowly round she swept her eyelids, and said clear before them all-- "Have you such superfluous honour, sir, that able to confer it You will come down, Mister Bertram, as my guest to Wycombe Hall?"
XIV.
Here she paused; she had been paler at the first word of her speaking, But, because a silence followed it, blushed somewhat, as for shame: Then, as scorning her own feeling, resumed calmly--"I am seeking More distinction than these gentlemen think worthy of my claim.
XV.
"Ne"ertheless, you see, I seek it--not because I am a woman,"
(Here her smile sprang like a fountain and, so, overflowed her mouth) "But because my woods in Suss.e.x have some purple shades at gloaming Which are worthy of a king in state, or poet in his youth.
XVI.
"I invite you, Mister Bertram, to no scene for worldly speeches-- Sir, I scarce should dare--but only where G.o.d asked the thrushes first: And if _you_ will sing beside them, in the covert of my beeches, I will thank you for the woodlands,--for the human world, at worst."
XVII.
Then she smiled around right childly, then she gazed around right queenly, And I bowed--I could not answer; alternated light and gloom-- While as one who quells the lions, with a steady eye serenely, She, with level fronting eyelids, pa.s.sed out stately from the room.
XVIII.
Oh, the blessed woods of Suss.e.x, I can hear them still around me, With their leafy tide of greenery still rippling up the wind!
Oh, the cursed woods of Suss.e.x! where the hunter"s arrow found me, When a fair face and a tender voice had made me mad and blind!
XIX.
In that ancient hall of Wycombe thronged the numerous guests invited, And the lovely London ladies trod the floors with gliding feet; And their voices low with fashion, not with feeling, softly freighted All the air about the windows with elastic laughters sweet.
XX.
For at eve the open windows flung their light out on the terrace Which the floating orbs of curtains did with gradual shadow sweep, While the swans upon the river, fed at morning by the heiress, Trembled downward through their snowy wings at music in their sleep.
XXI.
And there evermore was music, both of instrument and singing, Till the finches of the shrubberies grew restless in the dark; But the cedars stood up motionless, each in a moonlight"s ringing, And the deer, half in the glimmer, strewed the hollows of the park.
XXII.
And though sometimes she would bind me with her silver-corded speeches To commix my words and laughter with the converse and the jest, Oft I sat apart and, gazing on the river through the beeches, Heard, as pure the swans swam down it, her pure voice o"erfloat the rest.
XXIII.
In the morning, horn of huntsman, hoof of steed and laugh of rider, Spread out cheery from the courtyard till we lost them in the hills, While herself and other ladies, and her suitors left beside her, Went a-wandering up the gardens through the laurels and abeles.
XXIV.
Thus, her foot upon the new-mown gra.s.s, bareheaded, with the flowing Of the virginal white vesture gathered closely to her throat, And the golden ringlets in her neck just quickened by her going, And appearing to breathe sun for air, and doubting if to float,--
XXV.
With a bunch of dewy maple, which her right hand held above her, And which trembled a green shadow in betwixt her and the skies, As she turned her face in going, thus, she drew me on to love her, And to worship the divineness of the smile hid in her eyes.
XXVI.
For her eyes alone smile constantly; her lips have serious sweetness, And her front is calm, the dimple rarely ripples on the cheek; But her deep blue eyes smile constantly, as if they in discreetness Kept the secret of a happy dream she did not care to speak.
XXVII.
Thus she drew me the first morning, out across into the garden, And I walked among her n.o.ble friends and could not keep behind.
Spake she unto all and unto me--"Behold, I am the warden Of the song-birds in these lindens, which are cages to their mind.
XXVIII.
"But within this swarded circle into which the lime-walk brings us, Whence the beeches, rounded greenly, stand away in reverent fear, I will let no music enter, saving what the fountain sings us Which the lilies round the basin may seem pure enough to hear.
XXIX.
"The live air that waves the lilies waves the slender jet of water Like a holy thought sent feebly up from soul of fasting saint: Whereby lies a marble Silence, sleeping (Lough the sculptor wrought her), So asleep she is forgetting to say Hush!--a fancy quaint.
x.x.x.
"Mark how heavy white her eyelids! not a dream between them lingers; And the left hand"s index droppeth from the lips upon the cheek: While the right hand,--with the symbol-rose held slack within the fingers,-- Has fallen backward in the basin--yet this Silence will not speak!
x.x.xI.
"That the essential meaning growing may exceed the special symbol, Is the thought as I conceive it: it applies more high and low.
Our true n.o.blemen will often through right n.o.bleness grow humble, And a.s.sert an inward honour by denying outward show."
x.x.xII.