I loved you for the way you sighed; The way you said, "I love but you;"

The smile with which your lips replied; Your lips, that from my bosom drew The soul; your looks, like undenied Caresses, that seemed naught but true: I loved you for the violet scent That clung about you as a flower; Your moods, where shine and shadow blent, An April-tide of sun and shower; You were my creed, my testament, Wherein I read of G.o.d's high power.

Was it because the loving see Only what they desire shall be There in the well-beloved's soul, Affection and affinity, That I beheld in you the whole Of my love's image? and believed You loved as I did? nor perceived 'T was but a mask, a mockery!

Ah, Geraldine, lost Geraldine, That night of love, when first we met, You have forgotten, Geraldine-- I never dreamed you would forget.

The Moated Manse

I.

And now once more we stood within the walls Of her old manor near the riverside; Dead leaves lay rotting in its empty halls, And here and there the ivy could not hide The year-old scars, made by the Royalists' b.a.l.l.s, Around the doorway, where so many died In that last effort to defend the stair, When Rupert, like a demon, entered there.

II.

The basest Cavalier who yet wore spurs Or drew a sword, I count him; with his grave Eyes 'neath his plumed hat like a wolf's whom curs Rouse, to their harm, within a forest cave; And hair like harvest; and a voice like verse For smoothness. Ay, a handsome man and brave!-- Brave?--who would question it! although 't is true He warred with one weak woman and her few.

III.

Lady Isolda of the Moated Manse, Whom here, that very noon, it happened me To meet near her old home. A single glance Told me 't was she. I marveled much to see How lovely still she was! as fair, perchance, As when Red Rupert thrust her brutally,-- Her long hair loosened,--down the shattered stair, And cast her, shrieking, 'mid his followers there.

IV.

"She is for you! Take her! I promised it!

She is for you!"--he shouted, as he flung Her in their midst. Then, on her poor hands (split, And beaten by his dagger when she clung Resisting him) and knees, she crept a bit Nearer his feet and begged for death. No tongue Can tell the way he turned from her and cursed, Then bade his men draw lots for which were first.

V.

I saw it all from that low parapet, Where, bullet-wounded in the hip and head, I lay face-upward in the whispering wet, Exhausted 'mid the dead and left for dead.

We had held out two days without a let Against these bandits. You could trace with red, From room to room, how we resisted hard Since the great door crashed in to their petard.

VI.

The rain revived me, and I leaned with pain And saw her lying there, all soiled and splashed And miserable; on her cheek a stain, A dull red bruise, made when his hand had dashed Her down upon the stones; the wretched rain Dripped from her dark hair; and her hands were gashed.-- Oh, for a musket or a petronel With which to send his devil's soul to h.e.l.l!

VII.

But helpless there I lay, no weapon near, Only the useless sword I could not reach His traitor's heart with, while I chafed to hear The laugh, the insult and the villain speech Of him to her. Oh, G.o.d! could I but clear The height between and, hanging like a leech, My fingers at his throat, there tear his base Vile tongue out, yea, and lash it in his face!

VIII.

But, badly wounded, what could I but weep With rage and pity of my helplessness And her misfortune! Could I only creep A little nearer so that she might guess I was not dead; that I my life would keep But to avenge her!--Oh, the wild distress Of that last moment when, half-dead, I saw Them mount and bear her swooning through the shaw.

IX.

Long time I lay unconscious. It befell Some woodsmen found me, having heard the sound Of fighting cease that, for two days, made dell And dingle echo; ventured on the ground For plunder; and it had not then gone well With me, I fear, had not their leader found That in some way I would repay his care; So bore me to his hut and nursed me there.

X.

How roughly kind he was. For weeks I hung 'Twixt life and death; health, like a varying, sick, And fluttering pendulum, now this way swung, Now that, until at last its querulous tick Beat out life's usual time, and slowly rung The long loud hours that exclaimed, "Be quick!-- Arise--Go forth!--Hear how her black wrongs call!-- Make them the salve to cure thy wounds withal!"

XI.

They were my balsam: for, ere autumn came, Weak still, but over eager to be gone, I took my leave of him. A little lame From that hip-wound, and somewhat thin and wan, I sought the village. Here I heard her name And shame's made one. How Rupert pa.s.sed one dawn, And she among his troopers rode--astride Like any man--pale-faced and feverish-eyed.

XII.

Which way these took they pointed, and I went Like fire after. Oh, the thought was good That they were on before! And much it meant To know she lived still; she, whose image stood Ever before me, making turbulent Each heart-beat with her wrongs, that were fierce food Unto my hate that, "Courage!" cried, "Rest not!

Think of her there, and let thy haste be hot!"

XIII.

But months pa.s.sed by and still I had not found: Yet here and there, as wearily I sought, I caught some news: how he had held his ground Against the Roundhead troops; or how he'd fought Then fled, returned and conquered. Like a hound, Questing a boar, I followed; but was brought Never to see my quarry. Day by day It seemed that Satan kept him from my way.

XIV.

A woman rode beside him, so they said, A fair-faced wanton, mounted like a man-- Isolda!--my Isolda!--better dead, Yea, dead and d.a.m.ned! than thus the courtesan, Bold, unreluctant, of such men! A dread, That such should be, unmanned me. Doubt began To whisper at my heart.--But I was mad, To insult her with such thoughts, whose love I had.

XV.

At last one day I rested in a glade Near that same woodland which I lay in when Sore wounded; and, while sitting in the shade Of an old beech--what! did I dream, or men Like Rupert's own ride near me? and a maid-- Isolda or her spirit!--Wildly then I rose and, shouting, leapt upon my horse; Unsheathed my sword and rode across their course.

XVI.

Mainly I looked for Rupert, and by name Challenged him forth:--"Dog! dost thou hide behind?-- Insulter of women! Coward! save where shame And rapine call thee! G.o.d at last is kind, And my sword waits!"--Like an upbeating flame, My voice rose to a windy shout; and blind I seemed to sit, till, with an outstretched hand, Isolda rode before me from that band.

XVII.

"Gerald!" she cried; not as a heart surprised With gladness that the loved, deemed dead, still lives; But like the heart that long hath realized Only misfortune and to fortune gives No confidence, though it be recognized As good. She spoke: "Lo, we are fugitives.

Rupert is slain. And I am going home."

Then like a child asked simply, "Wilt thou come?...