LVI.

It was thus I reeled. I told you that her hand had many suitors; But she smiles them down imperially as Venus did the waves, And with such a gracious coldness that they cannot press their futures On the present of her courtesy, which yieldingly enslaves.

LVII.

And this morning as I sat alone within the inner chamber With the great saloon beyond it, lost in pleasant thought serene, For I had been reading Camoens, that poem you remember, Which his lady's eyes are praised in as the sweetest ever seen.

LVIII.

And the book lay open, and my thought flew from it, taking from it A vibration and impulsion to an end beyond its own, As the branch of a green osier, when a child would overcome it, Springs up freely from his claspings and goes swinging in the sun.

LIX.

As I mused I heard a murmur; it grew deep as it grew longer, Speakers using earnest language--"Lady Geraldine, you _would_!"

And I heard a voice that pleaded, ever on in accents stronger, As a sense of reason gave it power to make its rhetoric good.

LX.

Well I knew that voice; it was an earl's, of soul that matched his station, Soul completed into lordship, might and right read on his brow; Very finely courteous; far too proud to doubt his domination Of the common people, he atones for grandeur by a bow.

LXI.

High straight forehead, nose of eagle, cold blue eyes of less expression Than resistance, coldly casting off the looks of other men, As steel, arrows; unelastic lips which seem to taste possession And be cautious lest the common air should injure or distrain.

LXII.

For the rest, accomplished, upright,--ay, and standing by his order With a bearing not ungraceful; fond of art and letters too; Just a good man made a proud man,--as the sandy rocks that border A wild coast, by circ.u.mstances, in a regnant ebb and flow.

LXIII.

Thus, I knew that voice, I heard it, and I could not help the hearkening: In the room I stood up blindly, and my burning heart within Seemed to seethe and fuse my senses till they ran on all sides darkening, And scorched, weighed like melted metal round my feet that stood therein.

LXIV.

And that voice, I heard it pleading, for love's sake, for wealth, position, For the sake of liberal uses and great actions to be done: And she interrupted gently, "Nay, my lord, the old tradition Of your Normans, by some worthier hand than mine is, should be won."

LXV.

"Ah, that white hand!" he said quickly,--and in his he either drew it Or attempted--for with gravity and instance she replied, "Nay, indeed, my lord, this talk is vain, and we had best eschew it And pa.s.s on, like friends, to other points less easy to decide."

LXVI.

What he said again, I know not: it is likely that his trouble Worked his pride up to the surface, for she answered in slow scorn, "And your lordship judges rightly. Whom I marry shall be n.o.ble, Ay, and wealthy. I shall never blush to think how he was born."

LXVII.

There, I maddened! her words stung me. Life swept through me into fever, And my soul sprang up astonished, sprang full-statured in an hour.

Know you what it is when anguish, with apocalyptic NEVER, To a Pythian height dilates you, and despair sublimes to power?

LXVIII.

From my brain the soul-wings budded, waved a flame about my body, Whence conventions coiled to ashes. I felt self-drawn out, as man, From amalgamate false natures, and I saw the skies grow ruddy With the deepening feet of angels, and I knew what spirits can.

LXIX.

I was mad, inspired--say either! (anguish worketh inspiration) Was a man or beast--perhaps so, for the tiger roars when speared; And I walked on, step by step along the level of my pa.s.sion-- Oh my soul! and pa.s.sed the doorway to her face, and never feared.

LXX.

_He_ had left her, peradventure, when my footstep proved my coming, But for _her_--she half arose, then sate, grew scarlet and grew pale.

Oh, she trembled! 't is so always with a worldly man or woman In the presence of true spirits; what else _can_ they do but quail?

LXXI.

Oh, she fluttered like a tame bird, in among its forest-brothers Far too strong for it; then drooping, bowed her face upon her hands; And I spake out wildly, fiercely, brutal truths of her and others: _I_, she planted in the desert, swathed her, windlike, with my sands.

LXXII.

I plucked up her social fictions, b.l.o.o.d.y-rooted though leaf-verdant, Trod them down with words of shaming,--all the purple and the gold.

All the "landed stakes" and lordships, all that spirits pure and ardent Are cast out of love and honour because chancing not to hold.

LXXIII.

"For myself I do not argue," said I, "though I love you, madam, But for better souls that nearer to the height of yours have trod: And this age shows, to my thinking, still more infidels to Adam Than directly, by profession, simple infidels to G.o.d.

LXXIV.

"Yet, O G.o.d," I said, "O grave," I said, "O mother's heart and bosom, With whom first and last are equal, saint and corpse and little child!

We are fools to your deductions, in these figments of heart-closing; We are traitors to your causes, in these sympathies defiled.

LXXV.

"Learn more reverence, madam, not for rank or wealth--_that_ needs no learning: _That_ comes quickly, quick as sin does, ay, and culminates to sin; But for Adam's seed, MAN! Trust me, 't is a clay above your scorning, With G.o.d's image stamped upon it, and G.o.d's kindling breath within.

LXXVI.

"What right have you, madam, gazing in your palace mirror daily, Getting so by heart your beauty which all others must adore, While you draw the golden ringlets down your fingers, to vow gaily You will wed no man that's only good to G.o.d, and nothing more?

LXXVII.

"Why, what right have you, made fair by that same G.o.d, the sweetest woman Of all women He has fashioned, with your lovely spirit-face Which would seem too near to vanish if its smile were not so human, And your voice of holy sweetness, turning common words to grace,--

LXXVIII.

"What right _can_ you have, G.o.d's other works to scorn, despise, revile them In the gross, as mere men, broadly--not as _n.o.ble_ men, forsooth,-- As mere Pariahs of the outer world, forbidden to a.s.soil them In the hope of living, dying, near that sweetness of your mouth?

LXXIX.

"Have you any answer, madam? If my spirit were less earthly, If its instrument were gifted with a better silver string, I would kneel down where I stand, and say--Behold me! I am worthy Of thy loving, for I love thee. I am worthy as a king.