Poems by George Meredith Volume I Part 28

Within those secret walls what do I see?

Where first she set the taper down she stands: Not Pallas: Hebe shamed! Thoughts black as death Like a stirred pool in suns.h.i.+ne break. Her wrists I catch: she faltering, as she half resists, 'You love . . .? love . . .? love . . .?' all on an indrawn breath.

XLIII

Mark where the pressing wind shoots javelin-like Its skeleton shadow on the broad-backed wave!

Here is a fitting spot to dig Love's grave; Here where the ponderous breakers plunge and strike, And dart their hissing tongues high up the sand: In hearing of the ocean, and in sight Of those ribbed wind-streaks running into white.

If I the death of Love had deeply planned, I never could have made it half so sure, As by the unblest kisses which upbraid The full-waked sense; or failing that, degrade!

'Tis morning: but no morning can restore What we have forfeited. I see no sin: The wrong is mixed. In tragic life, G.o.d wot, No villain need be! Pa.s.sions spin the plot: We are betrayed by what is false within.

XLIV

They say, that Pity in Love's service dwells, A porter at the rosy temple's gate.

I missed him going: but it is my fate To come upon him now beside his wells; Whereby I know that I Love's temple leave, And that the purple doors have closed behind.

Poor soul! if, in those early days unkind, Thy power to sting had been but power to grieve, We now might with an equal spirit meet, And not be matched like innocence and vice.

She for the Temple's wors.h.i.+p has paid price, And takes the coin of Pity as a cheat.

She sees through simulation to the bone: What's best in her impels her to the worst: Never, she cries, shall Pity soothe Love's thirst, Or foul hypocrisy for truth atone!

XLV

It is the season of the sweet wild rose, My Lady's emblem in the heart of me!

So golden-crowned s.h.i.+nes she gloriously, And with that softest dream of blood she glows; Mild as an evening heaven round Hesper bright!

I pluck the flower, and smell it, and revive The time when in her eyes I stood alive.

I seem to look upon it out of Night.

Here's Madam, stepping hastily. Her whims Bid her demand the flower, which I let drop.

As I proceed, I feel her sharply stop, And crush it under heel with trembling limbs.

She joins me in a cat-like way, and talks Of company, and even condescends To utter laughing scandal of old friends.

These are the summer days, and these our walks.

XLVI

At last we parley: we so strangely dumb In such a close communion! It befell About the sounding of the Matin-bell, And lo! her place was vacant, and the hum Of loneliness was round me. Then I rose, And my disordered brain did guide my foot To that old wood where our first love-salute Was interchanged: the source of many throes!

There did I see her, not alone. I moved Toward her, and made proffer of my arm.

She took it simply, with no rude alarm; And that disturbing shadow pa.s.sed reproved.

I felt the pained speech coming, and declared My firm belief in her, ere she could speak.

A ghastly morning came into her cheek, While with a widening soul on me she stared.

XLVII

We saw the swallows gathering in the sky, And in the osier-isle we heard them noise.

We had not to look back on summer joys, Or forward to a summer of bright dye: But in the largeness of the evening earth Our spirits grew as we went side by side.

The hour became her husband and my bride.

Love, that had robbed us so, thus blessed our dearth!

The pilgrims of the year waxed very loud In mult.i.tudinous chatterings, as the flood Full brown came from the West, and like pale blood Expanded to the upper crimson cloud.

Love, that had robbed us of immortal things, This little moment mercifully gave, Where I have seen across the twilight wave The swan sail with her young beneath her wings.

XLVIII

Their sense is with their senses all mixed in, Destroyed by subtleties these women are!

More brain, O Lord, more brain! or we shall mar Utterly this fair garden we might win.

Behold! I looked for peace, and thought it near.

Our inmost hearts had opened, each to each.

We drank the pure daylight of honest speech.

Alas! that was the fatal draught, I fear.

For when of my lost Lady came the word, This woman, O this agony of fles.h.!.+

Jealous devotion bade her break the mesh, That I might seek that other like a bird.

I do adore the n.o.bleness! despise The act! She has gone forth, I know not where.

Will the hard world my sentience of her share I feel the truth; so let the world surmise.

XLIX

He found her by the ocean's moaning verge, Nor any wicked change in her discerned; And she believed his old love had returned, Which was her exultation, and her scourge.

She took his hand, and walked with him, and seemed The wife he sought, though shadow-like and dry.

She had one terror, lest her heart should sigh, And tell her loudly she no longer dreamed.

She dared not say, 'This is my breast: look in.'

But there's a strength to help the desperate weak.

That night he learned how silence best can speak The awful things when Pity pleads for Sin.

About the middle of the night her call Was heard, and he came wondering to the bed.

'Now kiss me, dear! it may be, now!' she said.

Lethe had pa.s.sed those lips, and he knew all.

L

Thus piteously Love closed what he begat: The union of this ever-diverse pair!

These two were rapid falcons in a snare, Condemned to do the flitting of the bat.

Lovers beneath the singing sky of May, They wandered once; clear as the dew on flowers: But they fed not on the advancing hours: Their hearts held cravings for the buried day.

Then each applied to each that fatal knife, Deep questioning, which probes to endless dole.

Ah, what a dusty answer gets the soul When hot for certainties in this our life! - In tragic hints here see what evermore Moves dark as yonder midnight ocean's force, Thundering like ramping hosts of warrior horse, To throw that faint thin fine upon the sh.o.r.e!

THE PATRIOT ENGINEER

'Sirs! may I shake your hands?

My countrymen, I see!

I've lived in foreign lands Till England's Heaven to me.

A hearty shake will do me good, And freshen up my sluggish blood.'

Into his hard right hand we struck, Gave the shake, and wish'd him luck.

'--From Austria I come, An English wife to win, And find an English home, And live and die therein.

Great Lord! how many a year I've pined To drink old ale and speak my mind!'

Loud rang our laughter, and the shout Hills round the Meuse-boat echoed about.

'--Ay, no offence: laugh on, Young gentlemen: I'll join.

Had you to exile gone, Where free speech is base coin, You'd sigh to see the jolly nose Where Freedom's native liquor flows!'