My Beautiful Lady. Nelly Dale Part 5

Now thickening round the shrunken baseless sky, Sullen vapours crawl Climbing to ma.s.ses, tumbled heavily Grim in giant sprawl, That smother up domed heaven's scud-fleckered height And form like mortal armies ranged for fight.

This lighted gloom spreads ghastly on the land; Sheep do crowd; and herds Collecting, bellow pitifully bland.

Quiet are the birds In ghostly trees that s.h.i.+ver not a sound: And leaves decayed drop straight unto the ground.

Drearily solemn runs a monotone, Heard through breathless hush, Swollen torrents hissing far in lavish moan, Foamed with headlong rush, Sob on protesting, toward annihilation, Their solitary dismal lamentation.

This gloom has sucked all interest from the scene, Now changed wrathful grey: Familiar things, that staring plain had been, Fade in mists away: At ambush, watching from its stormy lair, Some danger hovering loads the stagnant air.

It serves to little purpose I may know That electric law Whereby the jagged glare and thunder-blow Latent impulse draw; No less my danger. Ha! that lightning flash Proclaims in fire the coming thunder-crash.

But what care I though deluges down pour Beating earth to mire, Though heaven shattering with the thunder's roar Scorcheth now in fire, Though every planet molten from its place Should trickle lost through everlasting s.p.a.ce;

For this blank prospect, void of all but dread, Void as any tomb, My soul has left; and by a lonely bed, In a girl's sick room, Hangs there expectant of her parting breath, The silent voice of doom, the stroke of death.

PART THE SECOND.

I. MY LADY IN DEATH.

All is but coloured show. I look Into the green light shed By leaves above my head, And feel its inmost worth forsook My being, when she died.

This heart, now hot and dried, Halts, as the parched course where a brook Mid flowers was wont to flow, Because her life is now No more than stories in a printed book.

Gra.s.s thickens proudly o'er that breast, Clay-cold and sadly still, My happy face felt thrill.

How much her dear, dear mouth expressed!

And now are closed and set Lips which my own have met!

Her eyelids by the damp earth pressed!

Damp earth weighs on her eyes; Damp earth shuts out the skies.

My Lady rests her heavy, heavy rest.

To see her high perfection sweep The favoured earth, as she With welcoming palms met me!

How can I but recall and weep?

Her hands' light charm was such, Care vanished at their touch.

Her feet spared little things that creep; "For stars are not," she'd say, "More wonderful than they."

And now she sleeps her heavy, heavy sleep.

Immortal hope shone on that brow, Above whose waning forms Go softly real worms.

Surely it was a cruel blow Which cut my Darling's life Sharply, as with a knife; I hate my own that lets me grow As grows a bitter root From which rank poisons shoot Upon the grave where she is lying low.

Ah, hapless fate! Could it be just, That her young life should play Its easy, natural way; Then, with an unexpected thrust, Be hence thus rudely sent; Even as her feelings blent With those around, whose love would trust Her willing power to bless, For all their happiness?

Alone she moulders into common dust.

Small birds twitter and peck the weeds That wave above this bed Where my dear Love lies dead: They flutter and burst the globed seeds, And beat the downy pride Of dandelions, wide: From speargra.s.s, bowed with watery beads, The wet uniting, drips In sparkles off the tips: In mallow bloom the wild bee drops and feeds.

No more she hears, where vines adorn Her window, on the boughs Birds chirrup an arouse: Flies, buzzing, strengthening with the morn, She will not hear again At random strike the pane: No more against the newly shorn Gra.s.s edges will her gown In playful waves be thrown, As she walks forth to view what flowers are born.

Nor ponder more those dark green rings Stained quaintly on the lea, To picture elfin glee; While through the gra.s.s a faint air sings, And swarms of insects revel Along the sultry level: No more will watch their brilliant wings, Now lightly dip, now soar, Then sink, and rise once more.

My Lady's death makes dear these trivial things.

One noon, within an oak's broad shade, Lost in delightful talk, We rested from our walk.

Beyond the shadow, large and staid, Cows chewed with drowsy eye Their cud complacently: Elegant deer walked o'er the glade, Or stood with wide bright eyes Gazing a short surprise; And up the fern slope nimble conies played.

As rooks cawed labouring through the heat; Each wing-flap seemed to make Their weary bodies ache; And swallows, though so wildly fleet, Made breathless pauses there At something in the air.

All disappeared: our pulses beat Distincter throbs, and each Turned and kissed without speech, She trembling from her mouth down to her feet.

Then, as I felt her bosom heave, And listened to the din Of joyous life within, Could I but in my heaven believe, a.s.sured by that repose Within my heart, and those Warm arms around my neck! While eve In shadowy silence came And quenched the Western flame, That lingered round her as if loth to leave.

Then told I in a whispered tone Of that approaching time, When merry peal and chime Of marriage ringing should make known, In crashes through the air Exultingly we were By solemn rite each other's own: And she, confiding, meek, Against mine pressed her cheek, And gave response in happy tears alone.

No heed of time took we, because Those clanging bells had quite Absorbed us in delight.

A happiness so perfect awes The failing pulse and breath, Like the mute doom of death: Then, in an instantaneous pause Flashed on my vacant eye A swift Eternity; And starting, as if clutched by demon-claws,

Awakened from a dizzy swoon, I felt appalling fears With ringings in my ears, And wondered why the glaring moon Swung round the dome of night With such stupendous might.

Next came, like the sweet air of June, A treacherous calm suspense That bred a loathly sense, Some nameless ill would overwhelm us soon.

She pa.s.sed like summer flowers away.

Her aspect and her voice Will never more rejoice, For she lies hushed in cold decay.

Broken the golden bowl Which held her hallowed soul: It was an idle boast to say "Our souls are as the same,"

And stings me now to shame: Her spirit went, and mine did not obey.

The black truth, with a fiery dart, Went hurtling through my thought, When I beheld her brought Whence she with life did not depart.

Her beauty by degrees Sank, sharpened from disease: The heavy sinking at her heart Sucked hollows in her cheek, And made her eyelids weak, Though oft they opened wide with sudden start.

The Deathly Power in silence drew My Lady's life away.

I watched, dumb for dismay, The shock of thrills that quivered through Her wasted frame, and shook The meaning in her look, As near, more near, the moment grew.

O horrible suspense!

O giddy impotence!

I saw her features lax, and change their hue.

Her gaze, grown large with fate, was cast Where my mute agonies Made sadder her sad eyes: Her breath caught with short plucks and fast, Then one hot choking strain; She never breathed again.

I had the look which was her last: Her love, when breath was gone, One moment lingering shone, Then slowly closed, and hope for ever pa.s.sed.

A dreadful tremour ran through s.p.a.ce When first the mournful toll Rang for My Lady's soul.

The s.h.i.+ning world was h.e.l.l; her grace Only the flattering gleam And mockery of a dream: Oblivion struck me like a mace, And as a tree that's hewn I dropped, in a dead swoon, And lay a long time cold upon my face.

Earth had one quarter turned before My miserable fate Pressed down with its whole weight.

My sense came back; and s.h.i.+vering o'er I felt a pain to bear The sun's keen cruel glare, Which shone not warm as heretofore; And never more its rays Will satisfy my gaze: No more; no more; O, never any more.

II. DAY DREAM.

What art thou whispering lowly to thy babe, O wan girl-mother, with Madonna lids Downcast? Why pressest thou so close his pale Geranium cheek to thy yet whiter breast?

Ah, doubtless sweet; to feel him draw the stream That fills with strength his lily limbs! And laughs Thine own heart with his deeply dimpled laughter, Answering straight thy dainty finger's touch?

And understandeth he that murmurous moan, Wherewith thou hushest, patting him to rest?